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joonbird · 5 years

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Heartbeat | 9

➭ “You’ve always stayed far away from the Kingsnakes, the coldblooded gang that runs the dark heart of your city. That is until your life collides with the intriguing and dangerous Jung Hoseok.“

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: gang!au, angst, smut

wordcount: 14k

** warnings: Overstimulation and cumplay. Very explicit descriptions of violence including the use of a knife. Graphic descriptions of injuries and blood. Dark themes incl. hurt, pain, death, gang activity. Light derogatory language during sex, rough sex.

hi, before you proceed please know that this chapter ends on a major cliffhanger. if these make you uncomfortable, i suggest waiting until chapter ten (final chapter) is posted.

Snakes plague your dreams, wrapping taut around your limbs and sinking their fangs into your skin.

Since you started having the dreams, they’ve always appeared in groups - writhing bodies, a mass of scales. In your dreams you always drown in them, they suffocate you until you awaken with a pounding heart and shaking hands.

But in tonight’s dream, there is only one snake. The lone creature is directly in front of you, its body coiled up. It isn’t touching you or making any kind of move to indicate that it wants to attack. Instead it is frozen as if it is paralyzed. The only sign that it is alive is in the tiniest flicker of its forked tongue. Onyx black eyes lock you into place, and you are caught in its stare, trapped in place like prey in front of a predator.

It reminds you of something. Someone.

It reminds you of Hoseok.

You jolt awake, a gasp shedding from your lips.

Your face is dotted in sweat, and you feel your heartbeat begin to slow as you adjust to your surroundings. You are curled up in your bed, tucked into Hoseok’s chest. You can hear the faint sounds of the day beginning to break, birds awakening and singing their song outside your window, the houses that neighbour yours starting to stir awake.

You take a deep breath, placing a hand on top of your heart. It is hammering away in your chest, your palms clammy from your surreal dream.

You crane your head up to see Hoseok snoring softly, eyelashes fluttering with each breath. He looks completely serene, and you allow yourself a moment to look at him properly. The tension is beginning to release from your body, and you let out a sigh as you turn your head away and glance absently at the ceiling.

The birds are still chirping and the night sky outside your window is beginning to melt into a streaky, moody purple. It has been three weeks since the night Hoseok came home, drenched from the rain and sporting a black eye.

Every night since, you have had recurring dreams about snakes. It had gotten to the point where you had almost become accustomed to the confronting dreamscape, but tonight’s dream had shaken you up. You wince involuntarily as your mind flashes back to that one snake, its flat black eyes that had pierced you with its stare.

The dream has left a knot of dread that sits low in your stomach. You ignore it, returning your attention back to Hoseok.

He looks so peaceful like this, face completely free of any stress or pain. That evening when he had grabbed you and held you to him so tight that you almost couldn’t breathe, his body heavy with rain soaked clothes... he had felt like an entirely different person.

He had never held you like that before, like he was desperately checking that you were still alive. His entire body had been shaking, and small pitchy sounds were coming out from somewhere at the back of his throat. His voice had only steadied when he whispered to you that he wanted to be with you, that he was out of the Kingsnakes, for good. That night he had kept his hands on you the entire time, like he was afraid you would materialize into nothingness if he let go.

He had been so urgent. So desperate. That night he had slept fitfully, garbled, fearful nonsense words falling from his lips as he dreamt. And that had been the first night you dreamt of snakes.

In the three weeks since, most of the fear and urgency you felt dwelling within Hoseok has subsided. Hoseok never told you what happened that night, and you never asked. You sensed that it was something he never wanted to talk about, given the haunted flash of his eyes at any mention of the Kingsnakes.

So time passed, and although Hoseok seemed to grow lighter and lighter as each day went by, you felt the weight of uncertainty grow heavier.

It was over, Hoseok had said so, and you had tried to get your mind to settle and smooth out the creases of doubt you felt.

For the most part, each day had been fine - better than fine actually - as you and Hoseok had a new unspoken thing in place where you hadn’t spent a night apart in the last three weeks. More often than not he stayed at your place, you’d eat dinner and spend time together before going to sleep. Those nights felt safe and secure, even when he went quiet and you could tell by the broody set to his eyes that he was lost in darker thoughts.

Other nights you went for walks, fingers brushing against one another as you shivered in the night air and talked, slowly uncovering the little pieces of each other’s lives. You learned that Hoseok had been afraid of ghosts when he was a child, that he hated broccoli, and had his first kiss at nine years old with a girl named Sarah. They were such little, nothing things, things that in the scheme of it all just didn’t matter. You knew they didn’t matter and he knew that as well. But still - you both talked about the small things like they were important. Long winded conversations, teasing arguments, even just thinking out loud, you both seized whatever you could from one another.

Some evenings you went out, eating at hole in the wall restaurants or watching whatever blockbuster was on at your local cinema. You could tell Hoseok was on edge those nights, eyes darting around to see if any of the Kingsnakes that lingered around the fringes of your city would react to his presence. But when you did bump into them, they all stared right through him as if he were invisible. Hoseok didn’t say anything about it, but you could hear the unspoken words and see the way his shoulders relaxed. It was done, that chapter was closed.

You know it’s selfish in a way, to love doing this with him - ignoring the past and just spending time together like you were two normal people. You tell yourself that that quiet evenings that you have been spending with him are doing something in healing the wounds you know Hoseok carry with him. That it can’t be selfish if it’s helping him, if each teasing comment and silvery laugh of his acts as a balm to the soul. You tel yourself that you’re intentionally choosing not to ask the questions you want answers to, that you don’t need to know more about his past and what happened that night from tree weeks ago.

But now, at this hour when everything is uncertain, when day and evening are stuck in limbo and the sky is a mottled purplish grey - you can admit to yourself that you are being selfish. That more than anything else you want Hoseok, even if that means pretending that everything is perfectly okay.

The loud buzz of your phone interrupts your thoughts, and the light from your phone screen illuminates your darkened bedroom. Taehyung’s face fills your screen, a silly selfie that he had taken and set as his contact photo months ago.

You are surprised to see that he is calling you, and you carefully disentangle yourself from Hoseok’s arms as the phone keeps ringing.

You haven’t heard much from Taehyung in the last couple of weeks. Immediately following the assault that had happened at his gallery, you’d visited him a few times in hospital, always alone and at an hour when he would likely not have too many visitors. You had run into his other visitors sometimes, Taehyung was a well-liked man and had a lot of friends and admirers who stopped by to share their well wishes. His bedside table at the hospital was always laden with gifts, baskets of food and arrangements of beautiful delicate orchids. Everybody who knew Taehyung knew that orchids were his absolute favourite flowers. You can still remember the unexplainable sadness you had felt while looking at the fragile but beautiful flowers that surrounded Taehyung while he lay in that hospital bed.

During his hospital stay the police had stopped pestering him, figuring that they weren’t going to get any intel on the Kingsnakes from the badly injured but stubbornly silent Taehyung. The patient clipboard that hung by his bed listed out all his injuries: four broken ribs, internal bruising, a fractured jaw and a dislocated knee. The clipboard didn’t to mention the bruises that bloomed all over his body, nor the perceptible shift in his personality from happy go lucky to completely withdrawn.

Each time you visited Tae, neither of you mentioned the Kingsnakes, or Hoseok, or Ara even. It was like there was no middle ground to act as a bridge between you two, and no matter how hard you tried to reach him, he kept you at arm’s length. Back then it left you floundering, feeling lost and disconnected to one of your closest friends.

Since then you know that Tae has been discharged from the hospital. You have barely heard from him, save for a few late, vague messages. Your attempts to catch up, to visit him at his place, to talk on the phone: all of it has been carefully sidestepped. Ara is another story entirely, your messages to her always went unanswered, phone calls going straight to voicemail.

Your phone is ringing. You know that you should answer, but something stops you. Guilt, fear, uncertainty... you can’t place what is is but you let the call ring out. When your phone screen goes to black, you feel a twist in your chest. Since when have I become such a coward?

Your phone vibrates with a text message notification. The last message in your thread with Tae was one sent a week ago, you checking in on him with no response.

Taehyung [6:09AM] hey sorry im replying so late and for calling so early. Im doing good, injuries healing quickly

Taehyung [6:09AM] are you free tomorrow? Can we meet up?

You [6:10AM] glad to hear you’re doing better… and of course. I’m working until late but can do anytime after work! :)

Taehyung [6:13AM] okay. How’s coffee, 7pm at parole?

Your fingers hesitate. Fleetingly, you wonder if you should say something. Anything to stop things from being so awkward and tense between you and Tae. But you don’t. You can’t.

It’s like my situation now with Hoseok, you think to yourself. The sky is beginning to melt into blue outside. It’s no longer that dusky morning hour. I just want to keep pretending that everything is okay.

You [10:13PM] i’ll see you then!

The next day you arrive at the small cafe ten minutes early, hoping to have a few minutes to settle yourself before Taehyung gets there. When you walk in you spot Taehyung sitting at a small table, two coffees in front of him. It’s textbook Taehyung, who is always early to everything, dependable to a tee.

When he spots you, a smile flits across his face and he nods at the two coffee cups. “Cappucino, right?”

You nod, sitting in the seat opposite him. “Uh huh. Thanks Tae.”

He looks tired, dark circles feature under his brown eyes. You can tell by the slow, careful way he picks up his coffee cup that he’s still in pain from the injuries.

“How are you doing Tae?” You probe gently and he smiles at you, that same happy, effortless Taehyung smile that you know like the back of your hand. The smile doesn’t fully reach his eyes though and you know that he’s putting on a front for you, for himself even.

“I’m doing much better. Turns out broken ribs are a real bitch to recover from, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that actually - that it hurts to laugh, even?”

Taehyung lets out a small chuckle and then winces. “Hurts to breathe,” He says drily. The two of you fall into light conversation, before eventually it lapses into quiet.

You take a sip from the cappucino. The cafe you are sitting in is busy even at this time in the evening. Recognition hits you - this is the same cafe that I was sitting at with Taehyung and Ara all those months ago. This was the exact spot where you had been complaining about your boredom, talking about wanting things to change. This is the same spot where Taehyung told me he didn’t see me as a sister. This is the same place that I realized he cares for me. You can still recall the expression on Taehyung’s face then, the confident words and warm, easy smile. It’s a ghost of what he’s like now, pale face and sunken eyes, wincing as he gingerly drinks his coffee.

I got what I wanted all those months ago, you think to yourself, everything’s changed.

“I need to tell you something.” Taehyung’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “And it’s going to be hard to say it, but I need to, and I’d just… I’d appreciate it if you listened. Until I’ve said it.”

Taehyung is nervous. You’re not used to seeing him like this, hesitating over his words and so uncertain of himself. You nod, and he takes a deep breath.

“It’s hard to be around you.” His voice is quiet. “It’s hard because I care about you, and I’m really… I’m scared of what might happen. I don’t want anything bad to ever happen to you, I don’t know how I would deal with it or what I would do. Whether you’re in my life or not, I don’t ever want you to be hurt.” He looks down at his hands, letting out a sigh. “And if we’re going to be honest here, it’s hard because I’m selfish. Because I want you, because I hate that you’re with him, because I am trying my best to be understanding... but all I want to do is tell you that you’re making a huge mistake by being with someone like him. I know I should trust you. But I… I can’t let go of it. I can’t let go of what happened. I can’t let go of you.” Taehyung looks up and stares at a spot behind you, not meeting your gaze. You let out a shaky exhale.

His eyes are watery with tears as he continues. “I want to be a good friend to you but it’s just… this whole situation with the Kingsnakes is bringing out the worst in me. I know you said they’ve let him go, but I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. And I don’t know whether that’s because my feelings for you are clouding my judgment, or the nightmares that I’ve been having every night since they broke into my gallery are turning me into a crazy person, I don’t know. But something is telling me that It’s not done. That they’re not going to stop until they get what they want, and you’re being dragged into the middle of it. That no matter what, Hoseok will always be one of them, he’ll always be a Kingsnake. It’s driving me insane, and I… It’s making me think and act in ways that I’ve never before. You know I nearly bought a gun the other day? Me?” His voice breaks off harshly and he sighs, squeezing his eyes closed.

His fingers reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose, the creases in his brow fan out. You can see his lips moving, he’s counting his breaths, evening them out. You feel a pang in your chest.

“I’m going to go away for a bit. Travel, see the world, I don’t know. I need some space, I guess. I’ve booked tickets, that’s what I wanted to tell you today. I need time.”

Hot, regretful tears swell in your eyes because you can see the different emotions that are working across his face - the anger, the hurt, the fear.

“Taehyung…”

He shifts, opening his eyes. He’s still looking down at his hands.

“I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry about everything. You’re important to me. Ara is important to me. And I’m just sorry that you had to get involved in any of this. I’m just so, so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Taehyung looks up and offers you a small, sad smile. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t blame you. I just fell in love with the wrong person. Silly me, huh?” You can tell he’s trying to make a joke of it, but it falls flat.

You’ve hurt him, even though it was unintentional, and your heart twists in shame.

You never wanted to hurt him or hurt Ara, but somehow along the way you have. Taehyung’s words hang in your mind, I just fell in love with the wrong person. You wonder briefly if you too have fallen in love with the wrong person. If in another universe, you could’ve loved someone like Taehyung - someone safe, someone steady. But instead you’ve fallen in love with Hoseok - with the dark and terrible sides of him, the light that is slowly beginning to show.

Maybe i have fallen in love with the wrong person, you think, but how can that be when it feels so right? If everything was to fall apart with Hoseok, if the Kingsnakes were to wring the strength out of you like they have with Taehyung- what would you do? Would you leave, like Taehyung is doing now? Is Taehyung right - that things aren’t just as resolved as you are blindly telling yourself they are? That Hoseok will always be one of them?

You hate the questions that are bubbling up inside of your head and you try desperately to silence them.

“Taehyung.” You sigh out his name. “I want things to go back to normal between us.”

You know as soon as the words have left your mouth that things won’t go back to normal - the scars on his body and the memories of the Kingsnakes that are embedded in his mind attest to that. You want desperately to believe in Hoseok, and in what you have with him. Even if he was the wrong person to fall in love with, you are still in love with him.

“I want things to go back to how they were too.” Taehyung says quietly. “They will. I believe it. And Ara will come around. Give her time and space, y’know? I think it’s just one of those things that needs time for everything to heal.”

Your eyes suddenly prick with tears. “Okay.”

You know he’s talking about the two of you as well, and you both fall quiet. After a moment Taehyung changes the subject to where the places he wants to visit on his trip. You appreciate that about him - how Taehyung smooths things over, even when he’s hurting. How he offers you words of assurance even when he is in pain.

In the background of your conversation, you send a silent prayer out to whoever in the universe is listening, for things to heal between you and Taehyung, and you and Ara.

The two of you stay in the coffee shop for another hour, light and meaningless conversation that acts as a gloss for what you are both feeling. Eventually the evening wraps up and you bid your final farewells.

Taehyung - a broken man, brutally snapped into pieces of he used to be. You - a woman who has questions that she’s too afraid to answer.

You fish under the doormat for Hoseok’s spare key. The house is silent, and you’re grateful for the quiet as you hang up your coat and head into the living room. Hoseok is sprawled out on his couch. By the soft snores he lets out with each breath, you can tell that he is fast asleep. You perch yourself on the edge of the couch, next to Hoseok’s body.

The entire walk home from the coffee you have been unable to get rid of the unease lodged in your chest. It isn’t until now that you feel that tightness begin to fade. Letting out a burdened sigh, you reach out and gingerly brush the hair away from Hoseok’s eyes, deep in thought.

“Hey.” Hoseok’s voice is thick and groggy, his eyes still closed as his clears his throat, “Are you just sitting there watching me sleep?”

You continue brushing your hand over Hoseok’s forehead, carding your fingers through his hair. He leans in to the touch, and you smile.

“Maybe. Can’t help it, you just look so cute when you’re sleeping.”

Your voice is teasing, he lets out a scoff, and a “Creepy much?” but his words have no bite. Not like they did when you first met him.

Instead of muttering out a retort, which is the expected Hoseok response, he keeps his eyes closed and lets out a long yawn.

“Mm… feels nice.” He mumbles at the soothing movements of your fingers. You can see him unwind from just the tips of your fingers, and you smile at the sight of him so relaxed.

“How was seeing Taehyung?” His voice is carefully neutral as he poses the question, his face doesn’t give anything away. You let out a noncommittal hum.

“It was okay.” You say quietly, and he opens his eyes, eyeing you down. You shift in place, knowing that he is staring at you and trying to decipher answers from the troubled purse of your lips.

“Oh? What did he have to tell you then?”

You shrug, raking your nails softly over his temples. “He’s going away for a while to travel, and he said he wants some space from me while he’s gone. I think I really hurt him.”

Neither of you speak. Hoseok reaches out, pulls you down and onto the couch properly. You obediently wriggle down so that you are lying next to him, hands clasped in front of you. Your face is mere inches away from Hoseok’s, you can feel the wisp of his breath on your cheeks.

“He’ll get over it.” He says gruffly, and the two you share a fleeting glance before Hoseok pulls you in closer, enough to mumble into the tiniest space that separates the two of you, “Just give him time.”

You make a tiny murmur at his words, words that nearly mirror what Taehyung had said to you exactly.

“Time and space, huh?” You say aloud, more to yourself than to him. You catch Hoseok looking at you with an indecipherable expression on his face and you waver. “Does time and space really work, though?”

A wry smile tugs at Hoseok’s features. “Well. It didn’t exactly work for me. So I guess I can’t really talk.”

You tilt your head back to look at him properly. “Hm? And what do you mean by that?”

He shrugs. “When I first met you, it just felt like no matter how much time or space away that I tried to take, it didn’t do anything but make me want you more. It was annoying.”

You can’t help the small coquettish laugh that bubbles out of you from hearing Hoseok’s muttered words. Hoseok lets out a huff. “He’s different to me though. He’ll be fine. He’ll get over it. Unless… you don’t want him to?”

He throws out the question casually but it’s a carefully placed one, one that makes you tense up briefly.

