x-btsmfanfics

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer -- Pt 16.

The Final Chapter.

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Yoongi x Reader

Summary:

You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You'd sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn't want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet. 

Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you'd allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down. But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.

________

OR

________

How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic

Masterlist A/N: It's here! The final chapter! I can't believe it's taken so long, but honestly it was a journey for me too. Please let me know your thoughts at the end. Did you like how it ended, or would you have preferred something else? As always, thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story, even when they had to wait months between chapters. I appreciate each and every single one of you and I hope I did this story justice. Without further ado, _____

Jungkook kept his distance. 

It had been a month since you’d left. You couldn’t remember a more difficult month. During the first few days, several people had tried to contact you. Hoseok tried first, then Namjoon and Jin. All to ask if you were okay. It was kind of them, but the messages sat in your inbox for weeks, unanswered. You’d asked Yoongi to pass on the message that you were fine, but you needed to take some time to yourself, which he did, dutifully. 

Jimin reached out last week to tell you that he was sorry for anything he did that may have contributed. To him, you said honestly that you appreciated him reaching out, but you had no hard feelings towards him. He tried to ask you how you were, but you stopped responding. 

How were you? 

You supposed you were okay, in that you knew you were coping with everything the best you could and you were being as kind to yourself as possible, but at the same time, were you okay? What did okay mean? 

You were surviving. And there was something to be said for that, but holy hell, were you in a lot of pain. Everything hurt, both physically and metaphorically. Your muscles were starting to atrophy. Your body was stiff from having spent the last month on the couch, and you didn’t have any plans in the near future to get off it. Your energy was at zero. You could do nothing. Accomplish nothing. Some days, even feeding yourself seemed almost impossible. Ramen and spoons of peanut butter were just about all you could make for yourself. 

Most of the time, you’d order out. The containers piled up and you had no energy to clean them. No energy to wash yourself or your clothes. You felt horrible every time you had to leave the house because you knew how you must have smelled. 

Worst of all, this was literally the best you could do. When you cried, you couldn’t tell if it was because you were processing what had happened, or because you felt completely incapable of pulling yourself together. 

You remembered all the times you’d judged others for walking around looking unkempt, or for not getting up and working out, or for eating too much junk food, and here you were, doing all those things. 

You wish you’d been a kinder person. Your whole life, you thought you’d been so nice. So holier-than-thou, but you’d actually just been an asshole. 

No. You weren’t entirely an asshole. Yes, you had your struggles, but you’ve also achieved a lot, especially considering where you’d come from. Neither of your parents had shown up for you the way they should have, and you’ve had to pull yourself up by your bootstraps your entire life. 

That had to count for something. 

Yes, you’ve made your mistakes. Your moral compass hasn’t always pointed North, but god damn it, you were trying, and you had to give yourself credit for that. 

And even though you weren’t capable of fixing everything right away, you knew you were going to try. 

“Slow, measurable steps,” you told yourself. And you got up off the couch to fetch a spoon of peanut butter. 

_____

From: Son

Sent: March 7th:

I don’t know what you’re going through, but I know it must have been bad for you to leave like this. Can you talk to me about what happened? I feel like it was my fault for putting you in that situation. 

We don’t have to talk about what happened if you’re not ready. Just let me know if you’re okay. We’re friends first, colleagues second. Remember that. 

The email had been sitting in your inbox for the last three weeks, gathering dust. Today, you were determined to respond. You’d typed up several half-responses before deleting them, finally settling on something simple. 

Son, 

I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. And thank you for everything else. 

In time, 

Rookie.

You’d forgotten the name he’d given you when you first started your internship, but it popped into your head as soon as you went to sign off. He’d only used it for a couple of months before he switched to your given name, but it was his way of establishing a rapport. At the time, it felt like teasing, but you realized eventually that it was his way of making you feel included. 

You wished you could tell him more. You weren’t ready to talk about it. You hoped he’d understand. 

It was Son. He’d give you the time you needed.  

----

That was the last anyone other than Yoongi had tried to contact you. On the one hand, you were happy they respected your boundaries, but on the other hand, you missed them. Even if you couldn’t respond right now, knowing they cared enough to reach out had been comforting. 

You got it, though. You didn’t have the capacity to be a good friend to them, or to anyone at the moment. And it was you who had walked out on them. That probably hurt a lot. They had every right to be angry with you for the way you had acted, and frankly, the thought that they might be angry with you motivated you to get better. 

Rebuilding these friendships was going to have to be your responsibility. And you were determined to get make it right. 

As soon as you made things right with yourself. 

-------

*BZZZZZZZ*

The sound only half-registered in your sleep state, briefly rousing you before you fell back into deep slumber. 

*BZZZZZZZZ*

It rang a second time, this time fully registering. You scrubbed a palm over your face and threw the blanket off you, simultaneously knocking last night’s empty takeout box off your couch and on to the floor to join the rest.

“Who is it?” you asked over the intercom. 

“Yoongi. Let me up.”  You pressed the button to unlock the front door, eager to see him but wholly unprepared for company. Groggy, you slumped over to your armchair, which held a pile of your clothes. Picking up a bathrobe to sniff it and determine it was clean enough, you wrapped it around yourself and tied it snugly in the middle.

Your apartment was in a very sorry state, you observed. You’d already been aware of that, but you were looking at it with a new lens, now that you had company. 

Sheesh. 

Take-out boxes littered the floor, the coffee table, and the sofa. Empty wine bottles and plastic cups were strewn about—clothes, tissues, candy wrappers, bags of chips, and an open jar of peanut butter with the spoon sticking out. Not to mention the layer of dust that had been gathering on almost every surface. 

You heard a knock on the door. 

“Just a minute!” You called, rushing to gather up as much of the trash as you could and stuff it into a bag. It was a mild improvement, but only just. 

It had been almost three months since you’d last seen Yoongi. He’d visited once after coming back from the last leg of the tour, but shortly after, he embarked on a “creativity journey,” he called it. He’d been traveling around, looking for inspiration for his music and collaborating with artists all over the world.  

You opened the door and greeted him with a hug. 

He wrinkled his nose after pulling away.  “Really?” you said. “I thought for sure this was clean.” 

“I don’t think you can smell yourself anymore, babe.” 

“Fair enough,” you said. “I don’t think I have anything clean. Mind if I do laundry while you visit.” 

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” 

You grabbed a trash bag (all of your laundry baskets were already full) and started picking out the highest priority items. Sweatpants, hoodies, and underwear were the main articles, but you threw in a towel as well.  

You should probably shower, too, while you’re at it. 

“How long can you stay?” you asked. 

“I’m free all day.” 

“Awesome. How was the trip?” 

“You know? I expected it to involve a lot of writing music, but it was actually the opposite.” 

“Oh?” you asked, gathering up more items to take to the laundry room downstairs. 

“Yeah,” he said, following you around as you picked at and sniffed different clothes around your living room. The bag was already pretty full, but you wanted to make the most of this load. “I mostly just ate, rested, and hung out with other musicians. I don’t think I finished a single track while I was there, other than the few collaborations I did.” 

"I actually love that for you," you said, opening the door and walking down the hall. Yoongi followed, his energy bright.

“Weirdly, it was just what I needed.” 

He continued to tell you about his trip as you threw the load of laundry in and proceeded back upstairs. He’d gone to the US to visit some of the artists he’d previously collaborated with, catch a few NBA games, and visit some of the landscapes, his favorite having been the Grand Canyon. 

“It’s huge!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I knew it’d be huge, but like, you can’t even fathom how big it is until you see it in person.” 

“I’m so happy for you, Yoongi,” you said, and meant it. “Keep me company while I shower?” you asked. 

“Oh?” he asked, eyebrows disappearing up into his hair. 

“Not like that.” 

“Oh.” 

He followed you into the bathroom, kindly not commenting on the soap scum stains on your sinks and the pile of dirty underwear in the corner and took a seat on the lid of the toilet, while you got in the shower and removed your bathrobe, dropping it on the floor on the other side of the curtain before turning the water on. 

“Hungry?” you asked as you struggled to find the right temperature. 

“I was until I saw the state of your apartment.” 

You opened the shower curtain and flicked some water at him. 

“Fair enough. Want me to order something while you shower?” 

“Something with pork belly please?” you called out as you began to shampoo your hair, noticing just how many knots were in it. You really needed to stop falling asleep with your hair in a bun. It was getting harder and harder to untangle and the breakage was now significant. 

For some reason, self-care tasks became much easier with Yoongi around. Things that seemed almost impossible on your own were suddenly within your grasp in his company; you were grateful for his presence, though you tried hard not to become too dependent on him. It wasn’t fair to him, after all. 

“Ordered,” he said. “Should be here in thirty minutes.”  “Thank you,” you said, now trying in vain to comb conditioner through your mats. “When did you get back?” you asked. 

“A few weeks ago,” he said. 

“Really?” you asked, surprised that you hadn’t heard from him. “How have things been at the house? Also could you hand me the comb on the sink over there?” 

“Complicated,” he said. You heard him rifling through the assortment of brushes and ointments sprawled around the edges of your sink until his hand appeared through the curtain, holding a wide-toothed comb. 

“Thanks. Go on.” 

“Well, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“Why? What’s up?” you asked. The comb continued to stick in your hair. At this rate, you’d have to cut your hair short to get rid of all the damage. 

“Well, as you know, things are still tense within the group. A lot of us aren’t talking to each other.” 

“I actually didn’t know that,” you said, finally managing to comb through the biggest knot. You placed the comb back on the shelf and switched over to scrubbing your body with the loofah, hoping to give the conditioner some time to work. 

“Really? I thought I told you.” 

“We didn’t talk much about the group when you were here last. I think I was still avoiding the subject.” 

“Oh, well are you still or can we talk about it now?” he asked. You heard a faint trickling sound coming from outside the shower. 

“Are you pissing right now?” 

“Yeah.” 

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back a smile at just how comfortable the two of you had become. 

“Don’t get it on the seat.” 

“What and ruin your pristine bathroom?” he said. 

“Ass. Anyway, yeah I suppose we can talk about it now. I’ve had enough time. Just don’t say his name.” 

“Noted. So everyone’s all weird around each other now.” 

“What exactly happened after I left?” 

“After you walked out, Namjoon called you-know-who out in the hallway to talk privately. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it must have been bad because he came back in with his tail between his legs and he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. Only talked to Joon for the rest of the tour.”  “Damn,” you said. It was cathartic to hear that he had at least some degree of shame. You just wished you could have heard what Namjoon said to him. 

“Yeah. Then he asked to talk to both Tae and Jia privately, and they came back looking pretty similar to Jun—I mean you-know-who. He must have given them a real tongue lashing.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Then he talked to me.” 

“Yikes.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How’d that go?” 

“It…,” he began, “…wasn’t exactly the best moment of the tour.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at how delicately he phrased it. “Go on,” you said, scrubbing at your scalp. The conditioner had done a decent job of masking some of the damage, but you’d have to visit a salon at some point to truly fix it. Another item on the long list of things you needed to take care of. 

“He was angry with me for not communicating how I was truly feeling about everything. He said he’d have gladly stood up to the label and advocated for me if I would have said something to him. And if they still didn’t listen, he would have helped me find an appropriate way of coping. Or at least help cover for us if that’s what we needed to do. And he was disappointed that I didn’t trust him enough to care about what I was going through.” 

“Fuck,” you said, turning off the water. 

“Yeah.” 

“Hey could you hand me the towel hanging on the door?” 

He did, handing it to you through the curtain without looking. For some reason, you were feeling a bit more shame about being naked around him than you had in the past. Wrapping yourself up in the towel, you stepped out of the shower and truly looked at him for the first time since he’d arrived. 

He looked so tired. 

“How are you holding up?” you asked. 

He shrugged. 

“Anything I can do?” 

“Honestly just your company would be great.” 

“That I can do.” 

You toweled off in your room and changed into a sweater you’d found in the back of your closet and a pair of sweatpants that you’d only worn a couple of times. Yoongi accompanied you while you finished your laundry and worked on tidying up your apartment. He relaxed on the couch, smoking a joint you’d given him and watching mindless reality television until the food arrived, when you took a break and sat next to him, exhausted from all the effort you’d spent, but grateful for Yoongi’s presence. 

“Thank you for coming over,” you said, taking the first bite of noodles. “And for not judging me. And honestly, for everything else you’ve done. I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.” You finished the rest of your sentence with your mouth half-full of food. Yoongi had the kindness not to comment on it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said, taking a bite of his own. “I needed to get away from the dorms. It was nice to have somewhere to go that wasn’t my studio.” 

You both ate in relative silence, save for slurping noises and the occasional clearing of a throat. Once your hunger had been sated, you turned on the couch to face him and leaned your head against the back, once again taking him in. 

“What?” he asked when he noticed you staring. 

“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?” 

“Wow, you’re just gonna hit me with that out of nowhere.” 

“Loaded question, I know,” you said, biting back a grin. “Humor me?” 

He sighed, contemplating his answer. 

“No? I mean, there definitely were consequences to it. And Namjoon was right. I should have talked to him about what was going on. But at the end of the day, I still really wanted to do it. And, for some godforsaken reason, I still think I benefitted from it more than I suffered.” 

“I feel that way too,” you said, grateful that he shared the sentiment. “I regret how I went about it, but I don’t think I regret doing it. I loved every second.” 

“Even though it ruined things with…him?” 

You barked a bitter laugh, which dissipated into a sigh. “I think things were ruined with him from the moment they started.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“We were just kids,” you said. “Or at least it feels like we were. Neither of us was mature enough to enter into a sexual relationship. We handled it so poorly.” 

“That may be true, but then again, you grew a lot through the experience. Sometimes you have to figure out what not to do before you can go about things the right way.” 

“Maybe,” you said. “I still struggle to feel at peace with it.” 

Yoongi was silent for a moment. “Do you miss him?” 

You nodded, unable to speak as the words caught in your throat. You didn’t want to miss him. And you didn’t want to acknowledge that you missed him, but you did. 

Your eyes stung with the grief.  “It’s okay to miss him,” he said. 

“It hurts,” you said. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he said. 

You reached your hand out. Yoongi took it and pulled you into a bear hug. You couldn’t help the sob that left your mouth and got muffled in his chest. 

“Shhhh. It’s okay,” he said, rocking you back and forth, kissing the top of your head. 

You needed this. It was impossible for you to get through all of it alone. And perhaps you weren’t meant to. Perhaps connection was the missing piece. The thing that gave you the energy you needed to heal. You’d been so alone for so long, and while Jungkook had satisfied the physical need of skinship, he couldn’t offer the connection that you really needed. Neither could Jimin. Or Jia. Or Colin. Or any of the other people who’d had access to your body. It was something only Yoongi had given you so far. And maybe, in a way, Son. Though his connection had been an energetic one rather than physical. 

Conflicting needs are hard. Everyone has needs that they're trying to get met. Sometimes those needs don't align. Sometimes we look for the wrong people to meet them.

The company needed to make money and keep a clean image. Son needed to take care of his mother. Jungkook needed to feel secure. Jimin needed to feel good enough. Yoongi needed to feel heard. You needed to heal. 

It’s great when things work out and everybody gets their needs met—but life doesn’t always work out that way. And sometimes the process of getting one’s needs met is messy and painful. Sometimes you have to hurt someone else in order to take care of yourself. 

But people heal. We grow. We learn from our mistakes and find better ways to get our needs met. We're never the bad guy forever. And every once in a while, we get it right. We cause more good than harm. We help someone heal from their wounds, rather than cause them. When that happens, there's a purpose to the pain. A reason to keep healing. Love blossoms where wounds existed, and eventually, with time, they don't hurt so much anymore.

_____

Son looked as if he’d seen a miracle. 

“You came.” 

“Of course I came. I’d never let you do this alone. Though from the looks of it, you wouldn’t have had to.”  You gestured out the window to the full parking lot. People were still clearing out a full twenty minutes after the service ended. 

He hugged you with as much strength as he could muster, and you hugged him back just as tightly. 

“Can you stay? I want to catch up.” 

“Absolutely.” 

You had sat in the back row and watched as Son gave a heartfelt eulogy honoring his mother’s life. The funeral was beautiful. Everybody you’d worked with from the past had showed up to support Son as he gave tribute to his mother’s life. 

Afterwards, you all went back to his mother’s house and drank together like old times. Son got entirely too drunk while going through photos and ended up bawling his eyes out while the group gathered around him. He ended up passing out on the couch not too long after. You stayed the night to make sure he was okay, having been the only one to not partake so heavily. You’d quit drinking about a month ago, deciding it was time to get healthy. 

The next morning, Son made breakfast while you helped clean up after everyone. It felt almost like you were freshly graduated again, interning at Son’s old company before he’d been hired at the record label. 

“This feels familiar,” Son said, echoing your thoughts. You laughed, continuing to shove empty beer bottles and solo cups into the black trash bag you were holding. 

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” 

“I missed you.” 

He said it softly into the pan of eggs he was frying up. Almost too soft for you to catch, but you did. 

“I missed you too. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

He stopped frying to look up at you. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“You really want to know?” 

“I do.” 

The time had come to tell him your story, and you did. You relayed absolutely everything. From your father’s affair with your childhood dance teacher, to your mother’s disapproval of your career choice and subsequent excommunication of you, to the incident with your professor. And then to the events of the tour (which you censored a bit. He didn’t need to hear absolutely everything.) And then why you left. Son listened intently, nodding where appropriate and giving you the focus you needed to get through the story. 

“I’m sorry for leaving,” you finally said. “I just couldn’t handle that environment anymore. I had to get away for my own mental health.” 