“No, that’s not it. I just want things to get back to normal between me and Tae. And me and Ara too.” You hesitate, sneaking a glance at Hoseok. He’s looking directly at you with dark, challenging eyes. The words come out in a burst of courage.

“P-plus, the only one I want is you, anyway.”

Neither of you move. You know he’s not dense, that he’s completely aware of what you’re subtly implying, what conversation you’re dancing around. It’s funny how small of an issue it had been during all your past relationships - a quick conversation that defined the borders of a relationship, the assigned title of boyfriend and girlfriend, you always blurting out the words ‘I love you’ like they were any other. With Hoseok, everything is flipped. Everything is more intense, more vivid, like the saturation and vibrancy has been turned up in volume. Saying the words ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel meaningless, at least not when it comes to Jung Hoseok.

Hoseok reaches forward with his hand and crooks his pinky through yours, meeting your hand where it is still folded into your chest, above your heart.

“Well. You already know that you’re the only one I want.” His voice is clipped and short, but he tightens his pinky around yours and pulls you in even closer.

You burrow your face into his chest, letting out an exhale. It just feels so right to be here with him like this, crooked into his body, with your pinkies interlaced. Whatever doubts you had earlier ebb away as you breathe in Hoseok’s scent, relishing in the feeling of him tucked around your frame.

I just have to trust in you and trust in us. The thought flits through your mind and soothes your nerves. I trust you, Hoseok.

“Hey…” Hoseok starts, and you shift your body so that you are facing him properly. Your bodies are still cocooned close, barely fitting on your narrow couch. “I was thinking.”

“Mm? About?”

“Well a few days ago I figured that I should probably do something right? Now that I have all this spare time. Like… I don’t know, get a real job, or.. or...”

A moment of hesitation.

“Or I don’t know. Community college or something.” Hoseok’s tone is brusque, he throws the words out carelessly like they are meaningless. But you can tell by the frown on his lips that he cares, that this has likely been simmering on his mind for days.

“I know I’ll be a lot older than everyone there, and it might be a huge waste of time but I dunno. It’s something I really wanted to do when I was a kid. There used to be these dance battles that happened late at night between different college crews. I’d sneak out at night and watch them dance. And I was just a kid, but they always seemed like they had it all together. They had it made, they were happy, they were...” Hoseok’s eyes are gleaming and he breaks off mid sentence, a wry smile wrangled on his lips. “They were cool. That was the big dream back then. Go to college, make my mother and sister proud, become one of those guys that I used to idolize so much.” The light fades from his eyes and his lips contort into a conflicted frown. “Before… everything happened. I mean, this is only an idea. God knows if any college will even take someone like me- I mean...” The words rush out and he frowns. “I dunno. It’s probably a stupid idea, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“Hey. You can do it Hoseok.” Your voice dips softly and you reach out, running your fingertips down his jaw. You can’t help but picture a younger Hoseok, a kid, all bright eyes and hope for the future. He’s still a part of him, as much as he had pretended for years that he had left that kid behind - he’s still there.

“You should apply.”

“You really think so?” He asks, his tone suddenly somber.

“Yeah, I really do. You should apply Hoseok. Seriously.”

Without even realizing, your fingertips brush absently over the tattooed snake on Hoseok’s hand. Hoseok looks at you silently and the vulnerability in his eyes disappears, he closes off.

He lets out a grunt and gets up off of the couch, walking to the kitchen. You watch him leave, a frown toying on your lips before you get up and follow him. He is standing by the sink pouring a glass of water, a tense set to his shoulders.

“Am I being crazy? For doing this? Talking about college and all that?”

His voice is harsh with irritation.

You frown. “You’re not crazy-”

“Okay, crazy was the wrong word… am I kidding myself? Would a college even want to take someone like me?” He scoffs derisively at the end of his sentence and your frown deepens.

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t-

“Because of this!” Hoseok’s voice cuts through yours as he yanks out his wrist. Your eyes track down to the snake tattooed on his wrist, you don’t speak. He lets out a loud, frustrated sigh.

“What college would take in someone with a gang mark tattooed on their body?” His voice is twisted in bitterness.

“If you got good test scores, if you do a good interview - which I know you can, then I don’t think a community college would care about your past, Hoseok.”

“You really don’t think they would care?” Hoseok’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Are you aware of this thing called reality, princess? You might want to try it out sometime, but then again facing up to reality isn’t exactly your style, is it? I mean that is what led you to me in the first place, right?”

You let out a hiss at his words, feeling anger swell hot in your chest. His words are sharp, they cut at a nerve and the sting that follows is searing.

“What the hell is your problem, Hoseok?”

He falls silent at your words and it’s only then that you notice his chest is rising up and down rapidly, he is blinking fast and hard - like he’s trying to hold back tears. Even now he’s struggling so hard to keep up that guard, to stay tightly locked up.

“Hoseok… What is it?”

He lets out a frustrated “tch”, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I’m- I’m being a fucking ass right now aren’t I? God damn it... I knew I’d fuck this up, I’m - I’ll stop, I’ll go- ”

You step closer to him, you place your hands on his wrists, stopping him. He looks down at you, eyes impatient and mouth set into a firm, determined line.

“Don’t go, don’t run away just… just talk to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

He freezes in place and for a moment he looks completely stunned.

“What?” He repeats, voice hoarse.

“Just talk to me, Hoseok. You can tell me anything. I’ll never judge you.You’re a fucking ass sometimes that’s true, but that’s okay. I’m a bitch sometimes, you’re an ass, it is what it is. But no matter what, I’ll listen to you. I don’t understand you all the time, but I want to try. But I can’t do that if you’re pushing me away.”

Hoseok stares at you and you can see his guard falling, eyes darting back and forth in a conflicted, uncertain way. Finally he sighs, the anger from before completely falls from his features.

“I’m not good with words.” He starts, his voice is shaky and low. “I know I’m not and I’m… I’m trying, I really am.”

Your fingers move down from his wrists to his, you lace your hands together.

“I know.”

His eyes are cast downward and he closes his eyes.

He looks at you for a long moment before he sighs again. “I just… I can’t help but think that I don’t deserve this. Do I deserve to feel this way? To be with someone like you… to talk about things like going to college? Do I even deserve to think about a future?” His voice breaks off and his eyes are haunted.

“I’ve done a lot of terrible things. I ran with the Kingsnakes for years and they were my livelihood, my family, my identity. I did whatever I was told and I never questioned it. Back then, I didn’t even feel guilty.” His eyes are full of loathing and you stay quiet, letting him continue.

“Do you remember that night when I came home in the rain?”

You could never forget that night, the memory of how tightly he had held you, the shake to his shoulders as he clutched at you still fresh in your memory.

“Yeah,” You say softly, thinking back.

“Well that night I stood by as Sungmin - Z - killed someone. He shot him right in front of me. And then he turned to me and tried to shoot me too, except there were no bullets left in the chamber.”

Your face slackens in shock but Hoseok isn’t even looking at you, his eyes transfixed on his hand, on the snake’s tail that curls up to his thumb bone.

“Maybe it was luck, or some twisted act of fate but he let me go that night. And I’m glad to be out but... it’s still in my mind, you know? Everything I’ve done. Who I was. I still don’t know who I am outside of the Kingsnakes. But that doesn’t matter.” His voice is rough and you realize he’s close to tears.

“I’m not a good person.” He whispers and his voice is choked. Painfully, it reminds you of that night. It all makes sense now, the pieces slotting together. You have so many thoughts running through your mind but you push them aside, reaching forward to squeeze his hands and do the same thing you did back then. You loop your arms around his body, hold him close and hug him.

“You don’t see yourself like I do, Hoseok.” You whisper. “The Jung Hoseok I know is kind. He doesn’t let many people close, but he never lets shallow things precede his loyalty for those he cares about. He’s clever, and bold, and stubborn as hell once he’s made up his mind. But that stubbornness is real, its human. And as much as he tries to act like he isn’t… he’s warm. He’s strong. He’s thoughtful. He’s not Hoseok the former Kingsnake, Hoseok the gang member. He’s just... Hoseok.”

Your sentence tapers off as you glance at Hoseok. You are so used to seeing Hoseok composed, in control of himself - but right now he is completely open, all big eyes and slightly parted lips, and a stricken expression on his face that for once, isn’t restrained in the slightest.

Something grips in your chest. Tightens and squeezes and refuses to let go.

“How? How can you say those things… how even now, do you look at me like that… ” Hoseok whispers, his voice vulnerable. His eyes are clouded with doubt. “Like I’m a good person.” Swallowing hard, he looks up and meets your gaze, your heart stutters and that feeling in your chest, in your heart, is ravenous and all consuming.

“You are a good person,” You affirm softly. Hoseok shakes his head, lets out a tiny scoff but the glow in his eyes gives him away. “Hey,” He murmurs, his voice capturing your attention. A long silence hangs between the two of you and the expression on Hoseok’s face is so tender that it makes you ache.

“Thank you.”

Hoseok steps closer. He’s standing close - so close that you can see the tiny constellation of freckles that dust over his temple, feel the hum of his body heat close to yours.

“It’s because of you...” Hoseok murmurs, “That I....”

He tilts his head, meeting your gaze. For a moment he doesn’t speak, but you can see him swallow, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat.

“Just… thank you.” He finally speaks, his voice lowering.

You let out a shaky breath. He is standing so close, that for a brief, fleeting moment you wonder if he can tell that you are breathing in a little deeper, needing more oxygen ,because feeling breathless seems to be a common side effect of being in the proximity of Jung Hoseok.

“Don’t thank me, I didn’t do anything, it was you who-”

“Ah,” Hoseok interrupts you, “You’re wrong. You did a lot. For me. You do a lot… for me and you’re… you believe in me, and I just.. I mean God, you’re so...”

His words are a little harsh and clumsy and they rush out in a jumble. There’s a flutter in your chest, a butterfly beat.

“I’m what?” You ask, and Hoseok reaches back, rubs the nape of his neck. His lips curve and he rolls his eyes, gathers himself up again and lets out a low “tch” right at the back of his throat.

“You already know, don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” You repeat teasingly, stifling a giggle because Hoseok is so flustered, a touch irritated as well, and it strikes you that somewhere along the line you memorized his subtle nuances. That you stopped putting up your guard around him, and gave him all of your heart.

“You’re… you’re great.” He says simply in a short voice, voice a little husky. “I dunno, the word great doesn’t really properly cover it, cover you, but I mean fuck, I don’t know. You just are. You’re great.”

The flutter in between your ribs gets stronger, you feel a twist in your belly, an ache in your chest.

Hoseok rolls his eyes and huffs, but his cheeks are tinged pink.

“Hoseok-” you breathe out, “-you’re great too.”

A rare smile spills across his face and neither of you look away.

And then he leans in.

His mouth brushes over yours - a soft kiss that is bundled up in anticipation. And just like you knew he would, he deepens the kiss. You feel his tongue lick at your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

It’s slow, intentional. Your hands curve around the small of his back, you revel in how good it feels to have him holding you close - one hand at your waist, the other caressing your face.

He pulls away, his lips wet and eyes wide.

“What are you doing to me,” He says wryly, under his breath, and before you can respond he leans closer, lips brushing against your earlobe, “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger princess, y’know that? I’m all yours.”

You shiver from head to toe. All the times you had fantasized about this, idly daydreamed about what it would feel like to have Hoseok holding you carefully and tenderly, whispering in your ear that he’s yours - none of it, none of the daydreams and fantasies you’d had, even minutely compares to how good it feels.

His mouth, working delicate kisses down the slope of your neck, fingers slowly massaging against your hip, working closer to your inner thigh. You can feel your heart rate quicken as the kisses against your neck get more urgent, his teeth nipping against the sensitive skin.

You feel so hot and wet and desperate that it’s all you can really make sense of - how badly you want this, want him.

You roll your hips up against him, curve yourself around his thigh. You can’t even control it anymore, you want him, so badly that a moan tumbles out of your lips as you grind against his leg like a fucking desperate teenager. But you don’t have time to think about it, too consumed by the wet of Hoseok’s lips against the dip of your collarbone, the groan he lets out as you rut against his leg.

The sound of his voice - a muttered, throaty “Fuck”, you can almost feel it as much as you can hear it, his arms tightening around you. He captures your mouth again in a kiss, this time it’s laced with nothing but want.

You can’t help the small gasp that leaves your throat as Hoseok bends down and picks you up effortlessly, pressing himself harder into you. Your legs are wrapped around him, your fingers clinging into the curve of his shoulder blades as he begins to slowly, achingly push his hips against you. Your gasp melts into a moan as his hips rock against you, tilting up until you can feel his rock hard erection against your core.

Even through the layers of clothing that separate you, you can feel how hard he is - you are lost in the way his breath stutters against your neck, the feeling underneath your hands of his shoulders as they start to tremble ever so slightly - perhaps from carrying you and pressing you against this wall, or perhaps from sheer arousal.

You whimper, wrap your thighs around him in a hungry attempt to lock him into place. Your body is wound tightly around his, but still you want more. With Hoseok, you are always wanting more. He obliges, continuing to rut his hips against you, at a rhythm akin to him fucking you, slow and teasing, like there isn’t the thin black cotton of his sweatpants and the lace of your underwear separating your bodies.

“Hoseok please,” You moan out, and Hoseok lets out a dark chuckle against the shell of your ear.

“Be quiet princess.”

He accompanies his words with another firm push of his hips against you. You shudder, heat pools over your face. You are so fucking wet, the lacy fabric of your underwear soaked. Hoseok knows it, you know it.

“Please baby, I’ll do anything, please-”

Hoseok claps a hand over your mouth.

His eyes glint as he smirks at you, lowering you until you are standing again on your own feet. He keeps his fingers against your mouth as he leans in. His lips trail over your collarbone until he mouths a wet, hungry kiss against the nape of your neck - your tilt your head into it, squeeze your eyes shut. You moan against his hand, it comes out muffled as Hoseok’s teeth nip teasingly at your skin, you moan louder.

“I told you to be quiet.” Hoseok’s voice is low and commanding, words hissed and throaty against your ear. He pulls back, you stare at him. His hair is messy, cheeks slightly flushed. He’s turned on - you recognize the hungry gaze, the way he licks his lips, stares at you like you’re a dish to be eaten, like he just can’t fucking wait any longer. His eyes scan over you and you moan again against his hand, he smirks.

“You want me?” He murmurs, he reaches over with his other hand and guides your palm until it presses against the tent in his pants.

Your fingers wrap around his hard length, you feel a deep, aroused knock between your legs.

“You want this?” He urges, hand still clamped over your mouth. You stare at him and nod, letting out a desperate, muffled yes against his palm.

“Can you be quiet for me?” He asks, voice low. You nod, he lets go.

Your breathing is heavy, you want him so badly that it’s beginning to simmer over your skin. His eyes flash, he tilts his head and bites his lip. Absently, you remember how he had looked at you after the first time you had ever slept with him - fucked him, really - with this same determined, hungry, intrigued stare. Well, not exactly the same - he’s softer, he stares at you a little more intently, his eyes nowhere as cold as they had been then.

He puts a finger to his lips, and you nod, he smiles.

“Good girl,” He says in a husky, approving voice and something dark and slick with arousal entwines over your lungs at those words, you gasp in a little deeper for breath.

“I love how good you are for me. That you do what you’re told.” He steps closer to you again and kisses you, it’s a slow and teasing kiss - tongue working over yours, hands cupping your ribs just underneath the curve of your breasts.

It’s a kiss designed to drive you even crazier than you already are, to get you more wrapped around his little finger with want - and then he breaks away, kissing down your jaw.

He kisses with confidence, mouth working a wet, slow trail down your neck, at the top of your breasts. Your breath hisses in as he kisses down yet again. You fight to keep quiet as he plants a slow, long kiss on the curve of your breast - only centimetres away from your nipple.

You can feel his breath over your nipple, it’s rock hard and you are painfully aware of how badly the ache is emanating from between your legs. He looks up at you, and a slow smirk spreads over his face.

For a second you imagine what you look like from his perspective - staring down at him with wide desperate eyes, lips clamped together to prevent fervent pleas from escaping your lips.

Only Hoseok can get me like this, you think, only Hoseok can get me so hot and desperate and turned on that I have to literally curl my fists into balls to stop myself from begging him to touch me.

The thought is running through your head like a spool of ribbon - touch me touch me touch me touch me - and then Hoseok’s tongue flickers over your nipple.

You fight against the moan that threatens to slip out of your mouth, Hoseok tilts his head back to watch. He likes this, watching the conflicting pleasure and frustration flicker over your features, knowing he has you in the palm of his hand.

He always has, since day one, since the day he fucked you in the bathroom of that filthy dive bar, and he likes this now, watching you unravel in front of him.

His tongue presses flat against your nipple and you tremble. Even though it’s the slightest of touches, the barest teasing of his wet mouth against your body - it’s finally some release and your back involuntarily arches. His lips curve around your nipple, and fuck does it feel incredible. You can feel pleasure buzz over you as he slowly sucks your nipple, lips gentle and teasing and intimate all at once, tongue flicking over you teasingly every few seconds, and then sucking harder with a little more pleasure. He lets out a moan as his other hand caresses over your free breast, fingers pinching your other nipple.

Fuck, you think blurrily, there is a hard thudding pulse between your legs, deep in your cunt, it feels so good that I might actually come from this, from his fingers pinching and teasing over your nipple, his mouth carefully suckling your other one, fuck I’m going to - your voice, a sharp, muttered “Hoseok don’t stop, I’m going to-”

You glance down and see Hoseok’s eyes looking up at you, a split second of surprise before he swirls his tongue over your nipple a little harder.

Fuck. You feel that familiar anticipation start to climb, your thighs involuntarily squeeze, you hold your breath as you tilt your hips desperately - you’re so fucking close. And then you feel Hoseok’s palm press against the top of your cunt, fingers feathering over your underwear, pushing the wet, soaked fabric into you, tongue still working on your nipple.

He lets out a little hum, and each stroke of his fingers elicits a groan from your lips. You are completely under his control, hips tilted upwards in a silent plea for him to continue teasing your clit with his fingers.

Your eyes flutter up, Hoseok is gazing at you with that dark, hungry expression on his face- like he wants to devour you whole.

You love it, you’re madly in love with this - the way he lingers on your lips, how he lets out a tiny groan every time you whimper out his name. Fuck! Your thighs twitch as he presses particularly hard against your soaked slit, your fingernails claw down his back but Hoseok barely reacts, transfixed on you. He doesn’t show any sign of slowing, his fingers curling upwards through your sweet flimsy cotton panties.

And then you feel it- a wave of satisfaction, of pleasure, of slow simmering heat and release spreading from your core all over your body.

“Look at me,” Hoseok commands, you barely flicker your eyes open as Hoseok continues to work his fingers on you.

“Good girl.”

Those words topple you over the edge.

“Hoseok - H-Hoseok-” You are shaking as you come, Hoseok slows his movements in time with the throbbing of your cunt, the waves of your orgasm.

With an elongated moan, you feel Hoseok leaning forward, finding your lips and capturing them in a long kiss.

“Such a good girl,” He croons, his fingers don’t slow.

He hooks your underwear to the side roughly, exposing your bare cunt. Your jaw is hanging open, a choked moan slips out of your lips as Hoseok thrusts his index finger inside of you.

You are so wet that is slides in with no resistance, his thumb expertly plays against your over sensitive clit.

“Hoseok-” Your voice is shaken and choked, it’s too intense - you can still feel your orgasm riding through your body, your pussy throbbing and clenching - but Hoseok isn’t slowing down.

His finger pumps in and out of you, thumb stroking your clit hard and fast. It feels good, so good that it’s overwhelming - the tension is immense and you let out a scream as your thighs clench desperately.

“Hoseok - fuck, Hoseok - God!”

You squeeze your legs together, it’s so fucking much that your head feels like it might explode, but Hoseok pushes your knees apart and you tilt your head back, eyes screwing shut. You can see stars behind your lids, vaguely somewhere you are faintly aware of Hoseok’s low voice murmuring out silken encouragement. Your back is arched against the wall, you are dripping with it, the overstimulation searing through all of your senses as the second orgasm builds.

“Fuck!” Your scream is mingled with desperation and pleasure as you collapse against him. The second orgasm was so quick, almost painful with how sharp and overwhelming it feels, and you feel Hoseok wrap his arms around you as he pulls his fingers away.

He showers your neck in kisses, you feel completely overcome by the sheer intensity of the orgasm.

Letting out a shaky moan, you burrow your face into the crook of Hoseok’s neck. He kisses the top of your head, fingers stroking through your hair tenderly.

“Too much?” He asks in a low voice, you know that he’s checking that you’re okay.

“H-Hoseok,” you whimper, your voice breaking over the words, you’re still not fully pieced back together in coherency as Hoseok presses a kiss against your forehead.

He runs his fingertips over your cheeks, skimming over your temples until they comb through your hair. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and he keeps his lips to your forehead.

“You okay?” His chest rumbles and you blink slowly, nodding. Your eyes are still glazed over from the intensity and overstimulation of two overpowering, consecutive orgasms, your legs still shaking involuntarily form how good it had felt.

“I feel amazing,” You breathe out, your voice steady. You pull back from his embrace, meeting his gaze. His eyes, darkened with lust but still slanted in concern, dark hair a little messy, hands still in your hair - something skips in your chest and you feel your legs start to quiver harder.

Even now, when you’ve been driven to the point of messy insanity thanks to his touch - even now when you are so undone by him.... You still want him.

His eyes scan over you quickly and a smirk twists at his lips as he recognizes the hungry keen to your eyes.

“Can you keep going?”

There’s a slight challenge to the pitch of his voice and you shiver.

“Yes,” You breathe out. Hoseok’s fingers tightens around your hair almost imperceptibly.

“Oh?” He asks, voice dipping lower. “You still want more? Such a needy, desperate little slut for me, are you?”

His voice is tinged with a hardness that makes you ache. You whimper, nod, gaze up at him with widened eyes and a bite on your bottom lip.

Hoseok’s eyes flash and he lets out a tiny groan.

“I love the faces you make...” He murmurs, “What am I going to do with you…”

He pulls on your hair, hard enough to tug you closer to him so that your bodies are flush against one another. He kisses you deeply, teeth catching on your lip, a kiss that is messy and desperate like you both have something to prove. He is tugging on your hair, wrapping your strands around his fingers like reins, kissing you deeper and deeper until the only thoughts running through your mind are drenched in filth.

You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, all too aware of how he slowly begins to gyrate his hips against you. He rocks his body like he’s dancing to a song that only the two of you can hear - slow, sensual beats that have you counting down in your head, whimpering with need between wet kisses.

“Hoseok,” You pant out, he pulls away, breathing ragged. “I want you.”

You stare at him and you don’t even have to muster the pleading, innocent look of pure need because it’s written all over your face.

“You want me?” Hoseok affirms, he bends down and scoops you up in one effortless motion. You gasp a little as you are swung into the air, over his shoulder.

He walks towards his bedroom, you can feel his shoulders shake as he chuckles.

“And how do you want me to fuck you today, princess?”

Hoseok pushes the door of his bedroom open with one foot, not bothering to turn the light on.

“I want you on top of me, filling me up… I want to see you enter me,” Your voice spills out as he lays you on top of his bed, your hair fanning out underneath you. He crawls over to his bedside table, switches on his lamp and the room is filled with a dim, flattering gold glow.

“Oh?” He hums, pulling the sweater off of his head. You watch, seeing the way his abs ripple with the movement, the curve of his shoulders and collarbones.

“You like seeing your sweet cunt stretched out over my cock, do you?”

You nod, a little moan escaping from your lips, you clench hotly in desire.

“God yes, fuck yes, I want it.” Your arch your back involuntarily as Hoseok slides off his trackpants and underwear, now fully naked.

You are still wearing your dress and ruined underwear, and with Hoseok hovering above you, bare body and cock standing up straight, tip leaking with precum, you feel a desperate sense of lust begin to heighten.

You let out a whine and grab at the hem of your dress, moving to pull it off - but Hoseok’s hands lock around your wrists, holding you in place.

“You want me?” He asks again, letting go of you and gripping your dress. He slides it up and off of your body, tossing it behind him as his fingers hook around your underwear.

“I want you so fucking badly, I’ll do anything-”

Hoseok’s eyes flash, suddenly, he moves so that he’s closer to you - face only a few inches away.

His eyes are dark, demanding and he tugs your underwear down, harshly almost.

“Beg.”

Your eyes widen. He doesn’t move an inch, eyes intent on you. It takes a moment for your mind to register his words, too focused on how close he is to you, the possessive smirk on his lips, the way he is easing your underwear off you completely, his demand for you to beg.

“Please,” You whisper out, and then again louder, your voice thready with desperation. “Please.” You tilt your hips upward, spread your legs, voice scratchy as you repeat yourself, “Please Hoseok, baby... please!”

Hoseok lingers, teasing you as he lowers his body, enough that you can feel the slick tip of his cock brushing against your slit.

He is so close to you, that you feel like you’re being driven completely wild.

And then Hoseok pushes in, not all the way, just enough to have you gasping out, desperate and pitchy breaths because you want all of him - and then he slides his entire length in.

You let out a groan at the feeling of him filling you up, stretching your tight walls. Hoseok is looking at your pussy, at how his entire length is buried inside of you, entranced by how when he pushes even deeper into you, you tilt your head back and moan. He adores the sight of you wrapping your legs around him like you want even more.

You, similarly, are loving this - the few seconds of adjustment that you both take, breathing in with ragged laboured breaths as you drink each other in. You let out a contented sigh, enjoying how good it feels to finally have him inside of you, relishing in the sight of him on top of you.

The moment of stillness doesn’t last long, as Hoseok begins to thrust in and out of your walls. He’s a little rushed, a little desperate and rough as he pins your wrists with his hand, leans down so his forehead is pressed against yours. He fucks you deep and teasing, a staccato thrust of his cock that leaves you wanting more.

After months of this, his body entangled up in yours - he knows every angle, every which way to press himself into you and make you unravel with want. You moan, letting out a breathy “Fuck!” with each slap of his skin against yours, each rough thrust of his hard, leaking cock that pushes deeper and deeper inside of you.

“Hoseok that’s so good, please keep going, don’t - don’t stop oh my God-”

Your voice cracks over the words and Hoseok growls, fingers locking around your upper thigh as he tugs your legs wider apart.

You are deliciously spread wide for him and with his hand still locked around your thigh, he fucks even deeper into you.

He is groaning loudly now, and your back is arching up into him, your wrist still pinned in place, leg locked in position. He has you completely under his control and the thought of that - that you are all his in this moment, that it is you who is causing the glowing spark of desire in his voice and the gloss in his eyes - drives you even wilder.

“God you’re hot,” He pants, eyes focusing in on you beneath him. He lets go of your wrist, hand reaching forward to cup your breast, caress your nipple, enjoying the way your eyes flicker in pleasure.

“Mm I could worship your body, you know… I want it to be mine.” He punctuates his words with a deeper thrust, and you whine out shakily.

You are close. You can tell you are from the small giveaways - a thrum that begins deep in the coil of your belly, the curl to your toes. Hoseok knows you’re close too, and he grips you tighter, fucks you even deeper. You know that the grip he has around your thigh is likely to leave a mark, but your hands reach up and tighten around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

You want more, you need more. Your voice strains around his name, around the dirty, filthy slick begging that is coming out of your mouth.

You, telling him that you’re a slut for his cock, that you’ll do anything for him, that your body is his, that you need him, want his cum all over you - filthy words that fill you with heat.

You suddenly tense, feeling your entire body tighten.

“I’m, I’m-” You chant out the words and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Hey,” Hoseok snaps, “Look at me, I want to see you cum.”

Your eyes weakly flutter open, you are dangling so close to release. So, so close.

Hoseok’s dark eyes meet yours and he breathes out, “I wish you could see how you look right now,” He murmurs, dark and delicious words meant to drive you to the point of release. “You look amazing, such a beautiful wrecked mess for me. I love it.” The words have something inside of you snapping - and your entire body folds forward, pleasure and intensity coursing over your skin.

It’s a deeper orgasm than your earlier ones, not as sharp and jolting - instead this one melts your bones into butter, sinks over you like a blanket, wraps you in a layer of euphoric bliss.

“Hoseok,” You whine out, your voice a little edged in pain from the intensity of it.

“I got you,” Hoseok murmurs. He slows down, holds you, and you are faintly aware of him peppering soft kisses over your entire body. “I got you,” He repeats in a mumble.

He doesn’t stop, kissing your eyelids, the tip of your nose, your chin, trailing down to your neck and your breasts and your stomach until he works his way back up.

He kisses you like he is starving for your skin, lavishing you with focused, loving kisses and it makes your orgasm fade out slower, gentle waves that wash over your skin.

You feel so good, so satisfied and so beautiful with each press of Hoseok’s lips up over your neck.

The final kiss is on your lips, your orgasm is ebbing away into soft tendrils of pleasure as he kisses you, gentle and slow and breathy. His forehead is dotted in sweat, his hair a mess, his breathing heavy - but he kisses you long and slow and sweet, and you feel as though you may fall apart for an entirely different reason right then and there.

“Hey,” Hoseok grunts, and you just hum in response, eyes still closed as you drink in how good this feels, wrapped up in him. “You’re so fucking pretty, y’know that?”

You don’t respond, you just squeeze your eyes tighter. It feels as though your heart is about to burst.

I love you, you think, the thought drums in your head louder and louder. I really fucking love you. It takes every inch of your will not to say it aloud, instead you let out a long sigh, opening your eyes and smiling at him. You shift your hips so that he can pull out of you, you wince a little - you are going to be sore later - and your fingers wrap around the base of his cock.

He is slick with your wetness, and you begin to work up and down his shaft.

“I want you to cum on me,” You whisper, enjoying the way his eyes widen, a reverent expression flickering across his features as his eyes dart up and down from your face to your hand.

“Oh?” Hoseok breathes out, his voice is ragged as his eyes hone in your petite hand, how it caresses up and down his entire length.

He loves it, how firmly you grip his base, how you work his cock with long and teasing strokes. He can tell that you are still completely fucked out, mind hazy with bliss - yet you are putting your all into it, putting your other hand on his cock to twist and slowly as you slide up and down his shaft.

He loves it when you put both hands on him, on all of his hardness, like you just can’t get enough.

“Where do you want me to cum?” Hoseok grunts out, and you meet his eyes, letting your voice dip into a sultry, dulcet tone.

“Normally I would tell you to cum wherever you like,” Your words are silken, and you take a moment to relish the transfixed look on Hoseok’s face. “But today I know what I want… where I want you.”

Hoseok lets out a groan as you begin to pick up the pace, leaning forward to place slow, lingering kisses in the shell of his neck and against his ear. Your tongue darts out against his earlobe, he groans loader, his cock twitches in your hand.

“I want you to cum all over my face.” You whisper in his ear.

Hoseok lets out a low breath, groans. You are still stroking his cock, kissing his jaw and sucking on the soft, tender stretch of his neck. You nip with your teeth, your other hand finds his nipples and stroke them gently.

Hoseok begins to buck his hips against your palm, and you smile to yourself. You love this - having things reversed, having him be the one to pant out your name and writhe under your touch.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy…” Hoseok moans out. “Fuck! That’s so fucking hot, you’re so fucking hot...” His voice is shaky and you can tell by the tremble in his thighs that he is close.

He reaches to you, snakes an arm around your waist and just holds you. “I…” Hoseok breathes out, “I wanna look at you, please-”

You draw back, eyes meeting his. His face is flushed, eyes dilated, bottom lip caught in his teeth. He stares at you with a wild, lust-driven expression on his face.

“I could do this all day,” He mutters, you are still pumping his shaft up and down, his eyelids flicker - he is close, you can tell. “I could look at you all day - fuck! I’m close-”

You pull back and shuffle down so that your face is by the base of his cock. He cranes his head forward to stare at you, you smile at him - and he lets out a long groan.

Hoseok tips his head back and grits his jaw and ropes of cum shoot out of the pink, glossy head of his dick, all over your face. You instinctively close your eyes, feeling his seed all over your cheeks, on your lips, everywhere. He groans loudly with his orgasm, thighs twitching from under your palms.

You open your eyes to see him moaning out softly, looking dazed and blissfully fucked out as he gazes at you with an expression that can only be described as complete awe.

“Oh my fucking God... baby that was amazing.” he whispers scratchily, and you pull yourself up, landing with a flop onto your back beside him.

“Tell me about it.” His arm is looped around your neck, and idly he grabs your hand, toying with your fingers as the two of you lie side by side, breathing in the afterglow.

I love you.

You want to say it again, but instead you keep your eyes closed, fighting the words down. You haven’t even established if you are in a relationship, what exactly is that you two have. How can you say the words I love you? You shake your head, as if to get that thought out of your mind.

“Whatcha thinking?” Hoseok asks quietly. You hesitate.

“Just that… I l-like you,” You say lamely, and you feel Hoseok chuckle.

“I like you too, idiot.” His voice is tender, and he laces your fingers in his. You suddenly feel adrenaline in your veins, you hesitate around the words that so desperately want to come out.

Should I tell him I love him? Your eyes are still closed, your heart beating faster. And then you feel him shift beside you, moving off of the mattress.

For a split second you feel a flash of worry that he’s doing what he has done so many times in the past - pulling away, retreating once he feels that he has gotten too close to you, been too vulnerable -

And then he is back. You feel him gently dabbing at your face, cleaning it. You begin to open your eyes but you stop when you hear Hoseok make a “tsk” sound, poking your cheek.

“Don’t open your eyes when I’m trying to clean you up, princess.” His tone is scolding, but playfully so, and you stay obediently still as he wipes your skin clean of his seed.

“All done?” You murmur out, and Hoseok hums out an affirmation as you open your eyes. He is still hovering over you, head tilted to one side.

“You looked good with my cum all over your face,” He muses, that familiar smirk on his face, “Who would’ve guessed that a good little girl like you was such a freak in bed?”

You roll your eyes, reaching forward to push against his chest. “Shut up,” You grumble, “I had you completely at my mercy and you know it.” Your cheeks flush and he smirks wider, leaning over to his bedside table to turn off the lamp.

It’s dark in his room, you think to yourself absently that it’s likely very late at night by now.

“Kinky little princess,” He teases and you groan, rolling your eyes, muttering out another “Shut up.”

He just laughs louder, landing beside you and snaking his arms tight around your waist. He burrows his face into your hair, pulling you into his chest and wrapping you tight in his arms. It’s so affectionate that you pause, annoyance slipping away and rolling off of your skin.

“I love it,” He whispers after a beat of quiet. “Always a surprise with you.”

You feel him stroke your belly with his fingers, idle touches without intent. Like he just wants to touch you, to hold you.

The two of you stay quiet, there’s an unwritten promise in the air that neither of you will speak. You both don’t want to ruin the moment, break the stillness in the air with words. Instead you stay close, his arms circled around your waist, fingers stroking lazy circles against your skin.

“You’re mine.” You hear Hoseok mumble in your hair, his voice husky and vulnerable.

Your entire body blossoms with warmth from those jumbled words, you squeeze your eyes tight and smile into the darkness of Hoseok’s bedroom.

Hoseok clears his throat and changes the subject, he’s talking about small, nothing things - plans for tomorrow, how he wants to maybe hit up a local dance crew and see if they’re up for taking more members - and you’re only half paying attention. A part of you still can’t believe this is happening, that you and Hoseok are entwined together like this, Hoseok pulling the blanket up over your bare bodies, talking softly and animatedly even now at this late hour.

Your fingertips skim over his wrist, you can’t see it but you know the Kingsnake tattoo is there. A slight unease that you can’t explain runs like a thread through your thoughts before you extinguish it, pulling away from his wrist and the tattoo.

“Hey,” Hoseok’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “Are you even listening to me?”

You giggle, shaking those unwarranted worries out of your mind. “Nah,” You say teasingly, “I never listen to you, don’t you know that by now?”

Hoseok just lets out a little noise of complaint, poking your ribs and making you laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’m listening.” You laugh out, lacing your fingers through his as you fall into easy conversation with him.

You stay up with Hoseok for a few more hours - the conversation shifts from light, effervescent banter to something a little deeper as he curls his body around you and talks about things you’ve never heard him discuss before. His family, his childhood, his fears for the future.