“Don’t feel sorry. You had every right to leave. I’m sorry for asking so much of you without giving you enough preparation. Ideally, your first tour would have been alongside me. You’d have been able to watch how I operate for the first few weeks before slowly taking on more responsibility. It wasn’t fair to just shove you out there like that.”  

“You had such a valid reason though,” you said. “I wanted you to be able to take care of her. She needed that. And so did you.” 

He nodded. You saw in him an echo of the grief you’d only just learned how to process. 

“Thank you for giving me that time. I’m so sorry that it came at such a cost,” he said. 

“I grew through it.”

You sat in comfortable companionship for a few moments before Son turned to you. 

“About your professor…,”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you said, brushing the memory away as soon as it arose. 

“Can we?” he asked, grabbing one of your hands and holding it in his. The gesture was so sincere that you couldn’t help but humor him. 

“I don’t want you to think that you somehow weren’t good enough to get that internship based on skill alone. That man conned you. And last I knew, he was dismissed from the university for having done the same thing to another student.” 

You hadn’t kept up with any university news, wanting to leave the memory behind you, but this was an unexpected turn of events. You couldn’t say you were surprised to hear that he’d done it to other students, but it hadn’t occurred to you to come forward about his behavior. You were relieved to hear that others had, and that he’d faced consequences. Still, you were ready to put the memory behind you. 

“I guess…I always knew that I had some level of skill, because you took me on as your assistant even after the internship, but I had always wondered if it was just because we were friends.” 

He gave a bitter laugh. “I mean, I definitely enjoyed having your personality around, but I wouldn’t have offered you the job if you didn’t also have the skill.” 

Son’s words meant a lot to you, but you still couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss over everything. It wasn’t fair that you were robbed of the joy of having made it based on your hard work and dedication. You were ever afforded the confidence. Your position was always tainted with the bitter knowledge that you’d done things you weren’t proud of to get there. 

“You know,” he began, hesitant about his next few words, “your old spot is still open for you. If you want it, that is. I’d love it if you came back.” 

His words were tangibly hopeful, and the offer was tempting. It would be nice to get back on good terms with everyone you’d left. Still, you knew your answer. 

“Son,” you said, heaving a sigh. “I can’t go back. I appreciate the offer, but I just don’t think it’s the right fit for me anymore.” 

“Ahh, I suppose you’re right,” he responded. “Worth a shot.” 

“I’d still like to stay in touch though. Maybe work on some independent projects together.” 

He offered up the best smile he could muster under the circumstances. “You know I’m always down for a collab. Just say the word.” 

“I’d like that.” 

He turned again towards you. “What will you do now?” 

“I have a few things I want to work on.” 

-----

Your feet fell to the pavement with heavy thuds. The air burned your lungs. Your ankles were sore and unstable, aching from the extra weight they weren’t used to carrying. 

It had been a year since you’d left the company, and this was the first time you’d worked up the energy to go for a run. Almost immediately, you were out of breath. Your limbs no longer worked together the way they had before. They were stretched, as if the threads that had once held you tightly together at your seams had been pulled loose. 

You were a stranger to this body. 

You slowed down to a light jog. It had been less than five minutes and you were already sweating. 

This had never happened to you. You’d always had expert control over your body and its movements. The solid connection between your mind and your muscles was something you’d taken so much for granted that you never even knew it was possible to lose. 

Energy had once flowed throughout your body, all the way to your fingers and toes, but you couldn’t feel it anymore. Your movements were sloppy. Your pace was inconsistent, like your body was short circuiting. 

This was going to be harder than you thought. 

You stopped your movements altogether. 

This was the part of healing nobody told you about. You didn’t have the luxury of running in private, so you had to settle for letting out a silent scream. Going through the motions was a trick you’d only recently learned. 

You turned around. Your body wasn’t ready to run yet, so you’d have to deal with just walking. 

You took one step. And another. Eventually, you found the pace for your body. 

So this was rehabilitation. 

-------

A month later, you signed up for a gym membership. It had become clear during several ineffectual runs that your body had completely atrophied after spending over a year on the sofa eating nothing but takeout and ramen. 

You started with your legs. You were wobbly in your joints and your balance was all over the place. On top of that, you now had almost forty extra pounds you were carrying around. 

Rebuilding your strength was slow, but it was also a necessary step if you ever hoped to get your strength back. You were tired of being tired and you knew that the only way to attain energy was to earn it. 

On top of that, you were nearing the end of your savings and had to find a job soon or else you’d be kicked out, and you were in no state to work. 

Working out became your primary form of meditation. It was a way for you to connect with yourself on a deeper level than you had in a long time. 

You had a feeling that this kind of solitude, while painful, may be the best thing for you. You’d spent the year before chasing attention, never once questioning where the craving had come from. Clearly you had some sort of neglection wound from your parents, but superficial sexual attention wasn’t going to fix that. That’s why you kept chasing even after receiving it. It had provided a temporary dopamine hit, but never addressed the root of the problem. 

It wasn’t until you had begun paying high-quality attention to yourself that you even became aware of this. 

The root of the problem, you thought, as you strained your leg muscles under the weights and stood up, was that you neglected yourself. 

------

“I think I was taught to,” you said. 

You sat across from a middle-aged woman wearing a cream-colored sweater and thin-framed glasses. She held a clipboard and a pen in hand and scrawled down a note. 

“Who do you think taught you to do that?” 

“My parents, for one.” 

This was your second therapy appointment. You called and scheduled the first once the gym alone was no longer enough to keep the spiraling thoughts at bay. 

“What did they do?” 

“Well, my dad abandoned us for that dance teacher, and then when that happened, my mother just couldn’t keep it together. It felt like every conversation we had was just an opportunity for her to complain about what my father did. I had to stop talking to her after a while.” 

“So she forced you to be her confidant and emotional support system when you were a child, while simultaneously neglecting your own needs.” 

“I don’t know. It’s hard to say. It’s possible she just wanted to connect over the fact that he had abandoned both of us, and expected me to be just as angry as she was.” 

“Were you?” she asked. 

“At first. But after a while I was just tired. I wanted to move on with my life, but she stayed stuck in the past.” 

“So you had to fend for yourself.” It was a statement, rather than a question. 

“Yeah.” 

“What do you think that girl needs to hear right now? If she were with us in the room?”  You thought about that for a moment. What would you have wanted your mother to say? 

“I guess, I’m sorry that he left us. That wasn’t fair, but I’m going to make sure we have a good life regardless.” 

She smiled and nodded. “Good. That’s what I want to hear. Now is that a promise you’re intending to keep?” 

“Yes,” you said firmly.  “What do you need to do?” 

“I need to make amends with the people I’ve hurt.” 

-------

“I guess I was just blindsided by everything, you know? I wish you could have confided in me. I don’t know why you didn’t.” 

Hoseok sat across from you, teacup in hand, a look of sincerity in his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, Hoseok,” you said. “I don’t know why I did the things I did. I judged myself so heavily for what I was doing, and I guess I was just afraid you’d judge me too.” 

He grabbed your hand. "I'd like to think I've proven myself to be better than that."

“You have,” you said. “And if I had my head on straight, I would have known that from the start. I just. I don’t know. I didn’t want to disappoint you. And in doing that, I ended up disappointing everyone, myself included.” 

Hoseok looked at you with the utmost sympathy. “Please come back. I miss you. We all miss you.” 

“Hoseok…,” 

“I know,” he said, “It’s just that I really miss having you around. I know things got weird and you got hurt, but you and I had so much fun together. Not everybody enjoys dance the way you and I do, and I miss having your energy around. Plus, we’ve all grown so much since you left. Even Jungkook has been working on himself.” 

Your heart shot to your throat at the mention of his name. 

“Sorry,” he said when he caught you wincing. 

You wanted to ask more questions about him, but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Apparently, that specific wound remained open.  “I can’t,” you said. “That’s just not who I am anymore. But we can still hang out and collab sometimes. Just for fun.” 

He sighed and nodded. “Promise me you won’t go another year and a half without talking to me?” 

“I promise. I’m sorry I took so long. I needed time, but I’ve finally got my head on straight.”

“Doubtful, knowing you,” he teased and you had to smile. “What will you do now?”  

“Well,” you began.  

------

You entered in the combination the owner had given you. The keypad lit up green and the lock released with an audible “click.” 

There was a small foyer with a desk and a short hallway ahead. At the end of the hallway, a restroom on the right, and to the left, a wide open space. 

You removed your street shoes and padded across the hardwood, dropping your gym bag on the far corner next to the stereo system. After connecting your phone, you pulled up one of your old playlists and hit ‘select.’ The music echoed through the empty space and you made your way to the center. 

Your body was tired and slow. Some of your joints were still stiff and calcified, but your workouts have helped loosen them up. Still, you needed to be extra thorough with your warmup routine and easy on your ankles. You’d lost a fair bit of weight, but you still had about twenty extra pounds weighing your movements down. Some of the fat had been converted to new muscle, though.  

Son had put you in touch with the owner of a local dance studio. He’d worked with her on previous projects and gave you a good reference. She agreed to let you rent out the space a few times a week for a very reasonable price (you had a sneaking suspicion Son had something to do with that, too). 

The savings you’d built up before you quit had all but run dry. It had been eighteen months of living off ramen noodles and paying your electric bill and rent in installments, but you’d survived. Occasionally, you’d try to pay a bill only to find out that it had already been paid for. 

Yoongi swore up and down that he hadn’t done anything, but you had a hard time believing that, considering he knew how much you were struggling and he regularly pressured you into accepting charity, often citing that he had more money than he could ever hope to spend. You were far too proud to accept his donations openly, but you were still grateful for every single utility bill he went behind your back to cover. 

Your savings and his generosity had allowed you the time and space you needed in order to heal and get back on your feet. It was time to return dance floor. 

You were rusty, but it wouldn’t take long for you to build your basic skills back up. Soon enough, you’d be able to start offering classes. 

“Just like riding a bike,” you whispered to yourself as you pushed up off the floor and swung your legs overhead in an aerial. The landing was clumsy and it hurt your knees, but it was a landing, nonetheless. 

You could work with that. 

-------

Three years later.

“Five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and down, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.” 

You clapped as you counted. 

“Yes, Seul-ki , give it some attitude,” you shouted, praising one of the students who had shown significant improvement over the last several weeks. She’d started the class later than the rest of the women, but had picked up on it quickly. There was a determination within her that reminded you of past versions of yourself. 

The music ended. The women hit their final pose. They were all very much amateurs and it showed in their dancing, but you had a special place in your heart for this particular class. 

All of the other classes were paid. You taught children up through teens after school on weekdays, but Sunday afternoons were your favorite, because you got to give back to your community. 

The class was made up of survivors of sexual abuse and harassment, and you teamed up with the local women’s services nonprofit and a few trauma-informed therapists to put together this class. 

The goal was to help women reconnect with their bodies through movement. This was the second group of women you’d taught. The first class, while it had its growing pains, was such a success that it had garnered local attention and had been offered a grant from a few other agencies looking to get involved. 

You’d already been approved for a business loan, and next week, you had a meeting scheduled with a real estate agent. You were about to begin the process of looking for properties to purchase. It was time to open your own studio. 

“Okay, good work everyone. Remember, next week we’re off for the holiday, but we’ll be back the week after that. Enjoy your time!” 

You said goodbye to each of the women individually, thanking them for coming and wishing them well as they cleared out. 

Once they were gone, you sat in the middle of the floor and massaged your ankles. They’d never been the same since you took so much time off. You’d built up enough ankle strength over the past few years to support them most of the time, but every once in a while, you had to take some time to rest them or else they’d get inflamed again. You were glad you had the next week off. 

Shuffling through your phone, you put on of your favorite playlist. You’d created it almost ten years ago, but each song reminded you of the early days of your dance career, when you and Son were at his old company, partying weekends away and never taking life too seriously. 

You went through your post-dance stretching and cooldown routine, working on a few moves you wanted to incorporate into your Reconnection class after the break. 

You were midway through the move when you looked up and saw a familiar figure leaning against the doorway, softly smiling at you. 

Your heart leapt up to your throat. Fight-or-flight kicked in, and you immediately ran over to the speakers to turn the music down and give yourself a chance to catch your breath before turning back around. 

“Hey,” he said when you finally did.

“Hey,” you echoed, voice coming out a little breathy. The space between the two of you stretched across the room, filled to the brim with words unspoken. The silence that fell was thick and heavy. Your skin prickled as hairs on your arm stood up.

He was different. More grown up. He had a lip ring now. Beneath his oversized black tee, you could see a full sleeve of tattoos. You knew he’d gotten them. It was impossible to avoid any mention of him in the news, but it was still jarring to see them in person. 

“Uh…Yoongi said you’d be here.” 

Why Yoongi wouldn’t give you a heads up about this was beyond you. 

“Yeah, I, um. I teach a class.” 

“I saw.” His voice softened with layers of humility it had never before held. 

“Can I come in?” he asked. There was such hesitation in the question, like he was tip-toeing around a land mine. You supposed in a way, he was.

“Sure.” 

Slowly he stepped forward. 

“It’s a nice space. I read in the news you were offering—,”

“You're here," you interrupted.

"Um. Yeah."

You were still processing that fact.  The words had come out of your mouth without you consciously choosing to speak them. 

"I didn't expect you to be here," you continued, your brain only being capable of observing the obvious at that point.

"I...well, no. I suppose you wouldn't."

You were still registering his appearance. Had he always been this tall? Or was it just the boots he was wearing? He was in all-black, save for a dark gray beanie he wore on top of his head. You couldn't read his expression.

“I uh,” he said, clearly struggling with how to approach this. “I wanted to make amends, I guess.” 

You blinked a few times. 

"...And I guess that's probably not something you're—,"

“—Do you want a cup of tea? I have an electric kettle in the back,” you cut in.

He let out an audible breath of relief, face finally ligtening up into an expression you could read. “Sure.” 

He followed you to a small break-room-slash-utility-closet in the back of the studio where you kept a stack of yoga mats, extra dance shoes, and all the cleaning and restock supplies you needed. It also had a small bistro table with two chairs, a microwave in the corner, and a tea kettle on top. 

You busied yourself making tea, back turned towards him. It was still tough to look directly at him for more than a second or two, you found. 

“How have you been?” you asked, looking down at your hands as they worked. 

“I’ve been okay. You?” he said. 

You finished filling the cup with hot water and turned back towards him. 

“Feel free to sit,” you said, noticing he was still standing awkwardly in the doorway. He paused for a moment and then helped himself to a seat at the table. You set two cups of tea down in front of each seat. 

“Sugar?” you asked. 

“No thanks,” he said and waited for you to sit. When you finally did, you still found it hard to look at him and settled for staring into the cup between your hands.

“You were saying,” you said, hoping for him to take the lead.

“I had asked you how you were.” 

“Oh. Right. You did. I guess I’ve been good? Better than I’ve been in a while, at least.” 

“Good,” he said. You glanced up to him and caught a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I think it’s amazing what you’ve done in the last few years. I always knew you were a great dancer, but I didn’t realize you had such a philanthropic heart.” 

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. I suppose I didn’t know that about myself. The idea just kind of appeared out of nowhere, you know?” 

He nodded, struggling to hide a smile. You felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. 

“So,” he said. 

“I saw you released a solo album.” 

“Yeah?” he asked. “Did you listen to it.” 

“Um. No, actually. Sorry.” 

He chuckled. “No need to be.” 

An awkward silence fell between the two of you once again. 

“Jungkook, I—,” 

“I’m sorry,” he cut you off. 

“Okay,” you said.

“I just had to tell you. I hate the way I treated you. I hate the way I acted, and you never deserved any of that.” 

“Okay.” 

“And I’ve spent the last four years absolutely appalled with myself. I hate that I pushed you away, and that I lashed out at you, when you were just trying to figure things out, the same as the rest of us. I put so much pressure on you to fill a role in my life. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

A rush of emotion hit you all at once and you hadn't realized just how much you'd been waiting to hear those words. You'd already come to terms with the idea that you'd never get an apology, and you were okay with it. Now that it was here, it was almost overwhelming, but you had to store that away for now, because you had something else to say.

“Jungkook, you weren’t the only one who messed up. We both did. I’m just as responsible for what happened as you are.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. That last day, I treated you so much worse than you ever treated me. I had no right to say those things to you. It was despicable, and I am so ashamed. I’m sorry.” 

His words were still sinking in. 

"I mean, I slapped you."

"I deserved it."

"Debatable."

Truthfully, you’d dreamed about having this conversation with him for the last four years. You were never sure how it would go, but now that it was here, you weren't sure how to process it. 

“Why now?” 

He looked down at his teacup. When he spoke, his voice was strained. 

“I’m leaving for my military service soon. I didn’t want to go without making amends.” 

“How soon?” you asked. 

“Next week.” 

“Oh shit,” you said. He removed the gray beanie he’d been wearing to show a freshly shaved head. Now, looking at him was almost surreal. He barely looked like the same Jungkook. 

"Yeah," he said.

"Are you scared?"

"Yes and no. I think it's time I had a challenge like this. It's been so long since I've had to do real grunt work. I could use it. And maybe I need a break from being famous. Just be another soldier in the ranks for a change. Just like everyone else."

He'd never be just like everyone else, but you didn't want to spoil this for him, so you held your tongue.

"If I told you I forgave you, would it help you go into this with a clear conscience?"

He chewed on his lip ring in an effort to hide his smile, but it didn't quite do the trick. "Yeah."

“Yeah. I mean, what you did wasn’t cool. It really hurt and I had a hard time getting over it. But at the same time, it was kind of the kick in pants I needed. I don’t know. It gave me a good enough reason to leave a toxic situation,” he grimaced as you said it, knowing he was partly at fault for its toxicity, “and I feel like I was able to really start living for myself after that. It sucked at the time, but it was a catalyst for a major chapter of growth.” 