You notice how when Hoseok talks about the future, he talks tentatively, like he’s afraid that speaking about it with resolution will cause it to slip away.

Still, he says things aloud that you’ve never heard him say before, talking about how he is scared of losing everything, of his past catching up to him somehow. You don’t offer advice or solutions, you just listen without judgment - as you had promised you would.

The two of you finally begin to fall asleep when the sun begins to rise, still wrapped up in each other.

By the time Hoseok is deep asleep and you are about to succumb to your own tiredness, your earlier concerns drift back into your mind like tendrils of dying smoke, and then sleep swallows you entirely.

You wake up to an empty bed.

Blearily, you sit up in bed, your spine straightening as you realize that you are alone. Hoseok’s sheets, cold under your clenched fingers, are crumpled. You reach out, your palm skimming over where he had been lying asleep only hours ago.

Hoseok’s side of the bed is cold. If not for the slight indent in the mattress, you never would’ve known he had been there in the first place.

“Hoseok?” Your voice is scratchy, you swing your legs around to the side of the bed and stand up.A little dizzy, you sway on your feet as you rub your eyes. It’s colder than you had anticipated, the morning dew casting a grey filter in the light of Hoseok’s room.

Silence.

Uncertainty pricks over your palms as you quickly grab Hoseok’s hoodie off of the floor, shivering as you step out of his bedroom. The hoodie is warm and smells like him - faintly smokey, woody and masculine, mixed with his shampoo. The sleeves fall over your hands as you peer your head around the corner of Hoseok’s bedroom door.

“Hoseok?” You repeat. You don’t know why you are suddenly feeling so scared. You open your mouth, worry creeping into your voice. “Hos-”

“Hey.” Hoseok’s head pops out from where his kitchen is. Relief washes over you as he flashes you a grin. “C’mere, I’ve got breakfast sorted - hey, what’s wrong? You look worried.”

His brow creases as he steps out into the hallway properly. He’s just wearing black trackpants, slung low on his hips. The v-lines of his muscles peek out from the waistband, and you breathe out slowly as you hurry down the hallway. The house is quiet, the only sound is the patter patter of your foosteps.

“I wasn’t worried,” You lie, “Just cold.” You reach him and he smirks down at you, sneaking his arms around your waist and tugging you in. He presses his forehead towards yours, eyes flashing in amusement when you let out a little squeak.

“Want me to warm you up?”

“Um, y-yeah that sounds good-”

He cuts you off with a laugh, pulling away. He reaches up and taps the tip of your nose affectionately.

“After we eat, yeah? I’m fucking starving.”

You follow him to the kitchen and glance over at the countertop, seeing a haphazard pile of waffles.

“You made this?” You ask incredulously as you walk over, sitting on one of the high stools. Hoseok shrugs, reaching over and grabbing a waffle. “Does heating up store-bought waffles count as cooking?” He asks drily, and you shrug as you grab a waffle and pop it on a plate, squeezing a bit of syrup on top.

“I’d say it definitely counts.” You manage an air of confidence around bites of your food, Hoseok rolls his eyes at you.

“Eat with your mouth closed, princess.” He teases, waffle in hand, and you snap back immediately - “Eat with a plate, you ass.”

He tips his head back and laughs. He pulls out a plate, putting his half eaten waffle on it, and leans against the counter opposite you. He is quiet, staring at you with a soft, intense expression on his face. You stare back, feeling a little self-conscious as you reach up to smoothen down your hair. His eyes track your movements.

“Nice bed-head,” He teases, eyes still soft, “Nice hoodie, too.”

“Shut up.” You grumble, and he just laughs again as you eye him irritably.

He looks unfairly good for first thing in the morning, the only thing that mars his handsome features is the nearly faded purple ring under his left eye. He picks up on you looking at it, looking at him, and his expression grows serious.

“Hey,” He says quietly, his voice low. He walks around the counter until he is standing in front of you, he reaches out and cups your face in his hands. “I know I said this yesterday but I want to say it again. Thank you.”

He has an almost burning intensity in his eyes and you don’t dare look away. Your heart is beating fast in your chest as you reach forward, hands instinctively looping around his waist. He’s warm to touch.

“For what?”

You whisper, and Hoseok stares at you, suddenly looking nervous and uncomfortable and awkward, all at once, a blush deepening over his cheeks.

“For… for being you. Listen, I’m not good at this, at talking about my feelings and all that shit, but I want to tell you how I feel, about you and about uh, us, and… well I… I-”

He is cut off by the sound of his front doorbell ringing.

Jumping apart, he glances down the hallway.

“Who is that?” His brow crinkles finely as he shrugs and turns back to you.

“Sorry, I-”

It rings again, causing Hoseok’s frown to deepen.

“I’ll go and get rid of it, it’s probably some door knocking sales person or something. God they’re annoying.”

“Hoseok-” You stand up too, and Hoseok turns back, head tilted to one size. “I’ll be back in a sec, princess.”

He turns and leaves, and you watch him go.

It’s still so cold, and you wrap your arms around your body. You glance at the clock, it’s Sunday morning, 11:37AM. You hear the door bell ring again, and Hoseok yelling out, “Alright, alright, calm the fuck down would’you, I’m coming.”

Something isn’t right. That same prickle of unease and dread that you have been pushing away time and time again keeps eating at you. You push your plate away and run to the front door.

You are coming up behind him, just as he opens the door. There is a man there, hunched into himself. He’s shaking like a leaf, and Hoseok frowns, opening the door wider.

“Jimin? What are you-”

And then it happens.

The younger boy reaches forward, claps a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. Akin to a friendly gesture, except it isn’t. The boy is still shaking, so violently that you can see it from where you are standing. He is holding Hoseok in place.

“I’m sorry. I have to do this. They’re making me. I have to.” Broken, ragged words. His eyes are like saucers, desperate and begging.

Hoseok doesn’t move. His voice is low, calm, but you can hear the fear in his voice.

“You don’t have to do-”

Something flashes, something metallic. It all happens so fast that you can’t move. It’s as if you are rooted to the spot, frozen.

It’s a knife. Its serrated edges have caught on the light and your stomach drops. Sinks.

It’s the same sensation you had when you were a child and went to the beach with Ara and Taehyung, having been dared to jump off a cliff’s face into the water. The same feeling you had when Z threatened you at that Kingsnake party months ago. The same feeling as when you received the call from the hospital informing you that Taehyung had been assaulted. Only this time it’s amplified, multiplied, a sinking feeling that runs through your veins like tar.

Fear and exhilaration and anxiety and complete and utter dread. All of it festering into a huge, black knot right in your gut. The knife, a long, ugly one, it glints in the morning air. Hoseok’s calm, low voice. Jimin’s wild, frantic eyes.

Jimin drives the knife into Hoseok’s stomach.

Hoseok doesn’t make a sound, you see Jimin’s fingers crooked around Hoseok’s shoulder as he pulls the blade out.

Your knees are shaking, your palms are cold, and you cannot move. You are stuck. Just like in all your dreams, you cannot move. Jimin pulls back, the knife slides in again, harder.

This time, Hoseok’s body jerks from the blade that is sinking into him. Jimin steps back, his hands flutter up to his mouth and his jaw falls open. The blood on his hands is all over his face and he is saying something to Hoseok and crying, but you can’t hear it, you can’t hear anything. All you can hear is a drone in your ears that grows louder and louder.

Hoseok’s body crumples.

Finally, you can move. Your legs go before your mind can catch up, you are running to Hoseok, already behind him as his body slumps. The knife is still embedded in his stomach.

“Help! Please! Somebody, call an ambulance!” You are screaming the words you think, but you can’t hear them. You can’t hear anything but the roar in your ears.

There is red everywhere, so much deep, crimson red that you feel like you are going dizzy from it. There is a loud roar in your ears, it blocks everything out, as you look at Hoseok, terrified. His eyes are unfocused, his breathing hissing in and out in large, desperate breaths.

The roaring is fading and you can hear again - you realize that you are speaking, words tumbling nonsensically out of your lips. You are begging, pleading, crying - words that don’t make sense.

All you can see is red.

There is so much blood that it stains the air, it’s metallic and horrible and Hoseok’s. This can’t be happening. Your hands are shaking as they hover above the knife, you don’t touch it because you should never remove a weapon... where had you heard that from? Your mind flashes back suddenly to an instance two weeks ago- you were watching true crime shows with Hoseok, and they said you shouldn’t remove a weapon if it’s been used on somebody and left behind. A brief memory flashes in your mind of you and Hoseok watching the show together, him laughing as you hid behind your hands, unable to watch the goriest scenes, Hoseok pulling you close and telling you that he’d protect you, the TV voiceover in the background saying that you should never remove a weapon... you feel like you are spinning out of control. Why are you remembering that now? Now of all times? You are crying, and through your tears your eyes fall on the knife.

The knife sticking out of Hoseok’s stomach has a crudely painted red, white and black snake painted on it.

You are free falling, and you shake your head, a sob escaping from your lips, tears blurring your vision.

No. No. No.

Faintly, you are aware of commotion in front of you. Somebody who had been walking past with their dog, is now screaming for help. They’re calling an ambulance, somebody is coming. You can’t focus on that though because your eyes are locked in on Hoseok who is in your arms, Hoseok who has gone so pale that his skin is almost translucent, Hoseok who only moments ago was leaning across from you in his kitchen.

“No,” Your voice is broken, you are keening for breath because it feels like you are getting crushed. A fist is being wrapped tightly around your windpipe, choking the breath from your body.

Hoseok is trying to speak, but he can’t - his breath bubbling brokenly as his eyes flutter closed. There is the sound of an ambulance siren in the distance, but you can’t concentrate on anything but Hoseok, who is stirring.

“Hoseok, God, you’re okay baby, you’re okay, an ambulance is coming, it’s fine…” Your voice is thready and unfamiliar to your own ears as you lie through your teeth, you don’t look at the pool of blood that is all over the ground, all over your hands and clothes. You stare at Hoseok with fierce, unyielding eyes. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay, oh my god oh my God-” you are trembling and Hoseok splutters out for breath.

“Take… it… out.” He wheezes. You blink, and he draws in sharply for breath.

“Get rid of it. P-please - get rid of it-”

It hits you like a strike of lightning that he wants you to take out the knife. Your blood runs cold.

“Take it out.” His voice is so weak that it almost falls apart around the words. He can’t move. There is blood, so much blood, and you know that if you take out the knife the bleeding will get worse. You feel sick, faint, the sirens are getting louder, and you are frozen in place yet again. You are vaguely aware of the fact that you are crying, crying so hard that your throat is raw from tears.

Hoseok, arms around you, a smile on his face. The TV still droning on in the background, uttering the importance of never removing a weapon from a body. Hoseok, leaning closer, whispering in your ear. “You don’t have to be such a scaredy-cat, princess. I’ll protect you no matter what.”

Nothing is registering.

This cannot be happening.

No.

“I-I can’t, you’ll bleed out-”

“You have...to.” He whispers out, words choked. “Please. Now.”

Why? You are shaking as your hand grips around the base of the knife. Why, even now, is he protecting them? You have to pull hard to get it out, and blood flows rapidly out of the deep wound that’s left behind.

The knife is heavy in your hand and you stare at it with wild, wide eyes.

The snake that curls around it’s holt, at the crimson red blood still dripping off of it’s blade.

“Get… rid…” Hoseok groans out and you twist your body. You look around with eyes that can’t focus properly.

You don’t know where the person who had been walking by before has gone, but you can hear the ambulance approaching, the siren is getting louder. It drowns everything out as you throw the knife, it skitters across the ground and goes into one of the bushes at the front of Hoseok’s house.

You look down at Hoseok. His eyes are closed. There is so much blood and desperately, you place your palm over the wound in his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Please,” You whisper, tears swelling hot in your eyes and blurring your vision completely.

“Wake up. Please. Please, no, no, this can’t be happening.”

Why?

The ambulance has arrived. Two paramedics jump out, all action as they bark urgent commands to one another.

They see him.

His still, ragdoll-like body is slumped in the lap of a girl whose entire body is shaking. He’s barely breathing, barely alive. His blood is all over the ground, pooling around the two people. There is so much of it that it doesn’t seem fathomable.

They see her.

The front of her hoodie is stained. Her eyes, swollen red with tears, and shoulders that are violently shaking. She is folded over him, and her hands are covered in blood as she cries out his name.

amynote: OKAY MY LOVES WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE END. SO SO CLOSE, ONE CHAPTER AWAY. Can i just say... it really hurt my freakin heart to write that final scene - but i’ve known since chapter one that this was going to happen, so i’ve had 8 chapters to prepare for it! in fact, there are subtle foreboding hints to this happening scattered throughout earlier chapters.

as for the final part - i will do my best to get it written as soon as possible, but i cannot guarantee when exactly that will be at this point. i want to do the final chapter justice, i want to put all of myself into it, because the ending is very intense and will wrap up everything. all loose ends will be tied! so, please don’t send messages asking me when the final chapter will be up. It is honestly really stressful to receive a plethora of messages/asks about updates, and trust me - it’s on my mind, and i’m working on it.

i really hope you liked reading this chapter, thank you so much for reading. love you all lots and lots ♡

#FINALLy CHAPTER 9 IS OUT IN THE WORLD #this is the heartbeat chapter ive been the most excited and nervous to put out there #please!!! read the warnings!!!! carefully!#id love it if you guys share your thoughts and feedback on this one!!!#love u all lots and im sending you forehead kisses

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joonbird · 5 years

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AND ONCE AGAIN WE ARE GOING THROUGH IT ON THIS BLOG, THANKS TO THE ONE AND ONLY KIM NAMJOON

❣️🌹❤️🦀♥️ LOVING NAMJOON HOURS ARE IN FULL FORCE ON THIS BLOG, FELLAS ♥️🦀❤️🌹❣️

#i am Screaming in the club SCREAMING

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joonbird · 6 years

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can i just say?? i finished listening to mono and my heart is brimming with emotions because it’s just so namjoon. i can feel how much of himself he’s poured into these tracks. namjoon wrote all the lyrics, he composed each song, namjoon did all the vocal and rap arrangements, namjoon produced this entire playlist - and it’s so evident that it’s his once you listen to it. it’s the perfect playlist bc it really captures namjoon perfectly - each track is thoughtful, complex, sincere, beautiful, a reflection on his life and dreams and hopes and fears. it’s really like he gave us a piece of his heart and let us glimpse into his mind and honestly i just!!! he’s such an - an immensely talented rapper, artist, composer, writer, and i appreciate everything he does and i appreciate him with my whole entire heart

#SOFT HOURS HERE #namjoon

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joonbird · 6 years

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I LOVE NAMJOON

MUCHHHHHH

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joonbird · 6 years

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Heartbeat | 8

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: gang!au, angst, smut

wordcount: 10.5k

** warnings: Dark themes, graphic descriptions of violence including use of a gun, depictions of injuries and blood, explicit drug references, gang activity, character death, light derogatory language during sex, light breathplay **

Hoseok has always lived his life at full speed.

He’s a reckless man, it’s a trait he learned from being in the Kingsnakes. He likes everything to be in motion, he craves hedonistic pleasures that pass as quickly as they come.

He doesn’t do slow, he doesn’t do careful.

But this, now – he finds himself slowing down, right down, until he is trickling slowly to a stop. In this moment, everything ceases to matter except for this.

You.

His breath is shaky, and he’s certain that you can hear his nerves, sense how out of control his heart rate is. He silently tells himself to say something, say anything.

“I think I’m…” He swallows, his gaze sliding from your eyes to your mouth, rakes over the bridge of your nose, your jaw – all the pieces of you that have become so familiar to him.

“…I…” He doesn’t how to articulate what he’s feeling. He can’t place it, the way his whole body is trembling, how drunk he feels on an emotion that brims euphoric and confusing and terrifying all at once.

He doesn’t know what to say, how to say it. His throat tightens uncomfortably because he is so completely out of his element -

His thoughts stop as you press closer and kiss him. He’s a little surprised, and initially he doesn’t react. Then he breathes in, smells you, the scent that he finds himself missing at strange times throughout the day. Everything goes still, everything goes quiet, and his entire body shivers in focus.

I think I’m falling in love with you.

He keeps you close when your lips part from his. He is breathing harder than before, but he feels surprisingly steady. He reaches up, his thumb trails over your cheekbone with surprising tenderness.

‘I’ll leave the Kingsnakes.”

Silence. For one frightening, prolonged moment – Hoseok wonders if he’s said the wrong thing.

“I… I’ve been thinking about it for a while and it’s time to move on. I don’t want that to be my life anymore.”

He watches as your eyes unfocus, like they are glazed over in surprise by his words. He holds his breath.

“Are you sure?”

Your words are tentative and Hoseok lets out a tiny exhale. “Yeah,” He says quietly, speaking partially to you and partially to himself. “I’m sure. I want to be with you.”

He locks his eyes on you, watches your eyes widen in realization. He wonders fleetingly if he’s been too presumptive, said too much. A violent thrum of anxiety blooms in his chest.

“That’s um, that’s not the only reason by the way, there’s a lot of reasons why I want to leave. Just so you know.”

He watches as you do that thing that you do when you try to stifle a laugh, your nose twitching. He wonders when he had memorized your face so closely, studied the lines of your lips and learned how you wore your emotions.

“There’s a lot of reasons?”

Hoseok retreats, feels an anxious heat spread over his face. “Not a lot but a few reasons, yeah.”

This time you do smile, in fact, you huff out a little as you speak.

“And I’m one of the reasons?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

You’re smiling in earnest, you step closer to him and Hoseok suddenly has to fight the urge to not propel himself forward and wrap himself up in you yet again. He’s rendered silent and he silently curses you and your eyes, eyes which are equal parts hypnotic and all consuming.

“Uh huh.”

He looks at you carefully, nerves clustered against his ribs – and then you smile, step closer.

“You’re one of my reasons too.”

Oh.

Hoseok feels like he might cry or scream or punch the air, or all of the above all at once. He has a surreal, heady thrill of exhilaration pulsing through his veins - because you are staring up at him and you just said he was a reason and God…

Hoseok has to say something, anything. But his head and his heart are all spinning and he can hardly manage a coherent thought.

“Cool.”

He’s barely aware of what he’s said, all he knows is that he so badly wants to kiss you.

You clear your throat, step in place.

“Hoseok, I-”

Hoseok’s phone vibrates and then rings. Loudly, and Hoseok is pulled out of focus. He strolls over to where his phone is on the bathroom floor, and looks at the screen.

One letter. Z.

His mind snaps back into fast forward, returns to habit and routine. He flips through his options at lightning speed – he can ignore the call, turn off his phone, tell you that it was nothing, no one. Or, he can take the call. Stop running, stop hiding, leave for good.

He makes the decision quickly.

“I’ve gotta take this.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond steps out of the bathroom, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Sungmin.”

“Hoseok. Are you at your place?”

Hoseok freezes, thinks of you, wrapped in a towel, in his bathroom.

“No. I’m out. Why?”

The lie falls smoothly off his tongue and Hoseok walks towards his bedroom, sits on the bed.

“I need a favour.”

“A favour? Man I’m… now’s not a good time-”

“You owe me.”

Hoseok is momentarily silenced. His room is completely dark and Hoseok stares numbly into the space in front of him. He knows Z is right, that Hoseok does indeed owe him from all those years ago. Once again, he tries to run through the options but his mind sticks, grinding to an uncomfortable halt. He knows he’s taking too long to answer, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Come to my place and we can talk.”

Fuck. Hoseok feels his hand curl instinctively into a fist, his throat tightens. He plays with the idea of telling Z right here and now that he’s done with everything, telling him that he wants out. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He thinks of you standing alone in his bathroom, and closes his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Alright. I’ll be there in ten.”

He keeps his voice controlled, even though he feels like he’s spiralling.

Z doesn’t answer, he just hangs up the phone, and Hoseok stays completely still, his hand still tightly coiled in a fist.

Z is waiting outside, leaning against his motorbike. He nods in greeting as Hoseok approaches.

“What’s going on?” Hoseok asks as he stands opposite Z, glancing over at the leader of the Kingsnakes.

“Where were you?” Z asks instead, and Hoseok falters.

“I was…” He tries to think of a lie quick enough, but as always, Z catches him out before he can.

“You were with her,” He guesses. Hoseok doesn’t answer, he just feels an uncomfortable flare in his chest. Z’s eyes are steady on Hoseok, his gaze unflinching.

Hoseok on the other hand, shifts nervously in place.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids, Hoseok. Or have you forgotten that?”

All the venom from the phone call is gone from Z’s voice. His face tilts up as he poses the question, eyebrows pinched. Hoseok can’t remember the last time he saw Z like this, his face so open and vulnerable, voice laced with uncertainty. It makes Hoseok’s chest ache.

“I haven’t forgotten man, I just-”

“-You’ve just chosen… her. Over us.”

Hoseok looks down. The ground is littered with cigarette butts, some so old that they’re disintegrating into the soil. Hoseok can’t count how many evenings he’s spent standing right here, outside Z’s house. Chain smoking cigarettes until the sun spills out over the horizon, feeling exhaustion and pride and hollow emptiness sink into his bones, right until the deadened cigarette is flicked under his feet, crushed into the earth. It’s a life he’s lived for so long that it feels like habit to him now. It’s a life he doesn’t want anymore.

“Can we talk about this later, man?”

Z doesn’t answer. A heavy silence settles between the two men. It speaks volumes. When Hoseok looks up, Z’s face is cold.

Whatever vulnerability Hoseok had seen earlier in Z’s face is gone, drained away. Hoseok takes a deep breath. Readies himself for whatever is next.

“Sungmin,” Hoseok clears his throat. “What exactly is the favour?”

Z is quiet, giving Hoseok a hard, assessing stare.

“I need someone to be my backup. Doing a pickup tonight, one of the new kids was supposed to do it but I don’t completely trust him yet.”

Hoseok bites his lip. He knows Z has rigorous hurdles that he makes aspiring members of the gang complete before they earn his ‘trust’, and Hoseok eyes the other man, wondering if there is any shred of trust left between them.

“Who was it?”

Z rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Jimin.”

Hoseok frowns. It’s difficult for him to picture Jimin as a Kingsnake, from his interactions with Z’s younger brother – Jimin had always seemed so young, so naïve.

I was that young and that naïve once too. Hoseok just grimaces at the thought and sighs.

“Is that all? You just need backup for a deal?”

“Mm. That shouldn’t be a problem, right? You’ve done it hundreds of times. We’ve done it hundreds of times.”

Z offers Hoseok a thin smile and Hoseok just lets out a resigned “tch”, right from the back of his throat. They certainly have done backup, pick ups, all of it – hundreds of times. For a moment, he feels a twist of regret in his chest from how things had become so dark and messy between them, and so fucked up amongst the Kingsnakes.

“Yeah. Alright. When’s the pick up then?”

“Now, pretty much. Our contact is waiting at the fishing docks on the edge of the city, y’know, where our big shipping containers are.”

“Number 1802?’

“What else?”

Hoseok’s lips twist into a wry smile despite the situation. Years ago, it had been his and Z’s idea to rent a shipping container of their own, have a private space to conduct deals, to party, to do whatever the hell they wanted. They selected 1802 after Hoseok’s birthday. He supposes it’s fitting that his final favour to Z will take place in that very shipping container.

“Alright then,” Hoseok sighs. He reaches in his back pocket, pulling out the keys to his motorbike. Z is still watching him, and Hoseok nods to the other man. “Let’s get outta here.”

When Hoseok pulls up at the fishing docks, he feels a strange stir of nostalgia. As he swings off his bike and lands with a crunch onto the gravel below, it feels like déjà vu – this, the ocean air on his face, the inky grey light of the fishing dock, the eerie splash of water beneath them. And this, more than anything else, feels like déjà vu – him and Z walking side by side towards shipping container 1802.

In the past, they would walk in long, sloping strides – brimming with confidence and excitement and just absolute pride, talking about which girls they were going to fuck, what cocktail of drugs they planned to get fucked up on, laughing and jostling each other like a pair of kids who had grown up way too fast. Now, they walked in complete silence.

They reach the shipping container and Hoseok opens the door. It swings open with a slight creak on its rusted hinges. The light bulb that they had set up six years ago blinks down with unforgiving, fluorescent lighting, and waiting in the centre of the room is a young man, lounging crosslegged and smoking a joint.

“Oh!” He hurries to his feet, stamps out the blunt and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey.”

Hoseok squints a little, before he places his face in his memory.

“Changkyun?”

Changkyun’s eyes are bleary, confused, but they land on Hoseok and squint a little harder. “Uh,” He mumbles, “Hey man.”

He’s high. That much is evident, and Hoseok is fairly certain given his current state of mind, he has no idea who Hoseok is. Hoseok however is familiar with him – Changkyun one of the most active dealers in their city, slinging directly from the manufacturer to the gangs of this string of cities. Hoseok has dealt with him multiple times and knows that each transaction with Changkyun is easy, smooth. The man is soft around the edges and doesn’t have a violent bone in his body, just a monster of a drug problem. Hoseok breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that his job as backup will be relatively straightforward tonight.

“You got our stuff?” He asks, glancing over at Z, who has not spoken. He is standing with his arms by his sides, staring directly at Changkyun with a focused, intent stare.

“Yeah man, here.” Changkyun fumbles in his pocket, pulls out a large, tightly packed satchel. “Y’can try it if you want, otherwise I’ve got some other stuff on me that’s real fuckin’ good-”

“We’re good. Just put it down on the ground.” Hoseok interrupts. Changkyun just shrugs, sniffs loudly and places the satchel down on the ground.

Hoseok eyes it warily, it’s a huge pick up for them. It’s enough to sell and enough to use, and furthermore – it’s a flaky, rough looking white powder. It looks unfamiliar to his eye, and he frowns, turning to Z.

“What is it?”

Z doesn’t look at Hoseok. His eyes are still pinned on Changkyun.

“H.”

Hoseok struggles to maintain his composure, eyes darting from the satchel to the ground. H? He knew that the Kingsnakes had been falling further and deeper into more dangerous shit but this? This he had no idea about. He sneaks a look at Changkyun, who looks unfazed, and wonders how many times this has happened - how long this kid has been delivering the Kingsnakes hardline drugs in these quantities, what else Hoseok has been in the dark about when it comes to Kingsnake activity.

Z finally moves, stepping forward to pick up the satchel. He weighs it experimentally in one hand, but he still doesn’t speak.

Something ripples through the air. Hoseok picks up on it immediately, his shoulders stiffen. It’s something palpable and electric, it screams at him to stay still, to not move. His eyes snap to Z, who is still standing perfectly still, the satchel still in his hands.

“So,” Changkyun glances up, wiping at his eyes drowsily, “About payment -”

Z darts forward. He strikes fast, like a rattlesnake.

Hoseok blinks, it takes him a moment to register what he is seeing - Z, holding Changkyun around the neck.

The younger man struggles, like a fish out of water, eyes bulging for a moment before his body crumples. Hoseok stumbles backward as Changkyun’s body falls forward, and a heavy silence hangs in the air.

“Z - what the fuck?” Hoseok shouts, and Z shrugs. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he talks.

“He’s alive, relax.”

Hoseok stares blankly at Z, who takes a long drag from his cigarette.

“Yeah but why did you do that? What the fuck, man?”

Z doesn’t respond immediately, instead he walks up to Changkyun’s unconscious body, prodding it half-heartedly with the tip of his black boot. He scoffs, inhales, exhales a plume of smoke.

“He’s been playing us.” Z says simply. Hoseok feels a strange twist in the pit of his stomach.

“What- what the fuck are you talking about-”

“We’re sure. All of the H he’s been selling us for the last four months has been laced with fent.”

Hoseok lets out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding in. He glances down at the man - boy, really - who is completely unconscious, mouth slightly agape.

Hoseok had heard whispers of a spike in overdoses in their city, of bad batches - but it had never occurred to him that it was because the product had been messed with directly.

Hoseok feels a twinge of fear and tries to control his features, tries his hardest to not crumble even the slightest amount. Changkyun is just a kid, Hoseok can already think of a hundred different reasons why their drugs had been tampered with - maybe a rival gang had put the dealer up to it, or it had been sourced from a manufacturer who had a twisted agenda, or maybe it was all just a fucked up coincidence.

“Alright, well at least know we know, we can put word out to blacklist him-”

“We’re not putting anything out, Hoseok. He’s been fucking with us. Thinking he can get away with our name being dragged through the God damn mud. Our profits have slipped in the last few weeks and now I finally have an answer as to why.”

Z starts laughing, a soft, flat laugh that Hoseok knows all too well.

“Sungmin, c’mon man, he’s just a kid-” Hoseok starts weakly, but Z just raises a finger. Hoseok falls silent, watching as the other man lifts the cigarette to his lips, inhales.

A long, heavy pause, ash falls from the end of the cigarette.

“I don’t give a fuck about whether he’s a kid or not. That’s irrelevant.”

Hoseok doesn’t speak. His pulse is starting to quicken, that horrible sensation in his stomach coagulating into knots.

Z is still laughing, but his laughs are humourless and silent, leaving behind a soundless sneer on his face.

Z bends over Changkyun’s body, cigarette still perched between his lips as he rifles under the unconscious boy’s clothes. Hot ash falls on the unconscious man’s face, scattering down from his forehead to the apples of his cheeks.

Hoseok’s attention is drawn away, his eyes pinning on the object that Z has found, and is now holding in his hands.

“Well,” Z tuts softly, “Would you look at that.”

There, in Z’s hands, is a small black revolver. Hoseok doesn’t move a muscle.

“He came prepared,” Z murmurs, his voice silken. “How thoughtful of him.” He runs his fingertips along the gun, almost caressing it. Hoseok can’t think, he can’t breathe.

“Hoseok.” Z addresses him directly, and he holds the gun out to him. It glints dully in the light of the warehouse. “Here’s your favour.”

No.

“Sungmin - c’mon, man. This is too much. He doesn’t deserve it, just let him go-”

Hoseok struggles to keep his voice calm, his face passive. He can’t let Z see how he’s really feeling, he has to maintain his cool. Each instinct in his body, survival instinct perhaps - is violently screaming at him to stay still.

“It’s not about what he deserves or doesn’t deserve. It’s about teaching lessons.” Z responds in a curt, icy voice. “You owe me a favour, Hoseok. It’s time to repay that favour, don’t you think?”

Hoseok is breathless. He can’t stop staring at the gun, held in Z’s hands, dangling so carelessly from his fingers. His fingers twitch.

“This wasn’t what you told me the favour was going to be, Sungmin.”

Z shrugs. “Circumstances change.”

Hoseok can’t fucking breathe. It feels like he is anchored in place, eyes locked on the revolver in front of him.

He shouldn’t have come tonight, he shouldn’t have let himself be here, trapped between a man with a gun and an unconscious man who he’s being asked to kill.

A dark, velvet voice in the depths of Hoseok’s mind whisper to him to just do it, to take the gun. That he’s done worse, that this is blameless, that Z is right - that life is about teaching lessons and learning your place. The voice lures Hoseok in for a split second, whispers that this isn’t new to Hoseok, Hoseok is hardly a stranger to this world of violence.

Hoseok grits his teeth, bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. He pushes the voice out and forces his eyes away from Changkyun and to the Kingsnakes leader standing in front of him.

Z in fact looks bored by it, lighting a fresh new cigarette, dropping the discarded butt next to Changkyun’s body. He looks unbothered, completely unperturbed by the gun in his hands or his command to Hoseok to kill him.

It occurs to Hoseok that he had been just the same not too long ago - emotionless, blank, watching as others inflicted violence on his behalf, and Z’s behalf.

Hoseok glances down again at Changkyun. It would be so easy- to pull the trigger, to be free, to walk away from it all. The Old Hoseok wouldn’t have even hesitated. But Hoseok stares at the young boy, ash still scattered over his features, eyelids slightly blown out, and shudders. He thinks of you, the way you carefully conceal all your emotions and put on a facade of strength, of what he would do if it were you lying here, body crumpled and awaiting its fate on a slab of concrete.

“I can’t.”

There is a brief pause, Hoseok hears Z shifting, sighing. Glancing up, he sees Z grinding a cigarette beneath one foot, a cool expression etched on his features.

“You owe me, Hoseok.”

“Not for this! This wasn’t the favour, being back up was the favour-”

“And this is being my back up.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, I can’t fucking do it-”

Hoseok cuts his sentence off midway, muscles locking in place. He’s developed a sixth sense now for these kinds of things, learned how to adapt, how to react - but he’s still not quick enough. He sees the fist flying towards his face seconds before it connects, but he cannot move in time.

Z slams into his face and Hoseok reels backwards, colliding on the cement floor. Hoseok is swearing, his hands instinctively flying up to protect himself. It doesn’t hurt, not right away. Instead Hoseok is dazed. It’s like a loud bell has been struck right between his eyes. For a moment he is utterly disoriented, scrabbling around on the ground.

Hoseok knows it’s adrenaline that is masking the pain, his vision starts to clear enough to see Z standing there, shaking his hand out, a bored expression on his face. Hoseok’s vision is still blurry, but not blurry enough to miss Z picking up the gun.

Z pulls the trigger back and points it at Changkyun, who is still out cold.

Hoseok opens his mouth to speak, to say something, but his head is spinning too hard. He opens his mouth, but he’s too late. He, the man who has lived most of his life at full speed, fast forward - is not quick enough. The gun fires, Changkyun’s body jerks.

Hoseok’s feels the blood rush to his head, his lungs constrict. his vision is still muddled at the edges. Hoseok sees the blood, as burgundy as red wine, seeping out from underneath Changkyun’s body. Hoseok’s stomach turns.

He’s seen blood, he’s washed blood from his hands. But this is different.

Hoseok can’t stop staring. His vision is finally starting to gain more clarity, but it’s like he can see red everywhere. Hoseok suddenly feels weak, his head still spinning from how hard he had been punched, his stomach nauseous from seeing another man being shot in cold blood with no warning right in front of him. Faintly, he hears Z let out a laugh, that same fucking laugh that Hoseok despises.

“Alright, your favour to me can be cleaning this mess up. Either that or you can leave the rat here to bleed dry.”

Something in Hoseok snaps, like glass smashing to pieces on a cement bed.

He stumbles up, staggering a little. His blood is hot, so hot that he can feel it rushing through him.

“There is no favour,” Hoseok spits out. “The favour is fucking done. I’m done. With you, with all of this. I want out.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air before Z turns to face Hoseok properly, one eyebrow raised. His face is cold, unreadable and Hoseok feels that familiar sting of fear, but this time, it fuels him. He is shaking, his mind racing with images - of you, of the man in the convenience store, of Z, of Taehyung, of his sister and mother, of Changkyun lying in streaks of his own blood.

“I’m leaving the Kingsnakes,” Hoseok persists, his voice wavers with how forcefully he spits out his words, his head is spinning so hard that he feels queasy, “And if you have a problem with it then shoot me right here and now, I swear to fucking God.”

Six seconds pass. Six exactly, Hoseok knows, because he has his breath held the entire time. Six seconds where Z regards him with cold disdain... and then lifts the gun.

Hoseok can’t breathe. For a moment, he wishes that he hadn’t spoken so flippantly, and said what he said.

Because now, the cold, hard barrel of the gun is pointed directly at him.

He stares at Z, looks into the dark depths of his eyes. His gaze ticks down to the red black and white striped kingsnake that coils around his neck, tongue flickering up near his jaw.

I’m going to die.

Hoseok had always wondered what would be going through his head in the moments leading up to his death. He had pictured it several ways, imagined that he would stay calm and strong and collected, or at worst - scream and fight back. But he hadn’t expected this.

He is white with fear, left emptied by it, completely locked in place.

He doesn’t want to die.

He had always approached death with a fearless kind of approach, that was the mindset of all the Kingsnakes - death was as finely entwined with their everyday lives as life was in anyone else’s. But Hoseok isn’t a Kingsnake anymore. And now, the thought of death, and being here, tasting it, it terrifies him right to his very core.