“So...does that mean there's no hard feelings?” 

“Jungkook," you said "you broke my heart. That’s always going to sting a bit. But I’m not going to hold on to any resentment. I know you were acting from a place of pain.” 

“I was,” he said. “And thank you for understanding that. I'm sorry for what I did when I was hurt, but I’ve been working on healing, for what it’s worth. Getting famous at such a young age affected me more than I realized. I won’t go into it now, but I know what you mean when you talk about a growth chapter. I’ve been kind of going through one of those myself.” 

“I’m glad.” 

The conversation trailed off, but you could tell there was something else on his mind by the way his tongue prodded at the inside of his cheek. It warmed you to know he still did that.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, sincerity on his tongue. 

“Do you think, like when I get back from war,"

"You're not going to war, Jungkook," you deadpanned.

"You don't know that. War could break out at any time. You know they're running missile tests in the North."

Even if war did break out, they'd never put him on the front lines. He brings in too much money for the country, but you humored him. "Okay, sure. When you get back from war."

"When I get back from laying my life on the line in a very dangerous war for the sake of our country," he continued and you couldn't stop the smile that appeared on your face, "do you see a future where we could ever work on things? Or have I permanently messed up my chance?” 

At that, you had to laugh. “Get back from your military service and we’ll talk.” 

“Please? Another chance? I’d love to make it up to you. I could make it up to you before I leave, even.” 

"Are you seriously trying to get laid right now?"

He smiled, bunny teeth sticking out and suddenly he looked like old Jungkook again. Your Jungkook. “I would never.” 

“I cannot believe you! You are such a little shit,” you said in amusement. You got up to rinse your tea cup in the sink in an effort to shut the conversation down, but he followed you. 

“One kiss,” he said. "I'll change your mind."

“Go away, Jungkook,” you said, snatching his half-finished tea from him. 

“I could die! I could be killed on the battlefield!” he exclaimed, following you to where you stood. 

“I would be grieving with the rest of the female population. I’d be first in line, even.” 

“A hug then?” he said, catching you by the arm. Your skin burned where he touched and you almost dropped the cup you were holding. You forgot how affected you were by him.

You turned to face him. He was close now, staring down at you. His doe eyes held a familiar intensity that made your stomach flutter.  "Please?" he said again, voice low and soft.

“Jungkook, I—,” you began.

The End. 

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer -- Pt. 15

When you finally awoke, it was nearing eleven o’clock. You didn’t have to be at the venue until two, though part of you wished you could just get the whole thing over with. Rip the band-aid off before you had a chance to let the anxiety fester. You weren’t going to be that lucky though.

You stretched your arms out in a yawn, hand brushing over Yoongi’s in the process.

“Morning,” he grumbled, turning over onto his side and throwing a pillow over his head. You could just barely see his mouth poking out from under it.

“Morning,” you said. You sat up, quickly realized you were not ready to get out of bed yet, and immediately laid back down.

You knew by now that Yoongi was not a morning person. Trying to strike a conversation with him at this time would be futile. This left you with a lot of time to let your mind wander.

At first, you replayed your actions last night. Did you regret what you and Yoongi had done? Certainly not. In fact, you were grateful for the experience the two of you shared.

That being said, you wished it hadn’t played out the way it had.

Hearing Jungkook at the door had been rough. You hated hurting him, but you were also angry with him for letting his jealousy get out of control again. Of course, you understood why he was upset. He was totally within his right to be angry, but causing a scene in the middle of the night like that was too much.

You knew what you were risking when you went to Yoongi’s room last night. You knew this was a possibility, but you also thought he’d been better at handling his jealousy recently.

Evidently not.

You groaned internally and ran your hand over your face. This whole thing had turned into such a mess. And it was about to get so much messier.

There was only one week left of the tour. You were confident you’d be able to make it through this last week, so long as nothing else major happened.

You knew tensions would be high with Jungkook, and he’d probably give you the cold shoulder all week, but you were prepared to deal with that.

What a mess.

Something about last night had done the trick, though. You felt oddly reinvigorated. Definitely dreading seeing Jungkook again, but you finally had the energy to handle that.

There was no point staying in bed. It’s not like you were going to get any more sleep in this state.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you trudged to the bathroom. You didn’t even bother asking Yoongi whether or not it was okay to take a shower. He’d have just chastised you for waking him up with such a stupid question.

The water was nice. You adjusted it so that it was near scalding, which was perfect for a second but then it was way too intense and you had to fiddle around with the settings for several moments before finally landing on the right temperature.

Standing was just not something you were interested in doing at all, you determined. No thank you. You sat in the tub and let the water tumble down over you, finding only the smallest amount of amusement in the drama, before acknowledging that you were indeed about to face probably your biggest challenge yet on this tour.

Fuuuuuuck.

Why?

You knew why, realistically. You had nobody to blame but yourself. And maybe Jungkook a little bit, but honestly this was your own fault, and you knew that your decisions would have consequences you’d have to face one day. You just thought you’d feel more ready when that time came.

You stayed in the shower for at least thirty minutes, if not longer. In that time, you contemplated running back to Korea no less than twelve times.

By the time you got out, Yoongi was awake, and had ordered room service for you both. You poured yourself a coffee and picked at a bowl of fruit, but you weren’t particularly hungry.

Yoongi noticed.

“Worried about today?” he asked. You nodded, not looking up from your coffee.

“Me too.”

“What do you think could happen?”

“For me? Probably an official reprimand. They’ll probably dock my pay. It’ll be a slap on the wrist, if anything.”

“And for me?” you asked.

He didn’t answer, but the look on his face told him he was thinking the same thing you were.

You could get fired for this.

It wasn’t just a distant possibility this time. Jungkook had alerted the entire hallway about his suspicions. Word was bound to get back to the label somehow, and when that happened, you knew the consequences would be severe.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your hand, “no matter what happens, I’m going to be there for you. You know that, right? You’re still important to me, whether we work together or not.”

You had a hard time swallowing the lump that had risen in your throat. Coughing to clear it, you squared your shoulders and held your chin high.

“I knew what the risk was,” you said, more to yourself than to Yoongi. “I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”

“You tell ‘em,” he said.

You contemplated going back to your room, but by that point, the hallway was already bustling with activity, and the risk of you being seen and further incriminating yourself was high.

That meant having to borrow yet another pair of nondescript sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt from Yoongi and hoping nobody would notice you were in men’s clothing. Not that it was too big of a deal, since you regularly wore oversized clothes to rehearsal, but it still had you on edge.

“I honestly don’t know how I could ever repay you,” you said, thanking him. “You’ve done so much for me.”

Yoongi said nothing in return, but let his gaze drop to your chest and bounce back up again. He raised his eyebrows for effect.

You looked down to where his eyes had fixated and realized what he meant, flushing.

“You’re an asshole,” you said, but nevertheless, lifted your shirt. The look of glee on his face was most endearing as he bounded forward and cupped your breasts in his hands.

“I will never get tired of these,” he said, leaning down to nuzzle his face against them.

You moved backwards in unison until your knees hit the back of the bed and you both fell onto it, Yoongi still fully enraptured by your breasts.

“So you’re a boob guy, then?”

He nodded. “At your service.”

He wrapped one of his arms around you while the other massaged the soft flesh. Leaning over you, he took a free nipple in his mouth and began to suck.

You were still sensitive enough that it began to perk up immediately under his touch. You arched your back to give him more access, enjoying the warmth of his mouth.

It was almost enough to prevent you from hearing the knock on the door.

Your eyes widened in alarm. Yoongi held a finger in front of his lips, signaling you to be quiet.

“Are you expecting anyone?” you mouthed as the knock sounded again. Yoongi shook his head no.

“Yoongi?”

Namjoon’s voice.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, voice barely audible.

He paused for a moment, contemplating how he wanted to handle the situation before nodding to himself and pulling you close. Yoongi began sucking a bruise into your shoulder.

“This,” he said.

Your neck flushed, head blooming upwards. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access.

“Yoongi, open up. We need to talk about this.”

“Mmmm, I’m busy,” he whispered into your collarbone. You ran your nails softly over his back and arched into him.

“Look,” Namjoon’s voice came through the door. “I know you’re upset. The label’s been screwing you over again and again, and you’ve been putting in more work than you should have to, but this isn’t the answer.”

“I think it is,” he hummed softly to the air around him, now taking the skin of your neck in between his teeth. You chuckled at his antics.

You knew Yoongi well enough by now to understand that the more he was pushed, the more defiant he’d become. Yes, he probably still wanted physical touch, but this was also very much about him asserting his autonomy, and with the way he was worshipping your body right now, you were more than happy to assist.

“Trust me, I’ve been stressed too. This tour in particular has been stressful, but we have to work as a team.”

At that, somewhere inside Yoongi, a line had finally been crossed. He brought his mouth up to yours and sucked your bottom lip in between his teeth, pressing his whole body into yours. He raked his fingers through your hair, releasing a low groan. His hands roamed down your body, clawing at the soft flesh of the back of your thigh.

“Yoongi,” you breathed across his tongue. It had begun roaming across your bottom lip. He released it from between his teeth, leaving a stinging sensation from all the blood that had rushed to the surface. “You’re not worried about Namjoon?”

“Namjoon’s full of shit,” he whispered, nibbling your earlobe and cupping your breast with his hand. “He talks about working as a team, but,” he said pausing his lips near your ear to nuzzle along your jaw, “what he really means is that I need to do what I always do and,” he planted a kiss, “bend over backwards again because it’s easier to get me to,” he nipped at your skin, hand snaking down your waist, “swallow my feelings than to ask Jungkook to deal with his.”

It made sense to you then, why Yoongi was so eager to break the rules with you. He was tired of the injustice of it all. He could handle his feelings better than Jungkook because he had to. And rather than making Jungkook learn how to deal with frustration and anger in a constructive way, they asked Yoongi to take it on. Because it was easier.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. Not only were they failing Yoongi, but they were failing Jungkook. Neglecting healthy emotional development in favor of keeping the peace.

Namjoon must have given up, because he didn’t say anything after that, and it wasn’t long before one thing led to another, and the two of you were undressed once again, Yoongi unrolling a condom onto his hardened shaft.

He entered you slowly, taking his time since the two of you still had a couple hours to kill. There was no point in denying yourselves any longer, and you wanted to get as much as you could out of the time you had left before you had to face the consequences.

The second time was just as good as the first, though less suspenseful and with less crying. This time, you came while straddling his lap, rocking back and forth with his arms around you. Once you’d come down from your high, Yoongi repositioned you so you were face-down, ass up. There, he gripped the back of your neck and pounded into you with as much force as he could muster, until he too came with a whimper.

You collapsed back onto the bed, kissing lazily as you both returned to your bodies. The simple skin-to-skin contact was almost enough to make you feel whole again.

Almost.

You stayed in bed for another twenty minutes, just enjoying each other’s touch. Eventually though, you both knew you had to face the world again.

You left thirty minutes earlier than you needed to so that you could hopefully avoid anyone in the hallways. You and Yoongi opted to take the stairs to the first floor and out a side exit where Yoongi had a driver waiting to take you to the venue.

Upon arriving, you spotted a few crew members, but nobody spared you a second glance—they were all too busy with tasks.

You made a beeline for the makeup room and found it mostly empty, save for a few of the stylists. Jia was there setting up her supplies. You tried to strike up a conversation with her, but she wasn’t very responsive, offering only single-word replies when necessary.

After a few tries, you gave up and went back over to Yoongi, who was sat in a makeup chair in front of an empty counter.

“Jia’s not speaking to me, apparently.”

“Any idea why?” he asked. You shrugged. “You don’t think she knows, do you?”

“You think word has spread that fast?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Jungkook was pretty loud. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall heard. If she was with Taehyung last night, it’s more than likely she did.”

You sighed.

“Great.”

“Hey,” he said, touching your hand. “It’ll be okay.”

Yoongi’s touch was warm and comforting. Subtle enough to not be noticed by others, but tender enough to do the trick.

The brief moment you shared together was suddenly cut short however when you heard a commotion out in the hallway.

Raised voices, talking—shouting over each other. They grew closer.

“I am begging you, don’t!”

Taehyung. He was shouting at someone. Deep in your gut, you knew who it was.

Jungkook stormed into the room, his energy consuming it. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at him. He was headed straight for Yoongi.

“What did you do,” he snarled, halfway across the room and getting closer.

Without thinking, Yoongi held out an arm to block you, half-stepping in front of you.

Namjoon jumped up from where he sat. Hoseok surged forward. Both men tried to hold Jungkook back but could only slow him.

“Don’t do this Jungkook,” Yoongi said quietly.

“What the fuck did you do?!” he shouted, voice in hysterics.

You couldn’t move. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you could only watch.

Jungkook’s fingers curled into fists, right arm halfway in the air, cocked and aimed at Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi’s eyes widened, knowing what was about to happen.

Before Jungkook’s fist could connect with its target, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Hoseok had jumped into action. It took all three of them to wrestle Jungkook to the ground.

“Jungkook! Stop. This is an order.”

Jungkook continued to struggle under the weight of the older men. Yoongi’s hand went to his face, wiping off the spit that Jungkook had lodged at him.

“Did you fuck her?!” Jungkook shouted up at him from where he had been wrestled to his knees.

“We will discuss this when you’ve calmed down,” said Yoongi.

“No! We’re discussing this now. Did you fuck her?!”

Yoongi clenched his jaw, refusing to speak.

“You did. I know you fucking did. I heard you! Admit it, you coward!”

Jungkook’s words were like a knife through your gut.

Yoongi was silent. That was more than could be said for you. In your rage, you marched up to Jungkook and slapped him hard across the face. It echoed around the room, and for a brief moment, Jungkook stilled.

When he finally looked back up at you, his face was stone cold, until the whisper of a grin ghosted across him.

“You know,” he said, voice low. The entire room hung on his words. “I’d expect nothing less from a slut like you.”

Mere weeks ago, Jungkook’s words would have cut into you like a knife, but after everything you’ve dealt with, they held no weight. This was just him throwing a tantrum.

“Jungkook—,” Namjoon started, voice low and laced with warning.

“Enough. You can’t talk to me like that,” you cut in.

“I’m just stating facts,” he replied. “The whole tour already knows. Want to tell everyone how you got this job?” Jungkook continued.

Your heart leapt to your throat.

“What did you just say?” you asked.

“You heard me,” he said, voice filled with venom. “The only reason you’re here is because you fucked way into this role.”

You looked at Yoongi. He seemed just as surprised as you did. You scanned the room, spotting Jia in the far corner. She stared at Taehyung, who stared at his shoes.

“Jungkook! That is a serious accusation. You need to stop right now,” said Namjoon.

But it was too late. You looked back once again at Yoongi. He held your gaze for a few moments while the single thread that had been holding you together finally snapped.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. The realization washed over you like a warm, gentle wave. Sad, but freeing. There was nothing tethering you here anymore.

Yoongi took your hand in his, squeezing it, before nodding in understanding and letting go.

The room was silent, except for your footsteps.

You were calm as you caught the shuttle back to your hotel.

Calm as you packed up your bags.

Calm as you hailed a taxi to the airport.

Calm as you purchased a ticket back to Seoul.

Calm as you composed your letter of resignation.

Calm as you hit send.

*****

It was three days before you allowed yourself to feel anything. You’d returned to your apartment, the energy within it stagnant from it having sat empty for the last few months. You’d gone grocery shopping, purchasing as many ready-to-eat meals as possible, along with your favorite snacks.

You’d gone to the liquor store, purchased several bottles of bottom-shelf whiskey, along with some wine and a few cases of beer.

You’d done all your laundry and fitted your bed with fresh sheets. After five minutes of laying in it however, you realized it was far too big, and moved to the couch instead.

You put your phone on “do not disturb” indefinitely.

You changed into sweatpants, climbed onto the couch, and curled yourself up in a blanket.

It came on slowly. The tightness in your chest expanded enough to allow the first trickle of tears.

It took ten minutes for you to reach the point of sobbing. Thankfully, you’d stocked up on tissues.

You’d known rock bottom was coming. You’d felt it approaching for a long time, but you’d been putting it off as long as possible.

It had finally arrived. And it was all-consuming.

*****

It was a week before you changed your clothes. Even then, you only changed into a different pair of sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt.

Most days, you slept until late in the afternoon.

You’d wake up on the couch, find something easily accessible to eat (usually a spoon of peanut butter and some ramen), and then take a nap. When you could no longer sleep, you distracted yourself by marathoning seasons of sappy dramas. Sometimes you’d switch it up with reality television. Every once in a while, when you were least expecting it, the group would be referenced on television. They truly were everywhere.

Whenever it happened, your chest would seize up and you’d have to take several deep breaths to calm yourself.

The mess piled up. You had no energy to clean it. You resorted to disposable plates and cutlery, feeling mildly guilty about the waste, but not having enough willpower to do something different.

Once per week, you would go through your living room and bag up all the trash, but that’s as much housekeeping as you could manage.

You didn’t cry every day, you noticed. It was about every three days. You’d cry, and then you’d spend the next few days in an emotionless haze, recovering until you had the energy to cry again.

It was old pain. Deep pain. Pain you’d repressed as long as you could, but no longer had the energy to fight—the only way out was through.

***

After the tour finished, Yoongi came over about once a week to check on you. He was careful not to mention anything about the rest of the members, save for regaling you about how Hoseok had taken over for you during the last week of the tour and had done a phenomenal job.