His senses are hyper alert. He can smell Changkyun’s blood, the viscous scent filling his nostrils. He can feel the terror pouring through him, clogging his veins and arteries. He can see nothing but the gun, pointed at him, and the man standing behind it. The man who was once his friend, once his leader.

He’s going to die.

Z pulls back the safety. The noise scrapes. Hoseok flinches.

He thinks of you, your eyes, your lips, your hands. All the pieces of you that he’s memorized so closely. He’s going to die.

And then Z pulls the trigger.

Nothing.

Hoseok looks down at his chest, blinking rapidly. He can feel his breathing swelling, harder and deeper until he feels like he’s breathing too much but he can’t stop. He feels his hands loosen, they had been in such tight fists that he has small red crescent moons carved in the flesh of his palm.

Nothing.

It had been an empty chamber.

Hoseok lets out a sharp exhale and feels his entire body sag in relief. His eyes spring with tears, he flinches when he hears the clatter of the gun falling to the ground. Z had pulled the trigger, with the intent to pump whatever was left in the clip straight into Hoseok’s chest. But nothing.

“Huh,” Hoseok is faintly aware of Z’s voice, slightly irritated. “The idiot was only carrying one bullet round with him? Fuckin’ rat.”

Hoseok feels like there is a loud blaring in his ears, he is shaking all over as he pulls himself up. He finally drags his eyes away from where he is still staring at the centre of his chest, to look at Z. Hoseok isn’t crying, but he knows his eyes are wild, pupils dilated, each breath harsh and rattling. Z just stares.

“You’re right. You are done,” Z says in a voice that is like black ice. “If you want out, then get out.”

Hoseok pauses. His heartbeat is still thrumming at a fast pace, a drumbeat in his ears, he can barely muster the words. His mind, fragmented with fear but still logical, tells him to make sure he’ll be safe, make sure this isn’t Z fucking with him-

“Z… please-”

“Hoseok. I said you’re done. Now get out.”

Hoseok and Z exchange one long, hard stare. Hoseok realizes he had referred to his Sungmin as Z, and not by name.

He inhales, once, shakily, and doesn’t speak.

He turns. He walks slowly, because he is still trembling. Violently trembling. He can still smell it in the air, the pungent scent of blood and flesh. He can hear a lighter, knows that Z is lighting another cigarette, ashes scattering down around Changkyun’s body. Hoseok’s eye is starting to ache from where the punch had landed before, his muscles still painfully clenched from how hard he had tensed in the moment the trigger was pulled.

Hoseok knows he will have that image scarred deep into his mind, Z, pulling the trigger with no hesitation whatsoever.

When Hoseok finally reaches the very end of the warehouse, he pauses. Just long enough to hang his head low, to squeeze his eyes shut.

He whispers a silent goodbye, whether it’s to Sungmin, to Changkyun, to the old him who he knows is still standing in that warehouse dutifully by Sungmin’s side… he doesn’t know.

Still, he says it, a farewell, and then he slips out of the warehouse and into the night.

The air is misty with rain. Hoseok is too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice storm clouds gathering, and when the first fat raindrop falls, landing on his forehead, he is finally pulled out of his tangled thoughts.

He hadn’t realized how tired he had been. How exhausting it had felt to be in the Kingsnakes, to have the weight of the group crushing him down inch by inch until breathing no longer felt normal.

Raindrops start to fall faster, and Hoseok wraps his arms around himself. He had been so tired.

There are so many thoughts and emotions rolling over Hoseok in waves, it reminds him of how it feels to be coming down after a high – everything is sharpening back in focus, his head feels like it’s splitting open, his mind jumbled and confused.

He feels shell shocked, that it had really happened, that he had heard the trigger being pulled in front of him, that he had left the Kingsnakes. He feels exhilarated, knowing that if things had gone even slightly different tonight, he may not be here now – walking towards his house, shivering in the rain. He feels bitterness, acerbic and sharp from recalling the crunch of Z’s fist into his face, the ring of the gunshot, the body lifeless on the ground. He feels a thread of guilt, for leaving the group of people that had saved his life, for being the very thing he had dismissed and despised in the past – a traitor, a coward, a runaway.

Above it all though, Hoseok feels relief. Relief that he’s never felt before in his life. Release, happiness, and he wonders if he even deserves to feel that way after everything he’s done. If he even deserves to be happy.

He turns into his street, it’s early dusk and the sky is slowly dissolving into milky daylight. He wonders vaguely if you’re still at his place, he tries his hardest not to hope too much because if there’s one thing he’s carrying with him for life after being in the Kingsnake - it’s his conditioning that hoping for things gets you nowhere. Hope is useless when it comes to the real world.

Still, for just a moment, with the rain saturating his clothes and making him shiver, he allows himself to hope for a few minutes, that you will be there, curled in his bed when he returns.

He finally reaches his house and as he walks slowly up the stairs, the door swings open. His eyes land on you. He can see it, darting over your face – your worry and confusion, but he watches as you swallow it down and open the door wider.

He realizes you’re wearing just one of his tees and a pair of his socks and he thinks to himself, so this is hope.

“Hoseok,” You breathe out his name, “You’re back.”

Something warm blooms inside of his chest at the sound of your voice speaking his name. Something sparked by your words, so carefully uttered, calm as ever even when he knows he probably looks crazy – drenched head to toe with a black eye.

He stumbles up the last step, roughly pushing through the open doorframe as he gathers you up in his arms. You let out a small gasp, the water dripping off of his hair onto your cheeks, as your arms encircle around his waist, soaked with rain.

You don’t speak, your mouth just falls open into a small ‘o’ as Hoseok holds you close to him, crooking his whole body around you, holding you tight, telling himself that you’re real, you’re here, in his arms.

He’s holding you tight, everything is pounding – the exhilaration from the evening, adrenaline, he doesn’t know what, but he pulls away enough to lean his forehead against yours. Doubt, guilt, relief – it all is so fresh and threading through all of his thoughts that he squeezes his eyes closed, grabs your hand. He’s shaking, but he can’t stop it, can’t control it.

Do I deserve this? Do I even deserve her?

“Hoseok,” You murmur, your voice slightly muffled. “Just breathe.”

Hoseoks breathing slows, and he pulls away a fraction, enough to look at you.

“I’m okay,” He murmurs, “I’m okay.”

You nod, the concern doesn’t leave your features as you carefully disentangle yourself, getting up and closing the front door. “

You’re drenched,” You murmur as you walk back towards him. “Are you cold-“

“I’m okay. Sorry you had to wait so long.”

“It’s no big deal I… I…” Your voice trails off as you notice the bruise forming under Hoseok’s eye, he winces as you reach up, brushing your fingers over the mottled skin. “You’re hurt,” You whisper and Hoseok feels his stomach drop when he sees your mouth close and open, eyes swelling with tears.

“It’s fine,” Hoseok murmurs, he reaches up and laces his fingers through yours.

“What you think one punch from Z can take me down? I thought you had more faith in me, princess.”

He keeps his voice intentionally drawling and light, breathing a silent sigh of relief when you let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. It doesn’t hurt, does it? Do you have ice-”

“I’m fine. Really.”

He watches as you sigh, lean back to look at him properly. “What happened?”

“Z happened,” Hoseok says by means of explanation, clicks his tongue and sighs. “His last favour involved a drug deal that was also a set up, but got out, thank fuck. Told Z I’m done, that’s it, I don’t owe him or them anything anymore… and I got out.”

A pause.

“Out as in…”

“As in, I’m out of the Kingsnakes. For good. Z let me go, and well… that’s that.” He watches carefully, closely as you struggle to control your emotions – but as always he can read you like a damn book and he sees the relief that you carry in your shoulders, in the lines of the tiny breath you let out.

“Oh, that’s…” Your voice trals off and you swallow. “You’re okay with it?”

Hoseok hadn’t been okay before – relieved, guilty, shocked, uncertain, sure - but definitely not okay, but now, standing opposite you, he swallows, softens.

“It’s a decision I should have made a long time ago, to be honest.”

Your eyes widen, and Hoseok makes a silent mental note of your face right now, all open and surprised and hopeful. He doesn’t want to forget it.

“Oh.”

“Uh huh.”

“So what next?”

Hoseok hesitates. “Honestly,” He mumbles, voice going low and scratchy, “I don’t know.”

The thought terrifies him – the thought of what exactly is in store for him, what’s next. If he can change, if he has changed, or if the Kingsnake blood will run through his veins forever. He has never tried to be anything but what he has been, he has never hoped, and his future had always been set in marble in that manner – but now, he has now idea.

He feels your hand curl over his. He swallows.

“Whatever’s next, I’ll be here with you, okay?” Hoseok blinks, and you stumble over your words- “Only if you want me to, I’m not saying that I expect that I’m just saying that I-”

“Hey.” Hoseok pokes you in the ribs, ”’Course I want you to. I mean, I did tell you last night that you were the one of the reasons I wanted to leave the Kingsnakes and all.”

“You did?”

Hoseok’s face contorts in a small frown, “Yeah, I told you that I uh, that I…”

“Mm?”

His face flushes. “Thatiwantetobewithyou. What, you forgot already?”

You poke him back playfully, a triumphant smile playing on your lips, “Yeah I remember you saying you wanted to be with me, I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

Hoseok smirks and grabs your waist, “Smart ass.”

It’s then that he realizes just how close he is to you – body in close proximity to yours, fingers clutched at the small of your waist. The playful mood shifts into something lacquered with lust, with adrenaline, something unfused there that has finally been released with his words.

He stares right at you, thinks distractedly to himself that you are the only one who has the capacity to slow down his world like this, to narrow down his thoughts into one thing and one thing only, a something that begins and ends with you.

“I want to be with you too.” Your murmur quietly. He swallows thickly, drawing you in closer, closer, until you are only millimetres apart, so close that leaning forward and brushing his lips over yours takes nearly no effort at all.

He seals his mouth over yours in a kiss. He sighs into it, it’s a kiss that starts slow and sweet, but that quickly picks up into something hungrier, fuelled and blurred by desire and lust, and his hands are in your hair and roaming all over your skin, resting on your hips, waist, the small pockets of your body that he finds irresistible.

The two of you fall against the hallway, your hands raking through Hoseok’s wet hair.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” You manage to breathe out as you reach forward, hands fumbling at the hemline of his jumper. Hoseok obliges, allowing you to peel the jumper off of him, toss it to the ground.

Your hands are all over his chest, skimming over his shoulders an his back, as he pushes you against the wall. He relishes the tiny gasp that melts into a moan as he slowly grinds into you, his erection growing as he captures your lips in another hungry kiss.

He feels your fingers lightly skim over the back of his neck, the tip of his spine- and he shudders, hands gliding up to rest just under your breasts, feeling his cock twitch in his pants.

His palm finds your left breast, his fingers grazing over your nipple, as you swell your hips against Hoseok’s cock, desperate for any kind of friction, any semblance of release. His hands tug impatiently underneath your dress, as he bends down and picks you up.

You wrap your legs around his waist, his hands cupping your ass as he tilts his head up to you, a roguish, intense look in his eyes as he steps away from the wall, enough to allow a slip of space – and murmurs, “Take that shirt off, princess.”

He watches, mesmerized as you grab the hem of his shirt and pull it off your head. He swallows, hard, drinking you in – no bra, wearing his black jocks. He pauses, everything going still as you wrap your hands around the nape of his neck, an appreciative groan slipping out of his lips before he slams you back against the wall.

He kisses into your collarbones and down your chest appreciatively, lips brushing over the swell of your breasts. Hoseok is hyperaware of your fingers – pressed his neck, in his hair, as he grinds desperately, unthinkingly against you.

He kisses down your breast until he reaches your nipple, using the very tip of his tongue to teasingly flicker against you. He feels your grip on him tighten, he teases you again – another controlled, teasing dart of his tongue against your nipple – and then he hears you, your voice, a throaty “god Hoseok I’m so soaking wet right now.”

Your words topple him over the edge and he latches his lips around your nipple, using his tongue to swirl over you and suck. He can feel your pronounced, hard nipple against his lips and tongue, feel your fingernails start to dig crescent moons into his shoulder blade, a familiar flush of heat and desire crawling over his neck and face.

He hears you moaning- holding his neck into your breasts as he shifts to your left breast, sucking, licking, and then gently catching your nipple between his teeth.

“Hoseok,” You whine out, he kisses back up your neck and your lips slam into his, you are kissing him so desperately he can practically taste it all over you – you, clinging onto him like you are being wound up to your absolute breaking point.

With one hand hooked around his neck, the other trails down Hoseok’s abs, fingers gliding over his muscles until they hook under the waistband of his jeans. Hoseok lets out a soft growl, presses you even harder against him, the wall by your back.

“I want you now.” You whisper, right into his ear- your tongue teasing his earlobe before you gently suck at the flesh right under his ear by his neck. Hoseok’s breathing stutters as your hand slips even further down his pants.

“Please, I want you.”

Hoseok flushes hard and hot, inhales sharply and pushes off of the wall. You don’t react, kissing back up until your mouth is by his ear.

“I want you to fuck me however you like, wherever you like, I’m all yours…” You accompany the words with kisses against his ear, Hoseok is so god damn hard he can’t bear it.

He carries the two of you to his bedroom, his room – messy as ever and lit only by the moonlight outside – and places you down onto his bed. He unzips his jeans, tugs them off, eyes locked on you – you’re watching him, biting your lip in that naughty, coquettish way that makes Hoseok want to absolutely fuck your brains out.

He glances down, at you wearing nothing but his black jocks and his throat tightens, “Are those my underwear?”

You smile, Hoseok tugs off his own underwear and he watches as you gaze directly at his cock. It gives him a thrill of confidence seeing your eyes dilate and the way you subconsciously lick your lips at the sight of him – and he reaches forward, grasping your chin.

“Answer my question, princess.”

“Y-yes, they’re yours. I borrowed them.”

Hoseok quirks an eyebrow up, expression darkening a touch. “Oh? Well I want them back.”

His fingers catch onto the waistband of his underwear, eyes searching yours. His other hand is still by your face, fingers grasping your chin and he watches as you reach up and take his wrist, bringing his hand to your mouth.

Eyes locked on his, you take his index finger in his mouth slowly, tantalizingly running your tongue down his finger before you suck on it. Hoseok immediately thinks about you, on your knees, that tongue and those lips wrapped around the base of his cock, eyes watery and hair swept up.

His cock throbs, you stare at him, smile, “I’ll give you anything you want tonight, Hoseok.”

Fuck. Hoseok tugs off your underwear – his underwear – until you are naked, he grabs at your hips and pulls you in closer to him.

“God Hoseok, yes-” The plea falls out of your lips and Hoseok leans in, closing the space between your bodies. “Shh,” A smirk laces his lips as he reaches forward and runs a hand through your hair, fingers trailing over your cheekbones down to your chin. His voice softens, his lips slip of the smirk he always wears.

“I’ll give it to you, baby girl. I’ll give you anything, y’know that?”

The words spill out before Hoseok can stop them, and you blink up at him with eyes that glow, lips that are full and parted with neediness and surprise, a flash of vulnerability crosses over you.

“Hoseok, I…” Your voice trembles and for a moment Hoseok can’t breathe. The two of you just stare at one another before you lean up, pressing your lips against his.

Hoseok responds to your kiss immediately, whatever thoughts in his mind flood out as he feels your lips soft on his, your tongue gently seeking entrance over his bottom lip, your small palm pressed to the back of his neck.

He presses in closer to you, caging you in with your body as he kisses you deeper, longer, revels in the tiny moan that you let out as he pulls away to kiss over the tender slope of your neck.

He feels you shiver, it’s one of the things he loves most about this, it’s what hooked him in the first place – how he can read you like a fucking book. How he knows when he presses his lips like a stamp to the nape of your neck, you will shiver, your body curling and your arms tightening around him. He knows that if he runs his fingertips down your spine, crooking around to grab at your hip, you’ll let out one of those breathy, desperate moans of his name that his his vision blurring with lust. He knows that when he places a hand around your neck, or a fist in your hair, hands grabbing your hips, authoritative and punishing and yours- that you will be there right with him, body writhing, breath shaky and hot and desperate, while he teases kisses out of you.

Hoseok moans into your ear and clenches his jaw, trying to stop himself from shuddering outwardly, trying to maintain composure when around you it’s so difficult to.

“I want you…” Hoseok murmurs, his voice rasps around the words as his hand travels down your body, over the lines of your waist, your thighs. He feels you let in a sharp breath, tilt your hips instinctively into his.

His fingers tease in closer up your inner thigh, his knuckle brushing over your wet slit. He feels you dip your head back, he nips along your neck, at your pulse point, you let out a weak “Hoseok, fuck, please-” and he’s so completely full of want that it’s burning over his skin.

He slides one finger inside of you, slowly enough to properly feel your slickness against him, to enjoy the way you tremble, your hands clasping around him harder. He crooks his finger, brings his thumb to massage over your clit, kisses against your collarbone.

He pulls away to look at you properly, he sweeps over you and feels something crest inside of him – hrat and urgency. You barely notice, your eyes closed, you are biting your lip, back arched off of the mattress with each thrust of his finger, stroke of his thumb against your sensitive clit.

Hoseok drinks it in, savours the way you let out a tiny whine when he teases his thumb over your clit, making sure to touch you hard, to have you desperate and moaning out his name, and then to tease you by pushing another finger deep inside of you, dipping into your core.

He can see you, quivering and messy under his touch, your eyes flutter open as if sensing his gaze and for a moment he can’t breathe – your eyes darkened with lust, sighs melting out of your mouth, hips pushing back against your touch. You let out a soft murmur of his name, a “Hoseok, please,” and it’s both an invitation and a challenge and Hoseok thinks he might be going crazy because he’s never felt like this before.

“You’re the fucking prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” He mutters, pulls his finger out of you as he shifts downward, expression unchanging. His cock is hard- so hard that he can feel it stiff and uncomfortable, he’s leaking precum already, and he stutters in a jerky breath as you wrap your hand around his length.

“Your fingers felt amazing,” You breathe out, your voice coyish and alluring, “But I want… this… inside of me.” You accompany your words by gliding up and down his shaft, Hoseok lets out a small, territorial growl as he pushes you back against the bed.

Hoseok swallows, hard, your slit is wet and welcoming against the hard, pink head of his cock. He reaches up, brushes the pad of his thumb over your clit again in a slow, slick swipe.

His voice lowers into a growl, he wants to be inside of you so fucking badly but he resists, teases you until he can see you grit your teeth desperately, clench your fists, your eyes fevered and glassy with desperation.

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“So fucking needy already… Are you sure you want it?”

“God yes, please give it to me, please-”

He interrupts you mid sentence by pushing himself deep inside of your walls.

You are wet- practically dripping with it- and he slides in easily. He thrusts into you hard, assertively, dipping down to lap and suck against your neck, your pulse point – until you are a groaning, desperate, writhing mess beneath him.

He captures your lips in a messy kiss before he pulls away, snapping his hips harder and faster into you. He wants you unhinged, he wants you falling apart at the seams with pleasure, he wants you screaming out his name, and relentlessly he continues to fuck into you.

Hoseok arches his hips up, lets out a moan of his own because your cunt feels so good and tight and wet around him, his eyes focus in on you pinned beneath his body – the dirty mewls of his name, fingernails clawing down his back and squeezing his thighs, his ass, his arms, bodies sliding against each other, sweaty and hot and desperate.

Hoseok doesn’t know how you do it, but he can already feel himself falling apart, disassembling at the edges with how satisfying it feels, how fucking hot you look and sound. His hand works up to entangle through your hair, tugging hard as he pulls your face closer to his, breathes into a kiss that you’re his, that he loves how much of a gorgeous, fucking slut you are in bed just for him. You groan into his words, his kisses, and his cock surges harder, your gasp breaks apart into a moan, as Hoseok grinds deeper inside of you, making sure you feel all of him buried inside of your cunt.

He grabs your thigh, pushes it up around until it hooks around his back so that he can fuck into you even deeper.

He massages into your thigh, then around to cup your ass, his fingers tease over your tight, sweet spot as he feels you rock back against him, your breathing hard and desperate, your walls getting even wetter and easier to fuck into.

He loves this, dragging all the wracked, filthy noises from your throat, making him pant our his name, feeling his cock grow hard and sticky with desperation.

“I’m gonna-” You pant out, “I’m close¬-” and Hosoek feels a thrill in his chest at your words as his fingers reach down between your bodies, finding your clit.

He continues to thrust into you, making sure he tilts his hips up so that you can feel every single edge and ridge of his cock deep inside of you. He lifts himself up so that he can look at you properly, you, with your hair fanned out against the pillow, face flushed with heat, lips parted, eyes glassy and unfocused as you whine out in feverish anticipation.

“You… it feels so good,” You stammer out, Hoseok circles his thumb around your clit just the way he knows that you like it, winding you up as he continues to angle his hips while he thrusts inside of you.

“Look at me,” He commands, your eyes open and meet his. Something inside of him splinters, his cock twitches and he realizes he’s close too. He slows the pace, just a touch – enough so that he can circle over your clit with a fraction more pressure, enough so that he can focus on you.

You stare up at him obediently, he can see every flicker of pleasure and urgency and impatience and neediness over your face like it’s being reflected in glass, he can feel your clit and it’s quickened pulse, knows you’re close.

He feels so connected to you, that it crackles over his skin, making him even more sensitive, even more turned on. His cock is practically aching with it, he knows he’s going to cum soon, and he knows that it’s all over his face – the growls and mutters of your name that fall out of his lips, his eyes locked on you.

“Hoseok-“ You almost choke out, the sound of your voice rouses something within Hoseok and he grinds even deeper inside of you. He feels like his heart is expanding in his chest, when you look at him like that – wide desperate eyes that roll upwards a little bit, pleasured husky moans of “fuckfuckfuck”, your body twitching and trembling as you orgasm around him.

His heartbeat is throttling in his chest, and for the first time instead of pushing it away he grasps onto it firmly, allows it to ride over him as he jerks forward, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I like you so fucking much,” He chokes out, completely uninhibited, he can hear you letting out a soft “I like you too”, as your palms flutter up to touch his cheeks, run through his hair, as he cums inside of you.

You inhale part of his moan, his shaky groans of climax, the two of you breathing in long and deep as his forearms tremble.

His eyes open, Hoseok captures you in a kiss, long and deep as you both shake and tremble against one another.

It takes Hoseok a moment to get his bearings, pull out of your walls – his cock is still pulsing a little, and his body lurches forward as he rolls over onto his back beside you.

“Wow,” he hears you breathe out softly, he turns his head to see you gazing up at the ceiling, a dazed smile on your face.

That same feeling is back in his chest again, it feels less like it’s about to devour him and more like it’s sinking through him slowly and softly, and he smiles. He reaches forward, fingertips brushing against your collarbones, your skin dewy with sweat, pulling you into his arms.

He wraps himself around you and hugs you close, his breathing still erratic, vision a little weak and blurry, words and syllables tumbling around in his head.

All he can really focus on is this damn feeling – like the sun itself is trapped in his chest. He hugs you closer, buries his face in your neck, seals your skin with a kiss.

There, in the privacy of just you and him, his face pressed to your bare skin, he smiles, and suddenly has the odd feeling like he might cry. He tries to coax a couple words out, but he’s too scared to say what he’s really thinking. Instead he holds you close and feels you melt into his arms, relax completely as your breathing, airy and needy, slows.

After a breath, he disentangles himself enough to scan over you. He’s heavy lidded, glowing still from how hard he had cum, and he leans in to lick inside your mouth, wanting to taste you, feel you.

He feels your palms slip up to rest against his chest, your right hand directly over his heart. That feeling returns, his breath catches, his arms link around your lower waist as he kisses you slow and long and deep. The two of you just breathe, and Hoseok finally speaks, voice low and throaty and a little uncertain.

“I’m all yours, y’know that… you’ve got me.”

He’s a little scared to say the words, of feeling whatever it is that’s wrecking through his chest and head and heart right now. A smile unfurls over your face, you nod.

“You’ve got me too.”

Hoseok just smiles, settles back and closes his eyes. He’s drowsy, and the two of you lapse into companionable quiet.

“I really don’t know how.” Hoseok confesses after a beat of silence, accompanying his painfully honest words with a small, vulnerable laugh.

“How what?”

Hoseok doesn’t know how to answer, what to say. How is he supposed to explain that he doesn’t know how he, an idiot guy from the wrong side of the tracks, ended up here? Here, wrapped up in you, so damn full of contentedness and happiness that feels strange and undeserved yet right, all at once. How is he supposed to explain that he doesn’t know how he got here when he had given up on so much of himself, locked segments of him away like they were rotted and dead? How is he supposed to explain that he doesn’t know how he met you - you, heart of gold and glass- found you, that you are here, with him, when you could be with anybody?

Hoseok doesn’t reply, he just shakes his head. “Just thinking aloud.”

You don’t reply, but he feels you curl into him closer.

And Hoseok lets himself fall asleep like that, tangled up in you.

Hoseok is asleep. You watch him, a faint smile ghosting over your lips.

He is so different from anyone else that you have ever met, ever known – he is both hard and soft, dark and light, strong and vulnerable. You think back briefly to the first time you saw him – standing on the street with a steely set to his jaw, cigarette dangling between his lips, all tough exterior and brusque, unfeeling words. You smile ruefully, thinking that he’s changed – especially when he’s like this, all wrapped up in his sheets, bare shoulderblades and messy hair and long lashes that flutter as he breathes – he’s changed. At least your perception of him has changed. Hoseok is no longer the dangerous thrill that runs up your spine, fear mixed with unsettled lust. Now, he feels safe, he feels right.

Your eyes fall on the Kingsnake tattoo on Hoseok’s hand. It is bold against his pale skin and you hesitate, thinking about Hoseok’s words, that he had gotten out, that he had been allowed departure from the Kingsnake’s nest.

The Kingsnakes - name after the kingsnake, aptly given the name of ‘king’ ue to their coldblooded ability to kill other snakes. To constrict them, to wrap their bodies around their prey so tight until they can no longer breathe, until every last breath of air, everything that grants them life – is suffocated clean from their corpses. Kingsnakes do not simply let their prey go, they do not give their prey an easy way out - even when their prey is another snake.

Unease stirs deep inside of you, you cover the kingsnake tattoo with your palm until you no longer can see its coiled body. You look at Hoseok again, at the black and blue bruise that is beginning to blossom under his eye. You wonder what exactly happened tonight between him and Z, and your mind betrays you as you picture Z driving his fist into Hoseok’s face. Z, his flat and unyielding eyes, the head and soul of the Kingsnakes. Kingsnakes who constrict, kill, hunt.

And as you glance at Hoseok – soft, sleeping, vulnerable – you feel uneasiness tug in the pit of your stomach.

You keep your palm over Hoseok’s kingsnake tattoo until finally you too, drift asleep.

amynote: This chapter was SO DARK but y’know what WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE END AHHH! the next chapter is the penultimate one and yes it will be an intense one, because c’mon. if you thought the kingsnakes were just going to let hoseok go, well... think again. hehe i hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you so much for reading!! ♡

#hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #bts smut #bts gang au #hoseok gang au

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joonbird · 6 years

Text

King Cobra

➭ “Yoongi, the zodiac snake hybrid, requests an evening with you - and asks dog hybrid Taehyung to join.”

pairing: yoongi x reader x taehyung

genre: hybrid au, smut

wordcount: 9k

✾ Zodiac Hybrids Masterlist ✾

★ warnings: hybrid threesome. rough sex, orgasm denial, d/s themes, use of ballgag, daddy kink, cumplay, facial, hair pulling, derogatory language during sex, spanking. this... is hybrid porn

amynote: for context on what exactly the zodiac hybrids are and what the Zodiac curse is, i recommend reading my fic Tigerboy :-)

also im really not playing around when i say it’s hybrid porn, so please take note of the warnings! thank you, love u ♡

“I want her.”

Silence. For a moment, Namjoon wonders if he’s heard that correctly – if he has somehow imagined those three words being spoken.

His gaze lifts, meeting a pair of cool, golden eyes. The moment that he makes eye contact with him, the realization sinks in that it hadn’t been a figment of his imagination.

The man standing before him has the blood of the Zodiac Snake running through his veins, the “I want her” really had come from his lips, and his request was none other than you.

Namjoon’s hands curl into tight fists, his hackles rise in irritation at the thought of him and you together. A swell of protectiveness, mixed with something confusing and more territorial, burns through him like a white hot flame.

He fights back the urge to bare his teeth, pulling himself together just enough to resist clawing that smug expression off of the Snake hybrid’s face.

Min Yoongi lets out a soft hum, leaning his back against the wall. He is enjoying this, Namjoon can sense it in the slouch of his shoulders and the casual tap, tap of Yoongi’s fingertips against the wineglass in his hand.

“I want her,” Yoongi repeats. “Is that a problem?” He keeps his voice level.

Namjoon grits his teeth, and Yoongi’s smile narrows.

“I lent you my plaything for the weekend last year, remember? The Monkey? She was fun.” Yoongi pauses, assessing Namjoon with mild interest. “Don’t say you’re actually attached to this one?” There is a hint of a smirk on Yoongi’s lips as he poses the question.

Namjoon shakes his head furiously, tearing his gaze away from Yoongi to focus on something else. Anything else.

“Not at all.”

“Good. So you won’t mind then if I have her for a night. I want to see what exactly about her has got you all wound up.”

Namjoon lets out a low, tense breath and shrugs.

“Do what you want.”

He turns on one heel and strides out, shouldering his way through the doors until they slam behind him.

As he leaves, a chuckle spills out from the side of the room. Park Jimin has his head tipped back, hand pressed to his chest as he laughs. He had been leaning against Yoongi’s kitchen counter the entire time, having witnessed the tense conversation between the two zodiac hybrid members with amusement.

“I’ve never seen him like that, huh. So the tiger can get irritated. Who knew.” Jimin sighs out, Yoongi just clicks his tongue in response.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you enjoying his irritation, Yoongi?”

Yoongi just smiles in response. “Of course I am.”

Jimin just laughs again. “You really are a snake. Speaking of, you should probably go easy on the Rabbit girl.”

“I always go easy on-”

“Hah. Don’t even try, you’re not fooling anybody.”

Yoongi’s smile widens as he lifts his wine glass. It’s such a blatant lie that Jimin doesn’t even bother entertaining it. Everybody knows that Yoongi, the Snake hybrid, doesn’t do easy.

It’s not in his nature, after all.

Jimin lets out another little sigh. “Yoongi, knowing you, you’ll break her if it’s just the two of you. Hey - want me to join in? It’d be fun…”

Yoongi surveys the other man thoughtfully. Jimin is the Dragon hybrid, and unlike most of the other Zodiac hybrids – Jimin flaunts his zodiac heritage. He doesn’t attempt to coexist peacefully with humans, instead choosing to fully embrace the dragon blood that runs through his veins.

His hair is metallic silver, eyes as black as coal, and on the side of his neck is an intricate black dragon tattoo.

Jimin’s personality is unlike most of the other zodiac hybrids as well. The Dragon oozes with confidence, he exudes an intoxicating charisma that wraps tight around the women he seduces -both human and hybrid alike - until they are well and truly in the grip of his claws.

Yoongi knows Jimin likes to be worshipped, praised, that he demands attention with silken commands that his kitten shows him how badly she wants him, to prove it to him with her tongue, her hands, her body.

Sharing the Rabbit with Jimin would definitely be fun.

After a beat of thought, Yoongi shakes his head. “Sorry, kid. I have someone else in mind.”

Jimin pouts, stretching his arms above his head. “Who? It’s not the Ox, is it?”

Yoongi shakes his head and brings the wineglass to his lips. The liquid is blood red, and he savours the taste on his tongue before he meets Jimin’s curious, slightly affronted stare.

As fun as it would be to include Jimin, Yoongi has already settled on inviting a different zodiac hybrid member - someone who he knows will be the perfect addition for his night with the Rabbit.

“Who then?” Jimin presses again, folding his arms over his chest.

Yoongi smiles.

“The Dog.”

“So...” You murmur under your breath. “Guess this is it.”

You look at the door in front of you, before glancing back down at the small business card in your hands. The card is creamy eggshell white, with just an address on the front along with three letters: MYG.

You flip the card over, and there in the centre is an illustration of a small, coiled, king cobra snake. And below the snake’s body in neat, sloping handwriting: 9PM Saturday.

It had arrived in the mail a few days ago, slotted in amongst bills and other letters. You had known immediately what it meant, and moreover - who it was from.

Min Yoongi, the Zodiac Snake hybrid.

You had never met him before, you didn’t know much about him - what you did know was that he was a prominent figure in the creative arts industry in your city, a hybrid who had integrated his life seamlessly with humans.

Your attention had been piqued immediately. The card revealed no information other than a time and a date, and it was barely anything to go by. For all you knew, Yoongi wanted to meet in order talk business, or perhaps to formally meet a Zodiac hybrid who he hadn’t met before.

But something deep inside of you, animal instinct perhaps, whispered that he wanted to meet you for different reasons entirely.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the door swinging open. A man stands there with his head cocked to one side, he is a bundle of sun-kissed freckles, tousled auburn hair and wide, imploring eyes.

“Hey,” He grins. “Long time no see.”

“Taehyung?”

You’re surprised to see the Dog hybrid, he leans in and wraps his arms snugly around your waist, drawing you into a quick hug.

“Hey, you.” As always, Taehyung is dripping with affection and energy. You blink, feeling a sudden pull in your core at the sudden contact.

Taehyung smells warm and woody, and the scent is familiar. You can remember that scent lingering on your skin for hours after the last time you had seen Taehyung.

That same time was also when the two of you had been all over each other with panting breaths and torn clothes, sloppy, desperate tongues dragged down skin. In fact, the last time you saw Taehyung was more than a year ago now.

You gaze up at him, at the nape of his neck, and suddenly have a recollection of your hands digging into that exact stretch of skin as he fucked into you hard and fast, that same heady scent wrapped around you.

An involuntary shiver travels across your skin at the year old memory.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” You say instead and Taehyung glances down at you, a cheeky smile flashing over his face.

“It’s been too long.”

His eyes are dancing and something tells you that Taehyung is recalling the exact same memory that had been playing through your mind just moments ago.

“C’mon in, Yoongi’s just having a coffee.”

You don’t question why Tae’s here at Yoongi’s apartment, closing the door behind you and following Taehyung inside.

The apartment is more spacious than you had expected. Most of the furniture is slate grey marble and polished black wood, everything inside is sleek and minimal in design. The space itself is an open plan style apartment, and at one ends of the room is a huge King sized bed.

Along the entire back wall beside the bed is a mirror that runs from ceiling to floor, the glass creates an illusion that the apartment is even bigger.

You feel a prickle over your skin, you breathe in a little deeper.

The Snake is nearby. You can sense it.

Your muscles lock in place, you feel your heartbeat accelerate, everything sharpens into tight focus - and then you hear it.

“It’s about time we met.”

His voice is husky. Throaty, like rough velvet, and you feel your pulse start to quicken.

You glance up, meeting a pair of sienna golden eyes and everything slows.

It’s like pieces slotting together, coarse edges glossing out, the call of your blood to his - and for a moment the Zodiac curse that is so firmly wrapped around you loosens.

The Snake’s jaw tightens, you watch him take in a quick breath as the two of you stare at each other. You’ve both experienced this before - the exhilarating feeling that is only brought about when two Zodiac hybrids meet for the first time - but it’s much more intense this time, with Yoongi.

You look at him properly. He has dark hair and creamy pale skin, he’s assessing you with a sharp and penetrating stare. His body is lean, he’s dressed in a black silk shirt and black pants, and the light catches on the chunky silver rings he wears on his fingers.

You stare at his hands, the silk ripples as he shifts, stepping forward. You feel something stirring deep inside of you.

“Min Yoongi.”

“____.” You murmur back, accepting his outstretched hand.

He is cool to the touch and you feel his thumb run over your knuckles, down to your wrist, resting lightly on the pulse point there.

His eyes are still locked on yours. You swallow.

You feel completely drawn into his heavy gaze, and a thrill of nerves rushes over you.