For the first few weeks, his visits were usually accompanied with weed and sex. Sometimes whiskey, though you found you weren’t drinking quite as much as you had expected to.

After a month or so, sex just wasn’t doing much for you, and you settled into a comfortable companionship.

It was easier to see him when they were on break from the tour, but eventually, his schedule picked up again, and he couldn’t come over as often, which left you with a lot of time to be alone with your thoughts.

You spent a lot of that time reflecting—trying to figure out what factors were at play that had gotten you to where you were now.

You’d made some poor choices, that was for sure. But why? What motivated you to behave the way you did?

Why couldn’t you get it right?

Whenever the tears came, you leaned into them. Whenever you felt like screaming, you didn’t hold yourself back.

You’d spent your entire life working up to that job, and you had failed spectacularly.

You lost everything.

Not because you didn’t care or didn’t take it seriously. But because you simply could not live up to the expectations that were placed on you. You tried as hard as you possibly could, and yet you still fell short.

You failed the moment you let your guard down around Jungkook.

You failed as soon as you accepted the job.

You failed the day you slept with your professor.

Was it possible that you’d failed the moment you wanted to become a dancer?

Was your mother right? Should you have gone to school for business instead of chasing some pipe dream?

You thought that when you landed such a prestigious position, it had meant that you’d proven everyone wrong. You’d succeeded. Everything you’d been through, all the trauma you’d endured had been worth it because you finally made it to a professional dance career.

Now what?

You took another sip of whiskey.

Where would you go from here?

Did you even want to be a dancer anymore?

[x-btsmfanfics]

Masterlist

Series:

 bts x reader (OT7)

–> The Choreographer  

Summary:

You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet. 

Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down. But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.

________

OR

________

How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.

Rating: Explicit

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt 7.1 | Pt. 7.2 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11 | Pt. 12 | Pt. 13 | Pt. 14 | Pt. 15 

_______________________________________________________

Kim Taehyung x reader 

–> Devil’s Advocate 😈

Summary: Your father has always instilled in you the ideas of what a good, God-fearing woman should be. Humble. Steadfast. Pure. A beacon for lost souls. You knew that going to a secular university would bring temptations, but you were adamant that you would not stray from the path. 

That is, until your father had you witness to campus delinquent Kim Taehyung. Charming and devilishly charismatic, Taehyung makes you question everything you thought you knew about what a “good” woman should be. 

_______

OR

_______

Purity culture created an unhealthy relationship with sexuality for me and Now I Have Feelings About It. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Religious indoctrination, religious trauma, kink. 

Coming Soon. 

_____________________________

One shots:

coming soon

Drabbles:

BTS Member Sexual Analysis

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer -- Pt 14

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader | Jimin X Reader | Yoongi X Reader .

Rating: Explicit (not for this chapter though)  

Warnings: *deep breath* angst, smut, protected vaginal intercourse, blowjobs, eating out, emotional outbursts, post-coital emotional flooding, more angst, choking, scratching, biting, kissing, marijuana use, drinking, playful roasting, holding hands, and did I mention angst? Seriously your heart breaks a little for each of them. 

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.

Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down.

But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.

________

OR

________

How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.

A/N: *sings* who is ready for things to get SO much more complicated? Me! I’m ready! This might be my favorite chapter I’ve ever written. Wooohooo! Let’s gooooooooooo! 

______________________________________________________________

The lights of the arcade flashed all around you—magenta, tangerine, and turquoise took turns in your periphery while you chewed on your straw. Rum and coke. It had been your go-to since before you were old enough to legally drink.

It had been three weeks since Jungkook had left your room. You’d just flown to Osaka. This was the second-to-last stop before Shizuoka, and then finally home to Seoul. You couldn’t wait for this godforsaken tour to be over. Once in Seoul, you’d have an entire month off to rest and recuperate before you had to head back out, and were singularly focused on getting through this tour so you could spend the next month doing absolutely nothing.

You and Jungkook hadn’t spoken to each other at all since that night, save for overly-polite greetings whenever you had to save face in front of staff and the other members.

Despite the time, it hadn’t gotten easier.

You took another sip of your drink and savored the carbonation that prickled on your tongue.

“Babe! Over here!”

You looked over to see Jia. She stood beside a large arrangement of dance-based games and waved you over.

“Come on! I need a player 2!” 

Keep reading

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer -- Pt. 13

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader | Jimin X Reader (a little) | Yoongi X Reader (a little).

Rating: Explicit (not for this chapter though)  

Warnings: None for this chapter. It’s mostly fluff before we get back into the thick of it. 

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.

Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down.

But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.

________

OR

________

How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.

_______________________________________________________________

You allowed yourself one full day of wallowing.

It was difficult to not want to throw in the towel. Really difficult. And at times, you still wondered if you were making a mistake, but you were determined to see the rest of the tour through.

You knew that if you let everything set in—let it tear you down—you’d be of no use to anyone, and what you needed most right now was to feel like you were actually contributing something of value to the tour.

So you threw yourself into your work.

Keep reading

[x-btsmfanfics]

Masterlist

Series:

 bts x reader (OT7)

–> The Choreographer  

Summary: As the assistant choreographer for BTS, you are often responsible for helping the guys rehearse. Professional and courteous as you try to act on the job, there is no denying that deep within you lies a sexual deviant, dying to come out. Everyone knows scandal would cost you your job, but sometimes the tension can become unbearable.

It’s too bad. But it’s too sweet.

Rating: Explicit

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt 7.1 | Pt. 7.2 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11 | Pt. 12 | Pt. 13 | Pt. 14

_____________________________

One shots:

coming soon

Drabbles:

BTS Member Sexual Analysis

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer -- Pt. 12

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader (With some Jimin X reader and Yoongi X Reader, but mostly JK). 

Rating: Explicit (not so much in this chapter, but in others) 

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of past drug use, mentions of past threesomes, mentions of past sexual assault. 

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.

Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down.

But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.

—OR—

How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.

Masterlist is here 

_______

A/N: I promise the chapter after this won’t be so heavy. I’m going to add in a lighter and fluffier filler chapter for a nice break before we get back into the heavy stuff. It’s nearing the end of the story now. I can’t believe we’ve come this far. This has been three years in the making.  THIS IS ANOTHER SAD ONE. Please, please, please do not read this if you aren’t in a great place mentally. I don’t think absorbing more sadness will help. We relive some of her past trauma in this one and it doesn’t necessarily end on a positive note.  This character will be happy again soon, I promise. 

_________________________________________

Chapter 12: 

The numbness carried over to the next morning, when you arose to a sun that was far too bright and skies that were much too clear.

You had to face him again today. You didn’t know if you could.

The temptation to leave had reached a crescendo last night. This level of moral perfection was too much to ask of anyone. You’d had rough nights before, but this was getting to be too much. How much more would you have to give to this company? You barely had anything left.

You’d sacrificed far too much to be here, though. You couldn’t let that be in vain.

You arrived at the venue early. Jia was already there, setting up her station.

She took one look at you and rushed over to wrap you up in a hug.

“Are you okay?” she asked. You buried your face in her shoulder. “What happened?”

You shook your head against her collar, unable to form words. Tears threatened to spill over at her kindness. One of them actually did.

You sat in Jia’s makeup chair while she brushed your hair for you and did her best to conceal the dark circles under your puffy, red eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to kick someone’s ass?” she asked.

You gave her the closest thing to a smile you could muster. “Thanks, Ji. That would be great.”  

She seemed satisfied enough with your answer to drop the subject. She didn’t even ask who. She didn’t need to.

It was a while before the guys all strolled into the makeup room. When they did, you immediately faced forward and averted your eyes. You couldn’t chance looking at him.

Yoongi made a beeline over to where you and Jia were setting up.

“What happened to you?” he asked, loud and brash as he always was.

“Real nice,” Jia spat.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you said and got up so he could sit in the makeup chair. He plopped down as Jia began arranging her brushes on the counter before him.

“If it makes you feel any better, I had a shit night too,” he said.

“I can see that,” said Jia as she began to dip a brush into a palette. “How many sets of dark circles am I going to have to cover today?”

“Why’s that?” you asked him.

“I got an email from the label. They’re pushing the release date back another month for my mixtape.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were.”

“How can they keep doing this to you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do about it though. They have the final say.”

“That sucks, Yoongs,” said Jia. “I’m really sorry.”

“You told them about the mixtape?” Hoseok asked, walking up to where the three of you were conversing. “Bullshit, isn’t it?”  

Jia nodded.

Your heart sank. Yoongi had been working so hard on that mixtape. You sensed that he was losing hope. You would too if the thing you really wanted kept getting dangled in front of you, only to be snatched away again and again.

In a way, you supposed that’s exactly what had happened to you.

You chanced a look over at Jungkook. He was joking around with Jin, all smiles and laughter.  

“Someone looks like they’re in a good mood,” you muttered to Jia.

“Oh Jungkook?” said Hoseok. “Yeah, I’d be too if I’d gotten head from Yeona last night.”

The brush Jia had been holding clattered to the floor. “Sorry,” she squeaked and ducked down to retrieve it. In the mirror, Yoongi’s eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Oh?” you asked, throat seizing up.

“Yeah,” said Hoseok. “She’s been after him since the beginning of the tour. Good thing, too, because he definitely needed it. He’s been unbearable lately.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Oh.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised it took him as long as it did to taker her up on it. I know I wouldn’t have held out that long. Have you seen the body on that woman?”

Yoongi winced. “Hoseok,” he hissed exasperatedly, “shut the fuck up.”

Hoseok’s brows knitted together as he gaped at Yoongi.  The silence between the four of you grew painfully awkward.

“Hey, so did Hanyuel tell you that he’s planning a massive party while we’re in Japan?” Jia cut in. It came out a little louder and faster than normal. Yoongi continued to watch you intently while Hoseok, still looking puzzled, merely shrugged and shifted his focus to Jia.

“That’s awesome,” you breathed, feigning excitement while your insides turned to liquid. You dug your nails into your palms and gritted your teeth to keep your cool until you could get out of there.

“Yeah,” it should be a lot of fun,” she replied. You took a step backwards. Then another.

“Do you think he’ll rent out a movie theater again like he did last year?” Hoseok asked, unaware of the devastating blow he’d delivered only moments ago.

“I don’t know,” answered Jia. “He was talking about go-karts last I knew.” She said this while still watching you over Hoseok’s shoulder. You wanted to tell her you were fine, but you’d be lying. Her face grew more and more concerned as Hoseok’s words blended into the environment. You crossed your arms tightly in front of you, holding your ribcage together.  

You were okay. You’d be fine. You knew this was a possibility. Jungkook was just trying to get his needs met.

Isn’t that what all of you were doing? Just trying to get your needs met? How could you fault him for that?

Your stomach lurched. You needed to get out of there.

“I should probably get out of your way,” you said, more people trickling into the room. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

You didn’t even think Hoseok heard you. He was still talking excitedly to the room about the party. Jia and Yoongi watched as you backed away, turned, and rushed out the door.

Turning right, you worked hard to steady your breath as you searched for anything that would do.

You passed several locked doors along the mostly-empty hallway, offices of stadium managers, locker rooms, and storage areas. It stretched on and on. It felt like it would never end. Like the walls were closing in. You quickened your pace.

You found an unlocked supply closet and wrenched the door open, darted inside and, trying to not draw any more attention to you, shut it as softly as you could. Shelves of various cleaning products and cans of paint lined the small area. Several brooms leaned haphazardly against the wall. A large automated floor scrubber took up most of the space, and in the corner sat a lone empty bucket.  

You shook your hands, trying to rid yourself of excess anxious energy.  

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

You hummed through the exhale, trying to regulate your breath as tears spilled down.

This was okay. You’d be okay. You knew this could happen. Jungkook didn’t owe you any loyalty, especially after last night.

Scanning the room, you found an empty mop bucket. As quickly and silently as you could, you flipped it over and sat down on it, clutching your chest while you rocked back and forth.

You were okay. You didn’t need him. It was fine. He could be with other women. He could be with Yeona and her amazing body.

You noticed your breath hitching on the intake. You pursed your lips to slow down your exhale and keep yourself from hyperventilating. Your eyes stung. You tapped your chest with your hands, fighting to stay in control.

The air inside the closet was thick and warm. It weighed down your chest, making it difficult to fill your lungs.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You bit down on your knuckles to muffle the strangled noises now escaping from your throat.

You were spiraling.

The door swung open, startling you. Yoongi peered around it.

“Shit,” he said, closing the door behind him and making his way past the scrubber. He knelt beside you and took your hand in his. “You okay?”

You nodded, bouncing a leg up and down, continuing to rock back in forth. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

The tears continued to pour out. Hot and wet against your cheeks, they slid cleanly down your face and collected at your chin before falling onto your hoodie in fat drops.  

“I know that must have been rough to hear,” he said, thumb stroking over yours. “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head no, continuing to stare straight ahead, jaw clenched tight.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked. You nodded.

“Okay.”

He sat down on the floor next to you—his presence calming you down enough for you to process.

As much as you couldn’t fault Jungkook for taking care of his needs, you weren’t prepared for this.

It was just sex, you reminded yourself. It’s not like he had feelings for her. And he had come to you first.

“You know,” said Yoongi softly, “when I first heard the news that my mixtape was delayed again, I threw my phone across the room.”

You looked not quite at him, but your eyes moved slightly in his direction.

“I think I dented the wall. Some poor underpaid maintenance guy is going to have to fix it,” he said.

You didn’t quite laugh, but you exhaled through your nostrils a little faster than normal, knee still bouncing up and down rapidly.

“And that’s not even the worst part,” he continued. “My screen shattered because I was too lazy to buy a screen protector.”

You wouldn’t necessarily agree that him not being able to see his texts was worse than an underpaid maintenance guy having to fix the aftermath of Yoongi’s tantrum, but you didn’t voice that.

“Where are you going with this?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi said. “Just thought you might find it amusing.”

“My deepest condolences for your screen,” you said, flatly.

“Yes, I am suffering more than anyone else in this world, thank you for noticing,” he said.

At that, you managed a chuckle.

“I know you’re going through a tough time right now,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” you said, offering up a small smile. “I’m sorry for you, too. I know how much you had your heart set on a spring release.”

“Ahh,” he said. “I’ll be okay. I might just have to write a really angsty track and include it, now that I have the time.” “I hope you do,” you said.

“You going to be okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I’d like to think so, but I’m not even sure how I feel.”

“I understand,” he said. “Truly. It’s okay to not be entirely sure. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

“Will I?” you asked.

“Yes. And even if you don’t, that’s okay too.”

A knock sounded and the door opened. You didn’t bother looking up to see who it was.

“How is she?” you heard Jia ask.

“She’s okay. I’ve got her,” he said.

“Thirty minutes until the run-through,” she said. “You’ve still got to get your makeup touched up, Yoongi.”

“Okay thanks,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “Do you think you can make it through rehearsals? If not, I can call one of our drivers to come get you. Hoseok and I can lead the run-through.”

“You, lead a run-through?” you asked. “You hate dancing.”  

“Can’t you let someone do something nice for you without sarcasm?”

“Sorry,” you said immediately. “Yes, that would be nice.”

Yoongi turned back to his phone, but flicked his eyes back up. “Jackass,” he muttered under his breath. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. His eyes screwed up in concentration. You looked down and saw that his phone screen was indeed brutally shattered.

The short drive to the hotel passed by in a blur. You probably could have walked, but it was nice to have someone drive you.

Once in your hotel, you threw yourself back on to the bed and stared at the ceiling. When that didn’t work, you rolled over and screamed into your pillow. After that, you tried punching it several times in your rage. Over and over again, you slammed your fists into the soft down, finally picking it up and throwing it across the room. It hit the beige wall beside your bed and fell to the floor with an unsatisfying plop.

And when that didn’t work, you rolled off the bed and slid onto the floor to join it.

That worked. The floor was exactly where you were meant to be at that moment. You knew for a fact.

You ran your fingers over the rough material of the carpet. It was scratchy. For as nice of a hotel as it was, they sure didn’t break the budget for their carpeting.

“They probably figured their guests wouldn’t be the floor-dwelling type,” you muttered aloud.

Fuck.

Jungkook and Yeona.

You tiled your head backwards on the carpet, hair bunching under your skull, and looked back at the nightstand, observing how odd it appeared from this perspective.

What even was your life right now?

Were you okay? Really?

Yes, you supposed you were. But you weren’t sure how much more you could take after this. You weren’t happy with the level of work you’d been performing. You could feel your energy steadily going downhill, and you hated doing a sub-par job. It wasn’t fair to you or the company.

But you couldn’t exactly quit right now. There was nobody to replace you. A sub-par job would have to do, because you definitely didn’t have the energy to do a thorough one.

That was probably the only concession you could take. The guys were pretty capable of handling themselves. There wasn’t much you had to do by that point anyway. They’d hit their stride and were making far fewer mistakes than they’d made at the start of the tour.

You heaved another sigh.

If you had any sense, you’d quit. You probably should have given your two-weeks notice two weeks ago.

If it weren’t for the damn promise you made, you’d be long gone.

You thought back to Son and wondered how he was doing.

It can’t be easy losing a parent slowly like that. Not one as kind and loving as his.

You flipped on to your side and tucked your arm under your head. As much as you’d like to empathize with Son right now, you had to reserve your empathy for yourself.

What were you going to do?

“Nothing,” you said to the empty room.

You were going to do nothing. There was nothing you could do, anyway. You didn’t have the energy.

You stayed that way, laying on the floor in various positions for most of the night until you couldn’t stand it anymore and had to move.

You only got as far as the bed, however. And with nothing left to do, you turned the TV to a random channel, and dissociated in front of it for the next few hours. You ordered room service again, treating yourself to more than one dish, because that was about all you could do to console yourself at the moment.

Even then, you didn’t have much of an appetite and had to force yourself to eat.

This had to be the worst you’d felt on the tour. Possibly the worst you’d felt since you were still living at home with your narcissistic parents.

You thought you’d escaped these feelings when you left. You thought you wouldn’t have to deal with shit like this anymore once you got out. That your internship had saved you from ever having to feel this trapped in your own life.

You’d worked so hard to be here. Done things you were so, so proud of, as well as things you weren’t.

And for what? To be locked away in a lonely hotel room? Isolated from everyone? No support system outside of work? No life outside of work?

Was this really what you wanted for your life?

At first, it had been. The prestige that came with being a choreographer for a massively successful group made you feel like it was worth the effort. All the pain and hardship and struggles you’d endured. But prestige was only so rewarding after a while.

You thought back to your dream of opening your own studio one day. A dream that you’d pocketed as soon as you’d gotten this gig.

Did you make a mistake accepting this job? Should you have followed through with your original plan and opened your own studio? It would have been difficult, but would you be any better off?

You decided not to follow that train of thought, knowing it would only lead to feelings of regret. You couldn’t handle those on top of everything else. Not right now.

______________

It was approaching midnight when a knock sounded at your door.

You looked out the peep hole before answering. Yoongi was there, holding a bottle of liquor.

“Password?” you asked.

“Eat my ass,” he said. You chuckled and opened the door for him to enter.

His hair was damp and he smelled strongly of hotel soap.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he said, entering your room. “I had to shower and eat.”

He slipped his shoes off and made his way over to the desk, where he found two glasses. He wasted no time pouring two fingers of liquor in each glass, turning to you only when he was ready to hand you one.

You took it gratefully and clinked your glassware with his.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked.

You shrugged, “I’m about here,” you said, gesturing over to the mess of plates piled up on the nightstand next to your bed. “How was the show?”

“It was fine. Jungkook kept his head down. I think he knew he was the reason you weren’t at rehearsal today.”

“And the others?”

“I just told them you weren’t feeling well and needed to rest. They seemed understanding.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a sip of the liquor.

“Thanks,” you said. He peered over the glass still touching his lips. He must have sensed your earnestness because he swallowed thickly as he brought the glass back down to his side.

“Drink,” he said, letting his gaze drop from yours to the glass in your hand.

You followed his lead, sipping on the amber liquid. It stung your mouth. You weren’t used to drinking straight liquor unless it was in the form of a shot and you had a chaser.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked as you meandered back over to the bed.

You shook your head and took another sip.

“Fair enough,” he said, sitting at the opposite end of the bed and facing you. “For what it’s worth, Hoseok’s an idiot.”

You snorted, because as well-meaning as he was, Hoseok really could be an idiot sometimes.

“He really has no idea when to keep his mouth shut, does he?”

Yoongi’s eyes crinkled, and he flashed that gummy smile. It was infectious.

“In Hoseok’s defense, he didn’t know anything about you and Jungkook,” Yoongi said.

Your face fell once again at the mention of his name. “No, I suppose he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” said Yoongi. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“No, it’s probably good to talk about it a little.” “What exactly happened between the two of you?” Yoongi asked seriously. “All I know is that you two had been involved, but then you weren’t, but then maybe you were again? I’m not sure.” Yoongi trailed off.

You took a deep breath.

“He came to my room last night.”

“What?” Yoongi interjected. “What did he want?”

You stayed silent, partially because it was hard to relive, but also because you figured Yoongi could infer it, which he did after a few quiet moments.

“Ah,” he said. “And I’m guessing you turned him down.”

You nodded.

“Which is why he then…,” he tactfully decided not to finish the thought and instead winced. “Yikes.”

You sipped your drink.

“That sucks,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose, trying to expel the anger that had once again risen up.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

You raised your glass and jiggled it a bit. “This is helping.”

He scooted closer to you, hugging your calves and resting his chin on your bent knee.

You pressed your toes into his outer thigh and wiggled them affectionately.  

He pressed his lips to your knee. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

You held eye contact with him, and from the look on his face, you knew he could see the grief on yours. You shared a quiet moment of understanding, aware that he, too, probably often wondered whether or not he’d made the right choice in coming here.

He squeezed the back of your calf, letting you know in his own way that he was here for you. You had half a mind to say ‘fuck the rules’ and plant your lips onto his, but you knew it would be putting a band-aid over a broken arm at best.

Besides, you couldn’t turn Jungkook down and then immediately hook up with Yoongi the next day. Even if Yoongi would be healthier for you, it would make you just as bad as Jungkook, if not worse. And you were tired of self-destruction.

Yoongi stared at your thigh, the grip he had on the back of your calf tightened infinitesimally and you got the sense he was thinking the same thing.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you felt your resolve waver. You had a feeling that even if you did make this mistake, you’d somehow find it in you to forgive yourself.

You shifted the slightest bit closer to him when there was another knock on the door.

Your heart jumped to your throat and you and Yoongi both moved away from one another.

It was just as well. Best not to poke the bear.

“Coming,” you called, tearing your eyes away from Yoongi. You got off the bed to answer, this time forgetting to check the peep hole and just answering. It was Jia.

“Hey,” she said, marching past you and into your room, two bottles of wine and two wine glasses clutched in her hands. She took one look at Yoongi, who was straightening the legs of his dark jeans nervously, and glanced back to you. “I see someone already beat me here.”

“He wanted to see if I was okay.”

She nodded, “Sure.”

You could tell she didn’t quite believe you but chose to hold her tongue. She was right not to. If she hadn’t shown up, you couldn’t honestly say with complete certainty that nothing would have happened.  

“So, I was thinking maybe you could use some company to get your mind off things. Anyone up for a drinking game?” she asked.

You looked back at Yoongi and he shrugged. “Why not?”

“Okay,” she said, pouring herself a glass of wine. “It’s like ‘put a finger down’ except it’s ‘take a drink if’. We’ll go around the room. I’ll start.”

She took a drink. You narrowed your eyes. “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink unti—,”

“—Take a drink if you’ve ever fucked on a boat.”

After a few moments without any movement, Jia took a drink.

“When was that?” you asked.

“I had this rich friend in college who liked to have yacht parties,” she said with a shrug and offered no further explanation. “Your turn.” She gestured at Yoongi.

“Okay, uhhhh…,” he said, looking off to a corner of the room. “Let’s see. Put a finger, I mean take a drink if you’ve ever done coke.”

You and Jia both sipped. Yoongi looked at you incredulously. “Once,” you said.

“How was it?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Meh.”

“She’s lying, it’s awesome,” said Jia.

Jia could think that if she wanted. It probably was awesome for her. For you, it just made you paranoid that you were about to have a heart attack and unable to shut your brain off. You were perfectly fine never touching the stuff again.

“Okay, take a drink if…,” you trailed off, trying to think of something. “If you’ve ever flashed anyone in public.”

Both Jia and Yoongi took a sip. You expected this from Jia, but you were surprised by Yoongi’s confession.

“Back when I was in high school. My friends and I were driving around downtown Daegu and I pressed my bare ass against the car window at a traffic stop.”

You snickered.

“Mine was for free drinks at a bar one night during last year’s tour.”

“That sounds like you,” you said. She grinned, holding up her drink in cheers before taking another sip.

“Worked like a charm.”

Yoongi snickered.

“Your turn,” Jia said to you.

You thought for a moment.

“Take a drink if…,” you trailed off, “…if you’ve ever been arrested.”

Jia sipped from her drink. “Shoplifting once when I was eighteen,” she said, with no further explanation.

You continued to go around in a circle, taking drinks here and there for things like getting black-out drunk, hooking up with a stranger, skinny dipping (that one, Yoongi had given on purpose, knowing full well what you and Jia had done in LA).

“Okay, my turn,” you said. “Take a drink if you’ve ever had a threesome, and no that one doesn’t count,” you said, as Jia opened her mouth to speak. She quieted and took a drink.

You weren’t surprised, considering how she and Taehyung had been so casual about it with you. You’d pretty much forgiven her by that point and it was water under the bridge for the most part. At least with her. You and Taehyung still weren’t speaking very much.

You were, however, surprised when Yoongi did the same.

“No way,” you said. He simply nodded.

“What was the dynamic?” Jia asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Was it two girls, or two guys…or three guys?” she asked.

Yoongi scoffed. “It was with two guys.”

“Ooooh,” she said. “Interesting. How was it?”

“It was good,” he said, and left it at that.

“What about you?” you asked, turning to Jia.

“I’ve had several threesomes. Usually with another woman, though I’ve been to the Eiffel Tower on a few occasions, if you know what I mean.”

Yoongi smirked.

“My ex-girlfriend and I used to invite men into the bedroom pretty often, actually.”

“I didn’t know you dated women,” you commented.

“Oh yeah. I actually prefer women, but every once in a while, I’ll have the misfortune of falling for a man.”

Yoongi snorted. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Did your ex also like men?” you asked.

“Yeah. I’m bisexual. She was pan. She liked men a little more than I did. We really enjoyed exploring different aspects of our sexuality together. We didn’t like the idea that we had to close off those sides of ourselves just because we were in a relationship.”

“Did you ever get jealous?” you asked.

“Of course,” she said. “You can’t avoid feeling jealous sometimes. It’s natural. You just have to work on managing those feelings. I wasn’t very good at first. I still sometimes struggle with it, but I’ve gotten a lot better.”

“I get that,” Yoongi chimed in. “I’ve struggled with it in the past.”

“How did you handle it?” she asked.

“I had to work on building trust. Not just with the other person, but with myself.”

“Oh?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “It was way back before I had even joined the group. I was in a long-distance relationship with a girl. Those kinds of things often lead to jealousy, especially because she had a lot of guy friends.

“With something like that, you learn pretty quickly that you can’t control the other person. Trying to just pushes them away.”

You thought back to how you had immediately run to Jimin as soon as Jungkook had exhibited the first sign of jealousy.

“You have to come to terms with your fear of getting hurt. Trust that if they really love you, they’ll do their best not to hurt you, and if they don’t, you have to trust yourself to be able to handle that pain.”

“How did it turn out?” you asked.

“She cheated on me.”

“Are you serious?” Jia asked.

Yoongi shrugged. “I survived,” he said. “I won’t say I didn’t develop some major trust issues for a while after that, but I’ve let it go for the most part. Long distance is really hard. Neither one of us was getting our needs met. Some people can make it work, but we just couldn’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said.

“I was mad at her for not communicating how unhappy she was to me at the time, but to be honest, I could tell she wasn’t happy, and I didn’t really do anything about it. I wasn’t happy either. In my own ways, I was selfish. I definitely wasn’t the perfect boyfriend, so it was unfair of me to expect that of her. Sometimes things just don’t work out.”

“Do you ever regret trusting her?” Jia asked.

Yoongi paused to consider the question.

“No,” he said. “Because what’s the alternative? Not trust her and demand to know her whereabouts all the time? Constantly accuse her of stuff? That would have only pushed her away faster and would have made me an even bigger asshole than I already was. I mean yeah, I got hurt. But I’d rather be the one getting hurt than the one needlessly hurting someone else because of my own trust issues.”

You frowned. You could have used that wisdom earlier on. You and Jungkook had both hurt each other because of your own trust issues—more than once. How might things have played out if you both approached it from Yoongi’s perspective? Would you be together?

Unlikely, given your jobs, but it still would have turned out better than what you were dealing with now.

“Okay my turn,” Jia said. “Take a drink if you’ve ever had sex in exchange for something.”

Your stomach dropped. You waited for either Yoongi or Jia move, and when neither of them did, you hesitated.

Did you really want to spill your darkest moments?

It was only fair. Both Yoongi and Jia had volunteered very personal information. After what Yoongi had said about trust, it seemed like the right move.

It was time to tell someone what had happened.

You sucked in a breath and bit the bullet.

You took a drink.

“No way,” Jia gasped.

“Can I ask what happened?” said Yoongi.

You nodded, but paused for a few more moments to consider just how much information you really wanted to divulge.

“I slept with my college professor to get an internship with Son.”

Jia’s mouth fell open. “No way,” she said.

You nodded.

There. It was out in the open. You refrained from going into much detail about it, still not sure if you even wanted to revisit those memories in front of the two of them, but you were glad you had finally said it.

“No offense, but I never would have suspected you to be the type,” Jia said. Yoongi stayed silent.

“Well, I guess I am.”

“Shit. Do you regret it?” she asked.

You shrugged. You didn’t see the point in thinking about whether or not you regretted it. It was in the past. There was nothing you could do to take it back.

The game went on for a few more rounds before Jia yawned. It was nearing two in the morning by that point.

“I’m going to head out,” she said. “I have an early schedule tomorrow. The stylists are all meeting to discuss some changes they want to make to the looks.”

“Thanks for coming over,” you said. “I really needed this.”

She raised her arms above her head in a cat stretch and then gave you a hug. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the least I could do.” Then she turned to Yoongi. “You coming?”

He looked at his glass, which still held a few sips of whiskey.

“You go ahead. I’m going to hang back for a bit,” he said. “Still working on my drink.”

She fixed the two of you with a skeptical glare.

“We’ll behave, I promise,” you assured her.

“Okay. See that you do. I don’t want any more drama in my life right now. No more drunken hookups. No more jealousy. Nothing.”

“Promise,” Yoongi said.

She surveyed you once again before nodding and making her exit.

Yoongi scooted closer to you on the bed. You rested your head on his shoulder, glad for some non-sexual physical intimacy.

“So,” you said. “A threesome? With two men?”

“Indeed,” he said with a small chuckle. “With Jimin, actually.”

“What?” you asked, lifting your head off his shoulder and turning to face him.

He tucked his lips between his teeth and nodded. “He would kill me if he knew I told you though, so don’t say anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked. You were in shock. Jimin and Yoongi in a threesome? You never in a million years would have suspected.

“It never came up. Besides, I’m not one to brag about my sexual exploits unprovoked,” he said.

“How was it?” you asked.

He chuckled to himself for a few moments, amused with how enthralled you seemed.

“It was a long time ago, before we had really made it big in the US. The group was on a month-long break after we’d gotten back from our first tour. Jimin and I had gone out to a nightclub in Busan with a few of our friends.

“There was this this one woman, who I think Jimin had known for a while. They’d fucked a few times before. He knew I was in a bit of a dry spell. I was dealing with some major writer’s block when it came to my music and had been feeling down and out for weeks by that point, so he convinced me to come out.

“She started flirting with me about halfway through the evening. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but in the cab on the way to the next bar, she started making out with me.”

He looked right at you as he spoke.

“Mind you, it had been so long since I’d had any sort of action, so my self-control had gone out the window as soon as she started kissing me.”

“Wow,” you said. “Was this in front of Jimin? Was he upset?”

“I think he was the one who put her up to it, to tell you the truth. Not that she wasn’t already interested. The three of us went back to his hotel room for an after party, but things started heating up once the others had left. We ended up with her sucking me off while Jimin fucked her.”

“Shit,” you said, sounding rather impressed.

Yoongi nodded.

“I thought it would be awkward, but honestly, it kind of brought us closer together. We crossed into new territory that night, and it forced us to have clear and open communication with one another. That’s the only way you can stay good friends after something like that happens. You grow as a person.”

You understood, then, why Yoongi had been so concerned for Jimin’s feelings that night in LA when he had turned you down, and why he was so insistent upon boundaries. You’d learned that lesson for yourself over the last few weeks. At the time, it had made you upset, but you’d developed a newfound respect for the rapper.

“And what about you?” he said.

“What about me?”

“Fucking your professor for an internship?”

You tensed.

“I’m guessing there’s more to that story.”

You nodded, taking a beat to figure out where to start.

“It was back before I had graduated from dance academy,” you began. “I went to this prestigious school on a scholarship—not a full ride, but enough that I could afford it with some loans. I thought I was real hot shit at the time. I’d been a prodigy growing up, and that carried over into my attitude. But when I arrived there, I was…let’s say I was humbled.

“Everyone there was just as good as I was, if not better, and I was under a lot of pressure to prove myself. Especially to my mom. She really disapproved of my career choice. She wanted me to go into something more respectable, like finance. Ever since my dad left her for my old dance teacher, she was really jaded about the whole thing. Called it a whore’s profession.”

“Oh my God,” said Yoongi. You nodded.

“So I was in my final year, and I was really overwhelmed with all the work. I had gotten sick that year and had missed a lot of classes, so I was falling behind and my prospects weren’t looking very promising for when I finished school.

“There was this internship opening up, though. It was with a dance studio in Seoul. I knew it was going to be my only real chance at landing a decent career after graduation, otherwise I’d have to go back to living with my mom while I paid off the rest of my student loans.”

Yoongi intertwined his hand with yours and stroked his thumb over your knuckles. You took a deep, steadying breath. Emotions you’d long repressed started to well up. You shoved them down again, determined to finish your story.

“The internship was through this one professor—Dr. Leung. He was the one who decided who would go. Kind of acted like the studio’s liaison. He was a real asshole. Was constantly tearing people down.

“He was never really terrible to me, though I thought I was lucky to escape his brutality. He wasn’t the most encouraging professor, but I was always quick to defend him when people complained because I saw him as tough but fair. He had really high standards, and rightfully so. He was quite the accomplished choreographer in his day.

“So I signed up for the audition. I practiced for months, even working with an adjunct professor to make sure the routine was really, truly flawless. I danced until my toes bled. And when I auditioned, I executed it perfectly. Not a single mistake.”

“And?” Yoongi asked.

“He tore into me. Ripped me apart. Everything from my song choice, to my form, to my choreography. He even hated the outfit I’d chosen.”

“Seriously,” Yoongi said.

You swallowed back the lump that had grown in your throat and nodded.

“I was devastated. I met with him after class the next day. Asked him what I could have done better. He said that he really liked me as a student, but doubted whether I could make it in the industry if I relied on my talent alone.”

“You’re kidding,” he said. “But you’re an incredible dancer.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I really appreciate that.” You got the sense he was just trying to be nice and supportive in whatever way he could, but you still appreciated the sentiment.

“What happened next?”

“Well, he said that he knew how hard I’d been working, and that he’d be sad to see someone as…,” you had to pause when your stomach churned, “…attractive as me fail.”

“No,” Yoongi whispered.

“He said that there was still a…a chance that I could get the internship if I…,” you paused again as your voice began to wobble. You swallowed hard and pushed it down again.

“Apparently it’s a common thing in the industry. A lot of people use their other…assets to get ahead if they can’t rely on their talent alone. So long as they’re bold enough.”

He stroked your hand again with his thumb.

“It was just the one time,” you said. “The whole thing was over in less than twenty minutes. And I don’t regret it. Lots of people have to sell their bodies far more than I ever did.”

“Did you ever tell anyone?” he asked. “Before now, that is.”

“No,” you said. “But word got out anyway about what I’d done. The entire senior class was pissed at me. Everybody wanted that internship. When my roommate heard, she stopped talking to me until the end of term. Didn’t even say goodbye at graduation. It was probably the loneliest I’d ever felt.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Yoongi. You shrugged.

“It’s in the past. Besides, I went on to get the internship and I met Son, and he helped me get to where I am today. I never looked back.”

“What about now?” he asked. “Do you still think it’s been worth it?”

You squeezed his hands. “I’m not sure anymore. It used to be. It will be again once I get past this tour and can go back to being the regular assistant choreographer.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re here,” he said.

At that, you softened. “Thanks, Yoongi. I’m really glad you’re here too.”

You left it off there. You didn’t want to go into too much detail beyond that. You didn’t even remember much of the actual incident. All you could recall was staring at the maroon walls of his office and waiting for it to be over. You’d had the foresight to get drunk beforehand so that it would be easier to go through with.

Yoongi didn’t stay much longer after that. When he left, he gave you a kiss on the forehead and told you to hang in there. You assured him you would. You’d been in shitty situations before and had made it work. You’d do it again.

That night, you tossed and turned.

You hadn’t thought about what happened with Dr. Leung in a very long time. At least not in that much detail. The fallout from your peers afterwards had almost caused you to drop out of school, but somehow, you had survived.

You felt better after having finally gotten that secret off your chest, but something was still bothering you.

Had it been worth it? Or was it all for nothing?

When you’d first made the decision to go through with the act, you figured you would be happier. You’d proven your mother wrong. You’d secured one of the most prestigious internships offered by your dance academy.

And now, you were working not just for the top K-pop group, but the world’s biggest boy band. Surely that had to count for something, right?

So why did you still feel so hollow? _________________________ A/N:  I am aware that this story has reached a pretty dark place. I’m very protective over the mental health of my readers. All of this empathy work is mentally and emotionally taxing, so make sure you’re taking care of yourself while you read this. I’m not going to leave this fic open-ended. I will finish it and I will make sure I handle the ending responsibly so that it was worth the dark places that we’ve visited while reading this story. Right now, the reader is depressed. She’s caught between a rock and a hard place, but she will find her way out of it. She just needs a little more time.  Please make sure you aren’t absorbing her emotions and carrying them with you into your day-to-day life. Hold space for her, and then let it go. Don’t become her feelings. It’s easy to do that when you’re left on a low note without any resolution, but the resolution is coming. Hang in there.  I’m saying this as much to myself as I am to all of you lol. 

[x-btsmfanfics]

Bold of you to assume I’ve moved on from Daechwita Yoongi 

[x-btsmfanfics]

Nobody tells you that 90% of being a fic writer is telling yourself sternly that you CANNOT start a new wip until you finish one of the old ones, and then failing to write anything at all as your brain sulks like a toddler.

[x-btsmfanfics]

Masterlist

Series:

 bts x reader (OT7)

–> The Choreographer  

Summary: As the assistant choreographer for BTS, you are often responsible for helping the guys rehearse. Professional and courteous as you try to act on the job, there is no denying that deep within you lies a sexual deviant, dying to come out. Everyone knows scandal would cost you your job, but sometimes the tension can become unbearable.

It’s too bad. But it’s too sweet.

Rating: Explicit

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt 7.1 | Pt. 7.2 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11.1 | Pt. 11.2

_____________________________

One shots:

coming soon

Drabbles:

BTS Member Sexual Analysis

[x-btsmfanfics]

he’s made of stardust and magic ✨

for @lesbianslovejhope the birthday girl ♡︎

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer

Jungkook x reader - poly! bts x reader in future chapters. 

Summary: You are the assistant choreographer for BTS. You are responsible for teaching Jungkook the choreography for his new solo number. The tension becomes too much. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Thigh riding, unprotected sex, expletives, forbidden affairs. 

Pt. 1| Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7

Word count: 4.5k 

“Okay, once again. 5, 6, 7, 8…” you said and watched Jungkook as he performed the combination you had just taught him.

“That part needs to be sharper!” you called out over the music. “Again!”

Jungkook let out a disgruntled sigh—one that was all too familiar to you. Having been brought on as the assistant choreographer a little over two years ago, you had gotten to know each of the members and their mannerisms fairly well. You could tell he was getting frustrated.

Jungkook, out of everyone, was the most hard on himself. He always wanted to be perfect, especially for a solo number like the one he was learning. He also didn’t handle constructive criticism well. But for all of that, he really did work hard, and he was a phenomenal dancer.

Mildly irritated, mostly with himself, he repeated the movements, that time flawlessly.

“Good, good,” you praised, and he flashed a handsome smile. “I think you pretty much have it down. Just keep practicing that one move to make sure it stays sharp. I think we can move on to the chorus.”

He stood behind you to watch as you demonstrated the next bit of choreography. His eyes widened slightly when you did the last move—a sensual body roll that ended in a hip thrust.

Keep reading

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer - Pt 11.1

Jungkook X Reader 

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with covering the lead choreographer’s position while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS. 

That was before you and Jungkook hooked up. 

Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and discover your own emotional needs.  Tensions have grown higher than ever and you can no longer ignore the ripple effect your actions have had on the group as a whole, not to mention yourself. 

You’re between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, Jungkook is everything you wanted. On the other hand, it’s the worst possible timing for the two of you to get involved, and it’s not just you who could be affected if word got out.  How will you handle the pressure? 

    Warnings: Angst, smut, self-medication with weed and (very brief mentions of) alcohol. We are going to be unpacking some trauma here, so find yourself a cozy place, put on your feelings playlist (use ***this*** if you don’t have one. It’s what I listened to while I wrote), and grab your favorite comfort beverage. 

Author’s Note:  Everything in this story is fictional. While I like trying to make it look as realistic as possible, this story lives entirely in my head. I talk a lot in it  about industry toxicity, but I have no actual facts to base it on and as far as I know, the label has been really kind to our boys. 

Masterlist is here There may still be some grammatical errors I missed, but just ignore them.  And, with no future ado, Chapter 11.1 (part 2 coming soon): 

________________________________________

The days blurred together.

Wake up. Rehearse. Make corrections. Sleep. Repeat.

Self-care was a balancing act. You had to take it where you could get it. Five extra minutes in the shower one morning. A salad here and there to counteract all the takeout. You relied heavily on coffee in the mornings to wake you up and weed in the evenings to help you sleep.

Even then, it wasn’t always effective.

Sleeping had become a new challenge. As exhausted as you were every day, by nightfall you’d be wide awake, tossing and turning for hours on end.

Your brain refused to shut off. Every night, it would replay each interaction you’d had with Jungkook, without fail.

Why? What was the point? The more distance and space you could get from him, the better.

That wasn’t the reality you lived in, though.

Instead, you had to see his face all day, every day. You had to interact with him during practices. You had to watch footage of his performances in the evenings to fine-tune the movements during practice.

When you came down to the hotel restaurant in the mornings for breakfast, there he would be, shoveling eggs and sausage into his mouth. When you had some free time and went to the fitness center for a workout, he’d be on the bench press, lifting more weight than anyone needs to be lifting.

And at night, whenever you closed your eyes to sleep, there he would be, eyes locked on yours, hands on your thighs, whispering his praises into your skin.

Keep reading

[x-btsmfanfics]

Shamelessly reblogging this all day.

The Choreographer - Pt 11.1

Jungkook X Reader 

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with covering the lead choreographer’s position while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS. 

That was before you and Jungkook hooked up. 

Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and discover your own emotional needs.  Tensions have grown higher than ever and you can no longer ignore the ripple effect your actions have had on the group as a whole, not to mention yourself. 

You’re between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, Jungkook is everything you wanted. On the other hand, it’s the worst possible timing for the two of you to get involved, and it’s not just you who could be affected if word got out.  How will you handle the pressure? 

    Warnings: Angst, smut, self-medication with weed and (very brief mentions of) alcohol. We are going to be unpacking some trauma here, so find yourself a cozy place, put on your feelings playlist (use ***this*** if you don’t have one. It’s what I listened to while I wrote), and grab your favorite comfort beverage. 

Author’s Note:  Everything in this story is fictional. While I like trying to make it look as realistic as possible, this story lives entirely in my head. I talk a lot in it  about industry toxicity, but I have no actual facts to base it on and as far as I know, the label has been really kind to our boys. 

Masterlist is here There may still be some grammatical errors I missed, but just ignore them.  And, with no future ado, Chapter 11.1 (part 2 coming soon): 

________________________________________

The days blurred together.

Wake up. Rehearse. Make corrections. Sleep. Repeat.

Self-care was a balancing act. You had to take it where you could get it. Five extra minutes in the shower one morning. A salad here and there to counteract all the takeout. You relied heavily on coffee in the mornings to wake you up and weed in the evenings to help you sleep.

Even then, it wasn’t always effective.

Sleeping had become a new challenge. As exhausted as you were every day, by nightfall you’d be wide awake, tossing and turning for hours on end.

Your brain refused to shut off. Every night, it would replay each interaction you’d had with Jungkook, without fail.

Why? What was the point? The more distance and space you could get from him, the better.

That wasn’t the reality you lived in, though.

Instead, you had to see his face all day, every day. You had to interact with him during practices. You had to watch footage of his performances in the evenings to fine-tune the movements during practice.

When you came down to the hotel restaurant in the mornings for breakfast, there he would be, shoveling eggs and sausage into his mouth. When you had some free time and went to the fitness center for a workout, he’d be on the bench press, lifting more weight than anyone needs to be lifting.

And at night, whenever you closed your eyes to sleep, there he would be, eyes locked on yours, hands on your thighs, whispering his praises into your skin.

Keep reading

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer - Pt 11.1

Jungkook X Reader 

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with covering the lead choreographer’s position while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS. 

That was before you and Jungkook hooked up. 

Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and discover your own emotional needs.  Tensions have grown higher than ever and you can no longer ignore the ripple effect your actions have had on the group as a whole, not to mention yourself. 

You’re between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, Jungkook is everything you wanted. On the other hand, it’s the worst possible timing for the two of you to get involved, and it’s not just you who could be affected if word got out.  How will you handle the pressure? 

    Warnings: Angst, smut, self-medication with weed and (very brief mentions of) alcohol. We are going to be unpacking some trauma here, so find yourself a cozy place, put on your feelings playlist (use ***this*** if you don’t have one. It’s what I listened to while I wrote), and grab your favorite comfort beverage. 

Author’s Note:  Everything in this story is fictional. While I like trying to make it look as realistic as possible, this story lives entirely in my head. I talk a lot in it  about industry toxicity, but I have no actual facts to base it on and as far as I know, the label has been really kind to our boys. 

Masterlist is here There may still be some grammatical errors I missed, but just ignore them.  And, with no future ado, Chapter 11.1 (part 2 coming soon): 

________________________________________

The days blurred together.

Wake up. Rehearse. Make corrections. Sleep. Repeat.

Self-care was a balancing act. You had to take it where you could get it. Five extra minutes in the shower one morning. A salad here and there to counteract all the takeout. You relied heavily on coffee in the mornings to wake you up and weed in the evenings to help you sleep.

Even then, it wasn’t always effective.

Sleeping had become a new challenge. As exhausted as you were every day, by nightfall you’d be wide awake, tossing and turning for hours on end.

Your brain refused to shut off. Every night, it would replay each interaction you’d had with Jungkook, without fail.

Why? What was the point? The more distance and space you could get from him, the better.

That wasn’t the reality you lived in, though.

Instead, you had to see his face all day, every day. You had to interact with him during practices. You had to watch footage of his performances in the evenings to fine-tune the movements during practice.

When you came down to the hotel restaurant in the mornings for breakfast, there he would be, shoveling eggs and sausage into his mouth. When you had some free time and went to the fitness center for a workout, he’d be on the bench press, lifting more weight than anyone needs to be lifting.

And at night, whenever you closed your eyes to sleep, there he would be, eyes locked on yours, hands on your thighs, whispering his praises into your skin.

Keep reading

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer -- Pt. 10

Jungkook X Reader (ish? With guest appearances from Jimin, Yoongi, and Taehyung. Also Jia. )

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with covering the lead choreographer’s position while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS. That becomes a problem, however, when you and Jungkook end up hooking up one night. Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and control your impulses. Yet temptation lurks around every corner. 

How will you handle the pressure?

Contains: Smut, angst, and some woman-on-women experimentation. 

!!!Trigger Warning!!!: Slight non-consensual (dubious consent) sexual activity ( I’ve added three bold asterisks ***  before and after the scene for those who want to avoid this. It’s not violent, but more of a misunderstanding and careless/irresponsible mishandling of a situation. Still serious though.)

Masterlist is here

_____________________________________________

Things had gotten progressively worse over the next week. You had stayed in bed all day on Monday, but that hadn’t helped much. All it really did was cause you to feel sore from staying in the same position all day and bloated from eating a bunch of carbs without doing any activity.

On Tuesday, you somehow woke up more tired than ever. Slugging your way to the airport at 4:30 in the morning, it was a cramped two-hour plane ride from Chicago International to Newark Airport, a long wait for your luggage (the boys were having theirs delivered to their rooms), and a bumpy, crowded van to the hotel before you finally got to rest again.

This time, the guys were staying on the penthouse floor, while you and the rest of the crew were on the lower floors. While it made sense to you, it still pissed you off. As if you needed reminded of your lower status.

You shooed the thought away as soon as you caught it. At this point, any clean room with a bed would do.

You finally got to your hotel room around noon. It was decent enough. You started to unpack, and realized you’d completely forgotten to do laundry. Irritation erupted once again in the pit of your stomach.

“Ugh, fine!” you said defensively to the empty room. You don’t know why you got so angry. It was nobody’s fault but your own.

And you knew that. You really did. But you also needed to cut yourself a break. You were doing the best you could.

Sighing, you loaded up a mesh laundry bag with all your dirty clothes. You made a compromise with yourself. You didn’t have to do all your laundry. You would do one load and that was it. Then you could go back to your room and sleep the rest of the day. You just needed to make sure you had clean clothes for tomorrow, and then you could finish the rest another day once you felt better.

Keep reading

[x-btsmfanfics]

The Choreographer -- Pt. 9

JungkookxReader (–ish??? Guest appearances from others.) Warnings: Smut/angst.

Masterlist is here

____________

Chicago was wildly different from LA. The warm weather and sunshine had been replaced with cloudy skies and frigid rain. Even inside, you weren’t exempt from the cold. It was chilly in the large rehearsal space. Everyone had to dress in multiple layers to keep their muscles warm while they rehearsed. You weren’t an exception. Gone were the tight spandex shorts and sports bras you’d donned last week. Now you wore large sweatpants and a zip-up fleece to every practice. If any of the guys noticed a change in your attire, they hadn’t commented. For that, you were thankful.

If you were being honest, you were embarrassed at the way you’d been conducting yourself. Looking back, it was blatantly unprofessional—not to mention obvious that you were acting out to get attention. Surely, it was time to turn over a new leaf. But even with your new change in attitude, you still couldn’t escape the consequences of your past actions. Namely; Jungkook.

Things were awkward between the two of you all week. Not on the surface. You remained friendly and casual with each other in rehearsals, but neither of you would look the other in the eye. At least, not on purpose.

There were a few times, like when you were running through warmups or watching them rehearse different numbers, where you would find yourself watching him. He’d be stretching his quads or focusing on a complex set of movements and suddenly he would latch on to your gaze. You’d hold eye contact for a split second, and then just like that, it would be over.

Each time it happened your heart immediately started pounding as if you’d just stepped onto a treadmill moving at top speed. Your body tensed up and you were in full fight-or-flight mode. You had to devote your full attention to steadying your breath so that you didn’t call any attention to yourself. You got surprisingly good at it after the first few days, though you still weren’t sure exactly why it kept happening.

Between rehearsals, evenings spent watching concert and practice footage, and staying out of trouble with Jungkook, your days were completely packed.

So, when Friday rolled around and the boys were busy with the press junkets all day, you were happy to finally find some time for yourself. You’d been so tense lately that you decided to get in a good workout, treat yourself to the hotel sauna, and then relax in a luxurious bubble bath.

It was nice to finally pamper yourself. You’d been slacking on self-care, and you desperately needed it.

As your body began to feel the first few licks of healing however, your mind grew restless. You sat in the bath, scrolling through social media on your phone for a while, trying out the luxury samples of shampoo and conditioner the hotel had provided, and shaving your legs (even above the knee), but eventually, you ran out of things occupy yourself with and settled for staring up at the ceiling.

For the first time in weeks, you checked in with yourself. And what you found was unsettling.

You were lonely, you realized. You’d been so wrapped up in work that you’d neglected your own needs. You hadn’t been able to see Jia all week, and she was currently with the guys waiting on stand-by for touchups.

Up until now, your closest friends had been the members and Son. It had always been easy with them. At least, it was before you started blurring the lines between work friend and fuck buddy. And now, with how touch-starved you were, you didn’t really trust yourself around the guys. That left Son, but he was all the way back in Seoul.

You missed him. He had been your closest friend for the last few years. And yes, he was technically your superior, but he’d always treated you as much more of a colleague and friend than a boss.

How had Son handled himself on tour? Had he struggled with loneliness the same way you had? Did he ever get tempted with any of the crew? Or was he just better than you were at maintaining professional boundaries and not letting his own impulses get the best of him?

You’d always admired Son’s dedication and commitment to his craft. You couldn’t imagine him ever letting anything like sex or dating get in the way. You knew he’d dated, of course, but he always seemed to be able to keep his work life and personal life separate.

You on the other hand, had always struggled with that. You weren’t even sure if you could call what you had a “personal life.” Everything seemed to blend together. All of your friends and acquaintances were people you knew from work. Even the people you slept with were from work. You’d devoted so much of your time and energy to your work that you couldn’t think of any real, concrete part of your life that didn’t revolve around your job.

You sunk lower into the bathtub, letting the water cover you up to right below your nostrils. The bath smelled like lavender and chamomile. You’d been soaking long enough that your fingers had gotten pruned, but you weren’t ready to get out. The water was still lukewarm against your tired muscles and getting out would mean being a Real Person in the World again. No, you’d stay in the bathtub as long as possible.

So what if you didn’t have much of a life outside of work? You were currently acting as the main choreographer for the biggest boy band in the world. That had to count for something. You should be proud of your accomplishments. Not many people can say they’ve achieved so much at such a young age. Besides, it was only for a few months, in the grand scheme of things. You could work on your social life when you got home. For now, it was okay to focus on work.

You closed your eyes and inhaled the soothing aromas again. Jungkook’s doe eyes stared back at you. Instantly, you felt embers spark to life in between your legs. You sighed in frustration, angry at the visions of him that kept following you around. Your body yelled back at you, demanding to have its needs met. And since it was just a harmless fantasy, you allowed it.

He was on top of you, one hand wrapped around your thigh, holding it up so that your leg was pressed into your torso, the other fisted into your hair, supporting his weight with his elbow. His gaze was determined, eyes locked on yours, practically staring into your soul.

Your hand dipped into the water and traveled down to the apex of your thighs. You stroked the area delicately. Your body sang out with euphoria, thanking you for tending to it.

Jungkook’s hair swayed back and forth with each thrust. His pink tongue darted out to lick his lips. His breath ghosted across you.

You added a little more pressure, circling your middle finger around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your other hand glided across your chest, slipping over your nipples. The nerve endings lit up like firecrackers, feeling extra attuned to the sensory input.

Jungkook pulled your hair, exposing your throat to him. He looked almost feral, with the way he was gritting his teeth and studying the way your throat expanded and contracted with each of your labored breaths.

You arched your back, speeding up your movements in time with the image of Jungkook. He was gaining momentum, thrusting into you with a new fervor. He slammed into you with as much force as he could muster.

There was a loud knock on the door. You jumped at the sound.

For a brief moment, you thought someone had heard you, but you hadn’t been making any noise. You could practically hear your body whine in protest as your impending orgasm slipped from your grasp and quickly faded back into silence. You groaned under your breath, now crankier than you’d been even before all the pampering.

The knock sounded again.

“Just a minute!” you called. You sighed and counted to three, before hoisting yourself out of the bath water. The chilly air bit at your skin and you threw on a fluffy hotel robe, trailing water all the way out of the bathroom and to the front door of your room.

Upon opening it, you saw Yoongi, still in full hair and makeup from the interviews, but wearing generic sweatpants and white T-shirt instead of brand-name and designer clothes. He looked you over, glancing at your cheeks, which you could tell were still flushed.

“Uh, am I interrupting anything?” he asked.

“No,” you said, a little too quick and breathy for your liking.

“Can I come in?” he asked, choosing not to focus on your strange response.

“Uh, sure,” you answered, stepping aside and allowing him to pass. “Just let me get changed real quick.”

Yoongi gave a sort of half-shrug gesture that seemed to say ‘by all means’ and you ruffled through your suitcase to pull out whatever warm, comfortable clothes you could find.

You changed in the bathroom, trying to soothe your anger and frustration at having been interrupted, and threw your hair up in a towel turban. You took a little extra time to ensure the redness in your cheeks died down before re-emerging clean and dry.

“What’s up?” you asked, rubbing some lotion on your face. You were surprised that Yoongi even knew where your room was, let alone had a reason for wanting to visit you.

“It’s been a long day. Do you have any weed left?” He looked exhausted and positively desperate, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Of course he would be looking for weed. What else would he be doing in your room?

“That bad, huh?” you asked, rubbing the excess lotion on your forearms.

“You have no idea.” He sighed heavily as if to prove his point.

You rummaged around in your carry-on bag, taking extra care to shield the contents from Yoongi’s view, lest he spot any of your undergarments or…devices.

“You’re in luck. I wasn’t going to bring it, but apparently it’s legal here too.”

You handed him two joints. “Keep the change.”

“What?” he asked, taking the joints from you.

“Never mind,” you said, realizing your joke hadn’t landed. It had been a throwaway, anyway.

Yoongi smiled at you, pocketing one and taking the other between his fingers.

“Care to share?”

You hesitated a moment before answering. Could you trust yourself with Yoongi? If last week taught you anything, it was that you didn’t always make the most responsible decisions, especially while inebriated.

But a louder, more insistent voice told you that you were lonely, and that you needed a friend to confide in. Besides, Yoongi had already told you that he wanted to remain professional. He stopped you from making a mistake last time (barely), but the message still came across.

“Sure,” you said. There was no balcony at this hotel, but there was a patio on the floor above you that had been blocked off for the tour. No guests aside from crew were allowed. But since it had been so cold, few people ever used it. If they had to smoke, they usually went to the hotel bar on the first floor.

You bundled up in a second hoodie. Yoongi borrowed one of your oversized fleece sweatshirts and you made your way down the hall, up the stairs, and out to the patio. It was deserted. You were shielded from the rain by a glass awning, but the wind still thrashed against your skin. You leaned against the railing and looked out over the city skyline as Yoongi withdrew a joint and a lighter from his jacket.

He struggled to guard the flame against the wind, trying in vain to light the joint. You moved to block the wind with your body, both of you huddled around the lighter as he clicked it again and again. Finally, he managed to keep it aflame long enough to light the joint and inhale deeply.

He passed it to you as you took a seat on one of the plastic Adirondack chairs. Yoongi sat down in the chair next to yours. You inhaled deeply and exhaled through your nostrils, allowing the smoke to billow out in two streams. You kept your eyes closed, waiting for the high to set in, and passed it to Yoongi, who did the same.

Yoongi looked stressed, you noted, as the now-familiar buzz settled over you. While not usually a high-energy person to begin with, he looked even more exhausted than usual. You’d noticed he hadn’t been as engaged in practice lately, either.

You waited for him to bring up the topic on his own. It took him a few more drags, but he finally did.

“I love my job,” he said, passing the joint to you. “I’m so grateful to be where I am.”

“I’m glad,” you said, taking a drag of your own. You could tell he had a lot to get off his chest.

“I’m happy that I have the opportunity to get my music out there. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” he said.

“Sure,” you agreed. You could tell there was a ‘but’ he was getting to. He did not make you wait long.

“But when I agreed to this, I didn’t know that I was signing up for…all…this.” He made a vague hand gesture.

“The tour?”

“No, I expected to tour. I just didn’t realize I’d be shuttled around day after day, having to wake up early and do interviews, one after another. Answer the same questions over and over and sit in a makeup chair for hours and wear all these crazy costumes. It’s just so not me.”

You took another drag and handed it back to him.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I don’t imagine it would be very fun.”

You couldn’t really relate to his experience exactly, but you had a sort of idea what he was feeling. You’d been struggling to get excited about your job recently as well. It had started feeling a lot more like a chore than a passion.

“You know my second mixtape has basically been ready for over a year now?” he said. “The label won’t let me release it until after the tour because they want to focus on the current tour. And I mean, from a marketing standpoint, I get it. But it also feels like it’s kind of getting pushed to the side. By this point, I’ve written enough songs for a third, fourth, and fifth album.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, not sure what else to say.

“Getting my solo music out there was the reason I agreed to stay in the band when it switched from a hip-hop group to a K-pop group. I was ready to walk, but they said they’d promote my solo work if I stayed.”

He took another long drag from the joint. It was already half-spent by that point. Your heart went out to Yoongi. He had certainly agreed to quite a lot of compromises for the sake of his music.

“Are you going to say anything to them?” you asked.

“Probably not,” he said with a sigh. “There’s not really much I can do about it, anyway. They’re in charge of all the release dates. I agreed to it when I signed the contract. I should have fought for more control over my music before I signed. I was naïve and desperate.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?”

He shook his head. “It’s too late now.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

Yoongi didn’t say anything else for a while. You were both content to just sit there, taking in the slowly-darkening night sky. The city lights were pretty from where you were. The hotel was far from downtown Chicago, but it offered you a decent view of the skyline and the large lake beyond it. The water glittered in the setting sun. The entire city was cast in a pink and orange glow. Big, fluffy cumulonimbus clouds rolled across the sky. Pink on the bottom, transitioning to a deep blue gray around the edges. In the distance, you could see an incoming storm.

“Did you always want to become a choreographer?” he asked.

“In a sense,” you said. “My dream was to open my own dance studio one day.”

“What happened?” he asked.

You considered whether or not you wanted to tell him the full story, but thought better of it. He didn’t need to hear everything that went on between you and your professor.

“I’d done an internship with Son back when I was in dance school. That was when he was at a different company. We became pretty good friends during the internship. I was really sad when he left the old company to come here, but we still stayed in touch. Eventually, he determined he needed an assistant and reached out to me. I had to submit my resume for approval and go through a few rounds of interviews and background checks, and they made me learn a bunch of choreography before they’d agree, but eventually they hired me on. It seemed like a good career move at the time.”

Yoongi turned back to the sunset for a few more minutes before he continued.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to speak. Your knee-jerk reaction was to say that yes, of course you liked it. You got to do what you loved, and make a pretty decent living out of it. But something made you pause.

“Sometimes,” you said. He nodded.

“And what about other times?” he asked.

“I guess it can get a little lonely,” you said. “There’s a lot of pressure to be perfect.”

“I feel that,” he said. You didn’t doubt it. If you felt the pressure of perfection, it must have been a hundred times worse for Yoongi, being the one out there on stage in front of the whole world.

“Do you regret joining?” he asked.

“Not at all. I sacrificed a lot to be where I am today,” you said, a bit of bitterness leaking into your tone.

“Has it paid off?” he asked.

“Not yet,” you answered. “But I think it will one day.”

“Do you think you’ll eventually open your own studio?” he asked.

“I don’t know anymore.”

The dream seemed so far off now. You were too busy focusing on surviving the next few weeks of tour, and even that seemed nearly impossible sometimes. You couldn’t imagine ever having the energy to run your own studio, not to mention the discipline it would require—something you seemed to struggle with more and more every day.

You didn’t say much after that. You and Yoongi finished the joint and headed back inside. Yoongi went back to his room and you went back to yours. There was a lot in that conversation that went unsaid. A lot that didn’t need to be.

By the time you made it back to your hotel room, it was late.

You thought back to your conversation about Son. He was probably awake back in Korea. It had been so long since you’d seen his face, or even heard his voice. You missed him. He always had this way of reassuring you whenever you felt insecure in your skills.

You opened your laptop and pulled up your video messaging app. He’d probably be too busy to answer, but it was worth a shot.

The chat window rang for what seemed like ages. You were just about to hang up when the screen blipped, and you saw Son’s smiling face staring back at you.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite prodigy!” he exclaimed. “How’s it hanging?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed him.

“Son! Oh my God, it’s good to see you.”

“How’s the tour been? Stressful?” he asked with a laugh.

“You can say that again,” you said. “You were right about what you said before I left. It’s been so fast-paced.”

“How about the crew parties? Did you survive?” he asked with a knowing grin.

“What did you hear?”

Son burst out into laughter, shaking his head. “I didn’t hear anything,” he promised. “I just know how you get sometimes. Remember that party we had at my mom’s place back when you first got hired at the label?”

Heat and embarrassment crept up on your face, but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You just about broke the table when you tried to back flip off it!”

“Give me a break, I was six beers deep by that point!” you exclaimed. “Besides, that’s nothing compared to the keg stand you tried to do on the deck. What did your mom say when she saw the railing?”

“Nothing. I was able to fix it before she got home,” he said.

“Lucky. She would have killed you,” you said.

“Well it’s a good thing someone kept their mouth shut.”

You both shared a hearty belly laugh for a good long while. You couldn’t explain it, but Son had a way of making you feel like yourself again. Something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing over the last few months.

The laughter died down eventually, replaced with a somber silence.

“How is she?” you asked.

He sighed.

“Really gonna make me talk about it, huh?”

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“No, it’s probably good to do that,” he resigned himself. “It has been hard. She hasn’t been improving, even with the chemo. Doctors aren’t sure what’s going to happen.”

“That must be scary.”

“It is,” he agreed. “It’s all this wait-and-see. It’d be easier if I knew one way or another. Then I could start mentally preparing myself. The hardest part is just not knowing. One day she seems like she has a lot of energy, the next, she’s sicker than she’s been in weeks.”

Your heart sank. Son’s mother had always welcomed you as if you were part of the family. She insisted on taking care of you whenever you were around. You have fond memories of laughing with the two of them while she taught you how to make some of her family recipes or telling stories about all the trouble he used to give her growing up. You’d give anything to repay that kindness.

“I’m so sorry. I really wish I could be there.”

“Honestly,” he said, “just you stepping in during the tour helps more than you even know. It’s been a blessing to be able to spend this time with her. She’s been there for me countless times, and I’m just happy that I can be there for her now. As shitty as the circumstances are, that is.”

Shit. Son was at home caring for his dying mother. And you were here, risking your position multiple times, and for what? Some cheap hookups?

What would happen if you got caught? Would they send you back home, too much of a liability to have on tour? Would Son have to stop caring for his mother and come back? How would you be able to live with yourself?

“I’m happy I can help,” you said. “You know how much you both mean to me. Just hang in there, okay? We’ll get through this.”

You tried to sound hopeful, but you could tell that he picked up on the sadness in your voice.

“Thanks. I mean it. I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re willing to do this.”

“Of course.”

You fell once again into a comfortable silence, both of you feeling the weight of everything. Son was the first to break it.

“What about you?” he asked. “Is everything okay on your end?”

How were you even supposed to answer that?

Yeah, sorry I can’t seem to stop getting fucked up and sleeping with the members. Not sure why. Probably something to do with the fact that I’m completely unqualified for the job and I feel like sex is the only thing I’m good at.

No, you weren’t going to open up that discussion.

“It’s like you said. It just gets lonely and stressful.”

He didn’t press it any further. Instead, gave you a sympathetic look and assured you that he understood.

“You’re doing a great job,” he said. “I’ve been watching footage from the shows and everything looks really good.”

“Thanks,” you said, but it was hollow. If he knew how much you’d been fucking up, you doubted he’d still feel that way.

You stayed on the call a little longer, but it was getting late and you had to be up early for practice. It wasn’t long before you were saying your goodbyes and hanging up, with a plan to talk again next week.

You went to bed that night feeling worse than ever. You had to stop risking your job. You just had to. You couldn’t let your best friend down. Not after everything he’d done for you. Not when so much was riding on the line.

______

The next night’s show was one of the best they’ve had so far on the tour. Everything seemed nearly perfect. The dance moves were synchronized with the beat and the spacing was more balanced than it had ever been. You watched from a special location on the side of the pit reserved for crew member, pride swelling within you.

For the first time, it really felt like you were actually accomplishing something great. You’d been working so hard for so long, and while they had been performing well in the past, they still encountered issues with spacing fairly frequently. Many of them would move through the choreography, blending one move into another without fully following through.

Not that night though. That night, they were flawless. You couldn’t help but feed off the adrenaline in the crowd and the energy the members were giving off. They nailed each number they performed. You could tell they felt it, too.

At one point, Hoseok caught your eye and winked. Perhaps this was a sign that you had made the right choice. As soon as you decided to take your job more seriously, the stars aligned and everything came together. You hoped that was the case. Perhaps you’d be more committed now that you knew what you were all capable of.

You stayed afterwards in the makeup room to congratulate everyone on a flawless performance, taking care to provide each of them with individual feedback, before joining Jia and the rest of the crew. They were all heading to the club, which had become a Saturday night tradition.

You were happy to go. You felt like you’d truly earned a night of celebration. You donned your purple sparkly clubwear once again and piled into the van with Jia, Hanyuel, and a few other crew members that you were getting to know.

There was Colin, an energetic camera man who had been raised in America and could speak perfect English; Li, a member of the stage crew who could drink twice as much as you could and still seem sober; and a tall, stoic man who smoked Marlboro reds and went by the nickname “Woozie.” Woozie rarely talked and you weren’t sure how such a reserved person had received such a lively nickname.

You were beginning to understand the appeal of going to the club. While on tour, everyone worked so hard and tried to stay so professional. At the club, however, you were free to let loose. Some of the crew members partied harder than you ever had.

It was much more than a celebration for them, you realized. It was a necessary outlet for everyone. At the club, everyone worked off all the frustration they’d accumulated throughout the week. An hour into it, and Li had already downed seven drinks, and was now grinding with one of the other members of the stage crew who you hadn’t met before. Hanyuel had disappeared off to the bathroom fifteen minutes ago.

The others were crowded around a table watching as you and Jia went shot-for-shot with Tequila. Knowing you had to be up tomorrow for rehearsals, you tapped out after four, but Jia managed six without so much as a wince.

Feeling pleasantly buzzed, you decided to make your way onto the dance floor. The music pulsed loudly. The bass reverberated in your eardrums and throughout the rest of your body. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, allowing the music to reverberate inside you. It came alive as you began to move in time with the beat.

You swayed your hips back and forth, feeling the rhythm settle down deep within your center of gravity. Back and forth, left to right. You swiveled, grinding down lower. The beat was sensual. Dirty. Bodies writhed around you. The music had you in a trance.

This was what you loved. Dancing. Moving your body freely. It was such cathartic form of expression for you. In this environment, you ceased to be the perfect, professional choreographer and instead became another stranger, moving in tandem with other strangers, uninhibited. Connected. Your heart was open. Your mind unoccupied. And though you couldn’t say you were happy, at least you were free.

You hadn’t danced like this for ages.

Most of your job involved helping others perfect someone else’s choreography. Other times, you danced freely to the music, but it was always by yourself. Never like this. Never writhing along with a crowd. A drop in an ocean of people. A thread in a tapestry. Part of a whole.

A pair of hands found your hips. You looked over your shoulder to see Colin drunkenly smiling down at you.

“This okay?” he mouthed.

You nodded.

It was innocent enough, you reasoned. Plus, you could use the release. The reminder that you were a sexual and sensual person, and just because you couldn’t act on that with Jungkook didn’t mean you couldn’t explore those feelings with someone who wasn’t off-limits to you.

You didn’t resist as he pressed up against you, grinding his hips into yours. You continued swaying to the rhythm, giving yourself over to the beat once again. It reminded you of some of the more intimate partnered dances you’d done back when you were in dance academy.

It had been awkward at first, to dance that way with other people—especially ones you didn’t know too well. But eventually it just became another form of dance to you. You were no stranger to getting up close and personal with another dancer. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d been in positions even more intimate than this one with one of your classmates.

Sometimes, their bodies would react to those sensations.

Kind of like Colin’s was right now, you noticed.

In dance class, whenever it happened, it was customary to just ignore it. They often couldn’t help how their bodies reacted and it was more embarrassing for them than it was offensive to you. You decided to give Colin the same grace you usually extended to the male dancers at your old academy.

You turned to face him instead, increasing the distance between the two of you a little bit so that you had at least a few inches of space to give him so he could calm down.

He wrapped his hands around you, traveling down your lower back. You draped your arms around his shoulders and found the rhythm again. You continued to dance, bodies moving against one another in synchronization. He rested his forehead against yours and you cupped a hand around his neck.

He slid his hands down to your ass to pull you in closer so that your leg was slotted in between his. You felt it. He was hard.

“Mmm,” he groaned as he rubbed against your hip. Your body tensed up. Your hands dropped from his neck to his chest, forcing some distance in between the two of you.

“I’m gonna go grab some water!” you shouted over the beat. His face fell.

“No, stay,” he said.

But he barely had time to protest before you were already halfway to the bar. You ordered a water and another shot of tequila. While the bartender went to run your card and close out your tab, you took a few deep breaths to steady yourself.

Where had that reaction come from?

Colin was handsome. He was nice. You enjoyed flirting with him and you could tell that you both had decent enough chemistry. Most importantly, he wasn’t off-limits to you.

Fucking Colin would make it so much easier to get over Jungkook—so why did you pull away?

You ground your molars together and looked at your phone.

No new texts. You weren’t sure what you were expecting. It was well past one in the morning. All the guys had probably gone to bed by that point. Everyone else you talked to was already here.

You tried to shake off your irritation, downing the shot and heading back to a different part of the dance floor, where you found Jia grinding on someone you didn’t recognize from the tour.

“Hey!” she said, abandoning her dance partner in favor of taking your hand and pulling you in close. “I saw you with Colin!”

She slid an arm around your waist while you braced your hands on her shoulders, the two of you dancing together while you talked.

“You should give him a chance,” she said. “He’s really nice and super cute.”

“Yeah?”

“I think so.”

“Maybe,” you shouted over the music. “I’ll think about it.”

“Awesome,” she said.

You doubted you would get around to actually considering it, but that was a conversation you didn’t feel like having.

You danced with Jia the rest of the night, feeling a lot safer with her than you had felt with Colin—though her movements were even more suggestive than his had been.

Where had she picked those up? Was it just the tequila? The last time the two of you went out together, she had not been quite as bold or handsy. And yet you didn’t react to her touches the same way you’d reacted to Colin’s.

By that point, the tequila had fully hit you and your memory grew a bit fuzzy. Your memory faded in and out, and you mostly recalled grinding on Jia pretty intensely until around two in the morning, when the rest of your group informed you that they were leaving to get pizza.

Colin didn’t interact with you much after the incident, whether because he was embarrassed or because he was salty from being rejected. You didn’t complain though. With any luck, he was really drunk and had already forgotten about it.

By the time the taxi pulled up to the hotel, it was half past three in the morning. You and Jia were still tipsy and had reached the giggly and affectionate stage of drunkenness, but a few of the other members had begun sobering up.

“Shit, you guys!” you realized as you reached the elevators. “I think I left my purse in the cab!”

“I think it’s still out there,” said Lee.

“Do you want us to wait for you?” asked Jia.

“No, you guys go on ahead,” you said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

You bid them good night and rushed out past the lobby and into the overhang, where the cab driver thankfully hadn’t pulled away yet. You startled him when you knocked on the door, but he was nice and non-judgmental about the situation when you explained.

You found the small clutch underneath one of the seats. Many of the contents had spilled out, and it took a while to collect them all. You ended up throwing the cab driver a few extra bucks as a tip for the trouble and made your way back into the hotel. The others had already taken the elevator upstairs, so you waited alone for it to come back to the first floor.

It had been a long night. You were still a little tipsy, but mostly just tired. The last shot of tequila may have been a mistake. It was a good thing you’d gotten some food in you. Now you just needed a hot shower and a warm bed. And maybe a toothbrush, you realized as you ran your tongue along your teeth and felt the fuzziness of sugar and plaque. You could taste the leftover alcohol and grease on your tongue, too. Gross.

The elevator dinged, opening to reveal an empty compartment. You stepped inside and hit the button for the eighth floor.

As the doors started to close, a hand appeared between them. They stopped in their tracks and reversed, opening back up to allow entrance for what turned out to be a very wet, very shirtless Jungkook.

“Oh!” you gasped, still a little drunk.

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. You moved aside to provide him with ample room. Probably more than was necessary.

“I just didn’t expect you to be awake.” Or shirtless.

The elevator door closed. He pressed the button for the ninth floor. He was on a different floor from you this time. That must be why you hadn’t seen him in the halls at all this week.

The door closed and the elevator lurched upward.

Don’t look at him.

Don’t look at him.

You glanced out of the corner of your eye. He stared straight ahead. He had draped a towel around his neck, but it apparently hadn’t done a very good job considering how well his chest reflected the fluorescent lights in the elevator. His hair dripped down onto his shoulders. Water droplets trailed down his back and arms. He wore yellow swim trunks and nothing else. He looked bigger than normal in the tiny space. It was almost unfair how big he was. You looked away before he could catch you.

“Have fun tonight?” he asked, still looking straight ahead.

“Yeah,” you said. “They had a great DJ.”

“Cool,” said Jungkook.

The ascent was slow. The time between each floor felt twice as long as any other elevator you could remember riding.

“Nice night for a swim,” you commented.

“Yeah,” he said.

Jesus Christ, how long does it take to go eight floors?

“You look nice,” he said. You turned toward him, surprised to see he was looking right at you, expression unreadable.

“Thanks,” you said. “So do you.” You happened to glance at his chest before you could catch yourself and winced. “I mean, um.”

Why were you so stupid? You looked back away. He chuckled softly.

“Thanks.”

At last, the elevator finally came to a halt and the doors opened. You were in such a rush to exit that the heel of your stiletto caught on the frame and you stumbled a bit on your way out.

“Have a nice night,” he said softly as the doors began to close again.

“You too.”

And then he was gone. You slapped a palm against your forehead, mentally berating yourself for the absolutely terrible performance you just gave and stalked off down the empty hallway to your room.

You slept restlessly that night, replaying the scene in the elevator over and over in your mind. You had no idea what to do about the situation.

Jungkook said you looked good. Which meant he had been paying attention to your appearance. Did he mean it or was he just trying to be nice?

Jungkook had also looked good. You admired his commitment to fitness. Swimming at three in the morning? Who even did that? And it paid off, too. His arms were toned as ever.

Why had he been swimming at three in the morning though? Everyone else had already gone to bed by that point.

For the hundredth time, your mind went back to that night in his hotel room. Him on top of you, doe eyes locked on yours. A tingling erupted between your legs.

Ugh.

“Oh now you’re horny,” you said to the empty room.

Why now? Why not yesterday after you were hanging out with Yoongi? Why not earlier when Colin was pressing his dick up against you? Or even when Jia was grinding all over you? You were pretty sure she had hinted at wanting to make out with you at one point.

Sighing, you got up to rifle through your suitcase again. You figured you probably weren’t going to be able to sleep until you took care of it. You grabbed one of the expensive vibrators Jimin had purchased for you, feeling a twinge of guilt that you’d even allowed him to purchase so many things for you. In retrospect, it was obvious that there was some sort of catch. Jimin had always been a smooth talker and an expert at flirtation, but he turned out to be just as toxic for you as Jungkook was.

Not that you hadn’t played an equal role in making it toxic. You’d accepted the gifts willingly knowing that getting involved with him in the first place had been a bad idea.

But the sex toys had already been purchased. They were here now and there wasn’t much you could do about it, so you may as well get some use out of them. Besides, you figured Jimin probably wouldn’t want them back now.

You grabbed a dildo and a vibrator out of the bag, along with some lube, and tried your best to move past your guilt. It had been a while since you’d shown yourself some love. Sure, there was that moment in the bathtub, but Yoongi had interrupted it, so that didn’t really count.

You laid back, finding a comfortable position, and traced the vibrator around the outside of your vulva without turning it on.

What if tonight had gone differently?

You switched the vibrator on. The buzzing noise filled the room. God, it was so loud. You threw a pillow on top of it to dampen the sound.

What if Jungkook had kissed you in the elevator? You bet he would have wrapped his arm around your waist, soaking your clothes, but you wouldn’t have cared. He would have kissed you without saying a word. Held you up against the wall like he’d done back at the studio. You would have dragged your fingers through his damp hair, his broad shoulders and strong arms supporting you.

You arched your back, adding pressure to where the vibrator was situated snugly between the pillow and your clit. You dipped the end of it inside. Your pussy clenched reflexively around it. You needed more in you.

With one hand, you held the vibrator against your clit, and with the other you flipped open the cap on the lube bottle, squirted some on the dildo, and ran your hand up and down to ensure it was properly coated.

You pressed the head of the dildo to your entrance. It was bigger than the vibrator and didn’t go in quite as easily. You kept it pressed against you, enjoying the pressure until you were ready to take it.

You were back in Jungkook’s room. His mouth was sucking purple bruises on your neck. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head back to reveal more of your throat. He traced his mouth along the length of your jugular vein, nibbling every once in a while until he got to your ear. He took the lobe between his lips and tugged. Tingles erupted down your spine.

Between your legs, the head of the dildo slipped inside of you. You gasped as it placed firm pressure against your G-spot, tilting your hips back and forth for more stimulation. With each undulation, more of the dildo slid inside until it was fully sheathed. The vibrator continued to buzz pleasantly against your clit.

The dildo was bigger than you were used to. Jungkook hadn’t been quite as large or girthy as the manufactured toy, but the fake silicone didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. He had been smooth and warm inside you. His skin was soft. You missed the weight of him on top of you and the force behind his thrusts. But the dildo still felt good and was doing a pretty satisfactory job.

You pulled the dildo out slightly and pushed it back in to mimic being fucked. You tried to find the perfect angle, flipping over onto your stomach. It was difficult to support yourself while holding the dildo and vibrator in place, but with some fenagling, you managed.

Jungkook was behind you now. His head was thrown back, eyes closed. Eyebrows furrowed, chasing his high. He fucked you with abandon, pounding you deeper into the mattress. You weren’t sure how much more you could take, already approaching sensory overload. Still, he fucked you harder.

You were close. Your hands were getting sore and tired from maneuvering the toys. Your shoulder strained from where you were resting most of your weight on it, and there was a cramp in your neck. Your lower back was starting to ache from its arched position.

Jungkook slammed into you again and again, his fingers digging into your hips as he gripped them firmly, fucking deeper into you.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you whispered under your breath.

You came hard. In your vision, Jungkook came at the same time, spilling himself into you with a guttural groan, then rolling over and cradling you in his arms.

You collapsed onto the bed and eased the dildo out of you. You took a few moments to catch your breath and shut off the vibrator. You rolled onto your back, and stared up at the ceiling of the dark hotel room. As you came down from your high, the emptiness of the room grew more pronounced.

Everything was still and quiet.

Jungkook wasn’t there.

________

You woke up hungover, noticing the sheer size and emptiness of the king-sized bed. You groaned with the effort it took to force yourself out of bed. You would have given anything to sleep the rest of the day.

Somehow, you made it through the run-throughs. You worked on auto-pilot all day, taking breaks whenever you could and popping Tylenol like it was candy.

The guys, you figured, were experienced enough to know what to do. They didn’t require much instruction from you, especially after such a great performance last night.

You tried to make as little eye contact with Jungkook as possible, while still interacting with him enough so that you wouldn’t raise suspicion.

The rehearsal was over quickly, and they were off to hair and makeup. You paced around the back hallways of the stadium, unsure of what to do with yourself. You supposed you could go back to the hotel, but you’d prefer to watch the show from the sidelines so you could monitor how they were doing and make mental notes of any issues you needed to correct. It wouldn’t start for a few more hours though.

You avoided the dressing rooms, even though you desperately wanted to talk to Jia. You didn’t want to face Jungkook again. Not after having embarrassed yourself so much in front of him last night.

You wanted to see him though. You’d been thinking about him more and more. You missed him. Not just his body, but the dynamic you shared. Things had been different ever since the last time you slept together and you knew it was probably for the best, but it was still hard to see him every day. How were you supposed to get over him?

You found an access door near the back of the building and stepped outside for some fresh air. Woozie was there, smoking a cigarette and listening to music on his phone. He didn’t look up at you as you sat down with your back to the building. It was cold again. You could see your breath in front of you. The frigid air stung your lungs, but in a good way. You closed your eyes and rested your head against the wall.

This was harder than you thought. You’d be better once you got a decent night’s sleep, but at the moment, you were struggling to keep it together.

“Want one?” Woozie asked. It was the first time you had heard him speak. Whatever you’d been expecting, it didn’t match up with the soft politeness of his voice.

He was holding out an open pack of cigarettes. You smiled at the gesture.

“Thanks, but no.” You were tempted to give an explanation, but caught yourself.

He shrugged as if to say ‘suit yourself’ and turned back to his music.

You smoked briefly in college. Usually when you drank, but stopped when it had started impacting your lung capacity. Dancing became harder and you didn’t want anything holding you back. You still smoked the occasional joint (more so lately than usual), but it had been years since you’d touched a cigarette. You were almost tempted to accept one from Woozie, just to have something to bond over. But it would be foolish of you to do that. You needed your lungs to be in top shape.

You heard them beginning the soundcheck. They must have finished with wardrobe and makeup. You had at least thirty minutes before they’d be back in the dressing room. You could go visit Jia now.

Your legs didn’t want to move.

Maybe you’d just stay put for a while. Enjoy the fresh air. It was cold, but your body had acclimated enough so that it wasn’t unbearable.

You allowed yourself to slip into a dissociative state, feeling nothing. Your body blended in with the environment. You didn’t exist. You just breathed. In and out. Inhale cold air. Exhale steam.

Thank God you had the next day off. You needed to curl up in your bed and sleep for the next sixteen hours. You’d order room service for every meal. You’d watch the hotel television all day and you wouldn’t leave your room. It sounded perfect.

You phone buzzed it was Jia.

[Jia: Where are you?]

[Jia: Colin’s been asking for you :) ]

Fuck.

Colin.

That was the last thing you needed to deal with.

[You: Not feeling well]

[Jia: Gotcha. Hope you feel better!]

You’d have to deal with Colin at some point, but you just didn’t have the energy to address that situation yet.

You’d certainly gotten yourself into a mess, hadn’t you? You’d been so eager to prove yourself, and now here you were, having hooked up with almost half the members, and now leading on one of the crew. What were you even doing?

Why did you think you could do this? Go on tour with two (now three) people you’ve had inappropriate relations with, one of whom you suspected you were developing feelings for? What had Son been thinking in even asking you to do this?

There was nothing you could do about it now, though. You were already here. You’d already gotten in way over your head and the only thing you could do now was tread water until you could get home.

You were so tired.

You heard the door to your right open and close again. You opened your eyes.

Woozie was gone.