“I didn’t know you’re friends with Taehyung,” You stammer out. Yoongi doesn’t react, his fingers still laced through yours.

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends,” Yoongi murmurs. “I’m just doing my Zodiac duty by teaching him some... valuable lessons.”

“Like what?”

There is an edge to his smile, his gold eyes flash at your question.

“Like how to share. He’s very greedy. Tch. Canines... they’re always about instant gratification, aren’t they? I on the other hand… prefer good things to come more slowly.” His eyes are still focused on you, and you feel an ache begin to slowly unfurl between your legs.

Yoongi’s fingers are linked around your wrist, it occurs to you that he can probably hear the staccato of your heartbeat - and that he likely knows how wound up you are just from listening to his measured, deliberate voice.

“Sharing and, um, patience are … they’re good lessons to teach.” Your voice shakes faintly and you shift in place, clenching your thighs together.

Yoongi’s eyes glint, a tiny smirk spreads over his lips.

“Perhaps I should teach you too.”

Something dark and needy plucks in your belly.

“Would you like that, little rabbit?”

You nod, biting your lip. Yoongi lets go of your wrist, his fingers slowly tracing up your arm.

Arousal is pooling between your legs, a thrill of excitement and intensity steadily working its way through your core.

“Speak.” Yoongi says in an abrupt tone and you nod again, stepping forward a half-step,

“Yes. I’d like that, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s smile is razor sharp.

“Tae,” He calls out. You are pulled out of your reverie, glancing over at Taehyung who is watching the two of you with glassy eyes and a slackened jaw.

“Y-yeah?” Taehyung straightens, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. He’s turned on too, by watching you all meek and needy just from Yoongi’s fingers barely grazing over your skin. Taehyung’s arousal sings through in the thickness of his voice.

“Patience, remember?” Yoongi is staring straight at you, words steely. “If you can’t show me that you can be patient, then I won’t want to share.”

Taehyung lets out a small whimper, then a, “I will, I promise, I can be patient.”

You feel another jolt of arousal deep between your legs as Yoongi leans in closer and murmurs, “See? He’s already so impatient for you. You can hear it, can’t you? That desperate strain in his voice?” Yoongi’s voice lulls into a softer, hypnotic tone and you nod faintly at his words.

Your fine-tuned senses allow you to hear the quickened pace of Taehyung’s heartbeat, the slightly broken edge to his breathing.

Yoongi leans even closer, until you can feel his lips brushing against your earlobe.

“I can hear how impatient you are, too.”

Your breath catches. The feeling of being so wanted by one man, and wanting so badly for another, has your head spinning with lust.

“But you’re going to do as I say though, aren’t you? You’ll be a good girl for me? For us?” Yoongi’s voice is husky and hushed as he closes the space between the two of you, shifting until his lips are mere inches from yours.

You swallow, nod. You want him so badly that it’s all you can think about - and the knowledge that Yoongi knows how searing your desire is, that he knows and is dragging it out on purpose, is making you want him even more.

Yoongi’s fingers skim down your cheek, over your chin. He keeps his gaze on you as his touch trails down your neck, ghosting over your collarbones.

You tremble in place, not daring to move a centimetre, your instincts telling you to stay still as he teases your skin with his hands.

“Put your hand between your legs.” His voice is steady, soft, but you don’t miss the authority in his tone. You react immediately, your palm fluttering up to hover between your legs.

“Good girl,” Yoongi murmurs, his fingers deftly undoing the first button of your shirt. “So pretty with your legs spread like that. You’re wet already, aren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, undoes another button. “You have such a sweet scent,” He continues, his voice is silken, “I’m guessing you taste sweet too.”

At his words, you press your palm against your core. You are wet, you can feel a ravenous and needy want emanating through your body.

Yoongi is undoing more buttons of your shirt, so slowly that you are drenched in impatience.

Desperately, you roll your hips up into your hand, grinding against your palm harder. It barely offers a release, riling you up further. Yoongi hisses in softly as he undoes the final button, pulling your shirt off of your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

“Look at you, so desperate already.” Yoongi clicks his tongue as he watches you, your palm flat between your legs as you rock your hips against yourself. He trails his finger up your stomach, travelling between your breasts, and you press your thumb against your clit through your underwear.

“So jumpy,” He comments slowly, “And I haven’t even started yet.”

His fingers inch closer to your breast. You are so wet that your underwear is soaked through, and you begin to rock your hips back and forth, craving more.

Yoongi hums quietly, moving his fingers in slow, careful circles around your nipple. Your nipples are hard, and you let out a tiny, eager whine as Yoongi’s thumb skims around your nipple - so close that you can’t breathe... yet he doesn’t touch you, drawing his hand away.

He reaches under your skirt, brushing over your legs. You press your thumb against your clit harder as Yoongi’s hand inches up the inside of your thigh. His touch is feather light, so delicate and careful that shivers travel over your skin.

You can’t help the broken moan that escapes from your pressed lips, your core clenches with yearning. You are so wet that you can feel it everywhere, so full of want that it pulses between your legs.

Your core feels sensitive and swollen, throbbing and aching. Your Zodiac hybrid senses react to even the barest touches of Yoongi’s hands against your upper thighs, to the air on your bare breasts, the tiny whines that Taehyung is letting out from where he’s standing and watching - and it’s all working together to drive you absolutely crazy with carnal longing.

“Tae,” Yoongi doesn’t look up as he speaks, getting down on his knees. His eyes are locked on your thighs, his hands still travelling up higher, centimetre by centimetre.

His pinky brushes over the apex of your inner thigh, hooking in the edge of your underwear. He’s so close that your breathing quickens, as he pulls the soaked cotton away from your slit.

“Tae, what are you doing?” Yoongi asks in a calm voice, you tear your gaze away from him to look over at Taehyung.

The dog hybrid is staring at the two of you, panting for breath. His hand is stroking up and down his cock through the grey sweatpants he’s wearing, his eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

The sight has a streak of lust flashing through you, Taehyung’s gaze meets yours and you swallow thickly.

“I c-can’t help it, Yoongi,” Taehyung breathes out. “She wants you so badly, I can practically taste it in the air- ”

“Taste what in the air?”

Yoongi’s finger is still crooked in your underwear, his fingertip is so close to your slit that it takes all of your will to not grind against his hand. You stay still, obedient, waiting for him to touch you - the blood of the Rabbit that runs through your veins telling you to do as Yoongi says, to submit to him.

You return your attention to Taehyung, whose hand is working up and down the shaft of his cock, eyes planted on you.

“I can practically taste her cunt already,” Taehyung finally whispers, licking his lips. “She’s… she’s so wet, hyung...”

Taehyung’s voice crackles and your eyes widen a touch, heart rate quickening.

“She is, isn’t she?” Yoongi hums in pleasure, lowers his head, He presses his tongue flat along the inside of your thigh, head disappearing under your skirt. Your spine stiffens as Yoongi mouths up your leg, stopping where his finger is resting in the edge of your underwear.

“Take your skirt off.” His words are firm. “And those panties. I want you naked.”

You reach behind your back, unzipping your skirt. It falls to the ground, and you step out of your underwear.

At the same time, Yoongi quickly undresses - you momentarily forget to breathe as you watch Yoongi take the silk shirt off, then his pants. His chest is taut, his body lean and lithe. Most of all, your eyes are drawn to his cock - it’s big, thick, the tip pink and wet with his precum.

He scoops up your underwear from and tosses them to Taehyung, who catches them with his free hand.

Taehyung lets out a stuttered moan, brings your black cotton underwear to his face and inhales. His eyes roll, his fingers tighten around the fabric and your eyes fall to his hand, which is still working the length of his cock.

You know he can smell all of your arousal, your wetness, your desperation – all soaked into the underwear he has held up to his face.

Taehyung lets out another shaky, animalistic moan, his cock twitching in his pants.

Seeing him so completely turned on over you gets you even more riled up, craving release even more- and then you feel Yoongi press his tongue against your slit.

You let out a sharp cry at the sudden release – at the feeling of Yoongi’s tongue darting against your clit slowly. He’s teasing you, you think to yourself faintly, his tongue swirling against your wet folds in slow, tantalizing strokes.

His tongue is flat against your wetness, it’s almost rough as he laps every bit of you up. You gaze down at him, at the sight of his tongue against your pussy, his dark eyes dilated as he lets out a soft moan of pleasure right against your clit.

You let out a shaky sigh at how good it feels, how good his tongue feels licking cleanly down your wetness.

And just when the pleasure starts to build, Yoongi pulls away.

The absence has you blinking dazedly, Yoongi is staring at you with wicked, darkened eyes.

“Why should I give you what you want?” He asks, his voice dismissive and low. His hands are squeezing your thighs, his mouth glossy with your slick wetness.

The sight of him - bent on his knees, authoritative look in his gold eyes, mouth slightly parted, lips full and wet from you - has you trembling all over.

“I’ll do anything,” The words come tumbling out, and you hear Taehyung let out a soft groan at your words. It only spurs you on more, the thought that Taehyung is watching the two of you, stroking himself to the sight of Yoongi eating you out, at the sounds of you begging for more.

You soften your voice into a silken plea, a syrupy “Please Yoongi, please,” your core aching in suspense as Yoongi keeps his eyes locked on you.

“Such a sweet pussy,” He comments in a slow, self-assured tone, and then his tongue is back on you. This time, he licks down your entire slit in one long, lingering motion - making your toes curl and your fists clench tightly.

Just as suddenly as before, he withdraws, leaving you dizzy and desperate.

“Yoongi… p-please-”

Yoongi thrusts a finger inside of you, you are so wet that it slides in knuckle deep with no resistance. You can feel the edges of the silver ring that he wears on his index finger as it slides inside of you, Yoongi crooks his finger and you let out a loud, broken cry at the delicious feeling of him finger fucking you.

Yoongi leans close and flicks his tongue over your clit, rapid and fast, making your vision blur and a sudden spike of pleasure bloom in your chest - and then once again he withdraws, pulling away and staring at you with amusement etched on his features.

You are breathing heavily, desperation lacing your words as you blink down at him.

“Please don’t stop, please-”

Yoongi lets out a soft, dark laugh. “I love hearing you beg,” He comments, lifting his finger and brushing his knuckle and silver ring gently against your sensitive clit.

You twitch at the feeling of it, he has his eyes locked on you and he reads every tremble of your lips, his acute senses picking up on the tiniest breaths that escape wantonly from your throat.

“God, Yoongi please, touch me, I want it, I-I need it, need it so badly-”

“How badly?”

“So badly I’ll do anything-”

You are cut off by Yoongi’s lips pressing hard and flat against your clit. He mouths at your clit, sucking it gently with his lips and then teasing over with his tongue.

The feeling is sudden and immense, and just when you think it’s too much - he slides two fingers deep inside of you. You shake from head to toe, let out a cry of pleasure.

He keeps a rhythm up - his two long fingers slowly and teasingly fucking you out, gliding in and out of you in slow, punishing motions - while his tongue laps at your wet, needy cunt.

You are so close that you can practically taste it. You are about to topple over the edge, your entire core clenched and ready for the heady wash of bliss - when Yoongi pulls away. Again.

Your entire body topples forward, your breathing heavy - you hear Yoongi let out a soft laugh, catch the strained groan that escapes from Taehyung - and then Yoongi’s tongue darts over your clit yet again, teasing you in quick strokes.

This time, you orgasm almost immediately – a sense of urgency and your delayed gratification washing over you in heavy, lacquered waves of pleasure.

You tip your head back, let out a broken moan as your orgasm crests over you. It’s slow, and long. It ebbs through every inch of your body, blissful and satisfying and so intensely strong that your eyes flutter shut.

As it slowly begins to fade, you are brought back to your senses. You are aware of Yoongi’s hands resting on your thighs, of Taehyung’s heavy breathing.

Your hybrid senses pick up on the scent in the air – Taehyung’s arousal, the precum leaking from the tip of hard cock, and Yoongi’s too.

Finally, you open your eyes to see Yoongi, who is still on his knees, staring up at you.

“You still want more, don’t you?” He asks.

Something inside of you snaps at his words, knowing he has read the quickening pace of your heartbeat and the thrum of lust still there between your legs.

You look up at Yoongi, eyes widening as he smirks knowingly. He cups the side of your face, fingers lingering on your jaw and brushing over your neck, as he runs his thumb along your bottom lip.

Your mouth parts, you stare up at him unwaveringly as his eyes narrow.

“Y-yes, I do,” You breathe out.

“Show me how badly you want it.” His voice is like molten silk, his thumb teasing at your bottom lip as you oblige, sucking on his finger like it’s his cock in your mouth.

Yoongi’s eyes flash.

Lust is starting to gather inside of you, a frenetic energy, and you let out a tiny whine as you swirl your tongue around Yoongi’s fingers- the same fingers that had been fucking you out only moments before.

Taehyung lets out a loud growl, catching your attention. In the mirror’s reflection you can see a dark smirk of satisfaction flicker over Yoongi’s features.

It occurs to you in that moment that Yoongi is getting a wicked sense of pleasure from teasing Taehyung, of drawing it out from him just as he had with you. That Yoongi is enjoying this, being powerful, dominant.

The thought drives you even crazier with fever, your eyes locked on Taehyung’s face - his wide eyes, parted lips, the desperate notes that escape his throat.

At some point he must have taken off his clothes because he is naked - and while you’ve seen Tae naked before, the sight still makes you momentarily breathless. He is tall, muscular and soft all at once, with strong thighs and a chiselled stomach.

Your eyes tick across to the figure behind Yoongi- your reflection. You stare at the fucked out look in your eyes, your blown out pupils and full glossy lips. You look like a sex doll, utterly fucked out and high off of your orgasm- and Taehyung hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Are you looking at him?” Yoongi has straightened now, he whispers in your ear. His voice is calm, and you let out a broken “Yes” as he laces his fingers around yours, placing them over his cock.

You begin to glide your hand up and down his shaft, enjoying the way Yoongi’s shoulders stiffen at your touch.

“Ah,” Yoongi sighs, “Describe to me how badly he wants it. Wants you, wants to be me right now.”

“He… he wants it-”

“How can you tell?” Yoongi’s voice cuts over yours, glossy and calm.

“I-I can hear it, he’s saying my name a lot, and he keeps saying “please”, and… and-”

“And?”

“-And he’s really hard.”

“Mm.” You feel Yoongi’s hands dig harder into your waist, his voice leans in a little tighter until you feel his teeth graze dangerously at your neck. “How hard?”

You shiver all over, your hands stutter for a moment before they continue working Yoongi’s length.

“He - his cock, it’s so hard-”

“And you want it?”

Yoongi begins to bite down onto your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin and washing over it with his tongue.

“Yes.” You moan, at the feeling of it, of Yoongi’s hard cock in your hand, all while you are staring at Taehyung’s.

Tae is hard, so hard that his length sits flat against his stomach.

“Yes who?” Yoongi demands in a soft voice.

“Yes, daddy.”

The words slip out before you can stop them and you feel Yoongi tremble against your hand, he presses tighter against you and for a moment his composure is broken with a tiny, husky “Fuck, you perfect little slut,” right in the shell of your ear.

“Taehyung.” He glances up, and Taehyung all but bounds over. “Why don’t you touch her?”

You look up from under your lashes to see Taehyung standing behind you.

“Can I?” He smiles earnestly at you and you nod, let out a tiny breathy “Yes please.”

“Let’s move to the bed,” Yoongi intervenes, and Taehyung bends down, scooping you up in one movement. He places you on the bed and immediately shifts his body so that he is crooked behind you, his hands on your waist.

Yoongi lingers by the bed, but your attention is on Taehyung, and the feeling of his hands digging into your hips.

Taehyung lets out a tiny whine and reaches forward, his palm caressing over your thighs. You are still quivering from the orgasm Yoongi had given you with his tongue, and your skin is sensitive- enough so that even this, Taehyung running his palms roughly over your thighs and curving around your ass, has you shaking all over.

Taehyung’s palm smacks down suddenly on your ass, a small, sharp slap that has you moaning.

You arch your back, as Taehyung lets out another low whine.

“You look so hot with your ass up in the air like that,” He groans out, then his palm comes down again in an even harder slap against you, making you sigh out his name.

You can feel it everywhere - the few seconds of pain and the tingle over your skin, Taehyung’s hands working over where he had spanked you before they travel up and down your thighs.

It feels like your entire lower body is tingling, like every nerve ending is on fire.

You clench your thighs desperately, pressing harder against Taehyung, suddenly consumed with a desire to be filled, to be fucked.

“Feels even better than before, doesn’t it?” Yoongi’s voice is low in your ear and all you can do is tip your head back and moan in affirmation.

“Open your mouth, baby girl.”

Your eyes flutter open to see Yoongi standing in front of you, a smirk playing on his lips.

There, in his hands is a small black ball attached on two sides to a strip of supple black leather.

You swallow, hard, a fresh tremor of lust tingling up your spine before you open your mouth obediently, gazing up at Yoongi.

Behind you, you hear Taehyung let out a soft moan, a “I’m so hard, fuck. I want to fuck her so badly.”

Yoongi keeps his eyes on you as he places the ball between your lips.

“Taehyung, hold her hair.” He speaks, and you feel Taehyung’s big hands at the nape of your neck, brushing your hair away as Yoongi fastens the strap of the ballgag.

The ballgag is unfamiliar in your mouth, it holds your mouth open - you can already feel your mouth watering, eyes wide as you glance up at Yoongi. He is looking at you with an expression of dark arousal, and behind him in the mirror you can see Taehyung standing behind you. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flex as he grips your hips harder, an expression of lust and awe in his face as he looks at you.

You- your eyes tick over your own reflection – you on all fours, hair messy and pulled to one side, bites adorning your neck, and there ¬– held between your lips, a black ball. It sends a whole new series of shivers running over your skin as you refocus your attention on Yoongi.

“You look like such a good perfect slut,” He sighs, behind you, you can feel the tip of Taehyung’s cock teasing at your entrance.

You whine softly, it comes out muffled against the ballgag and you gaze up at Yoongi.

He lets out a tiny, choked moan. “Look at you,” He murmurs, “Such a good girl for Daddy.”

You groan against the object in your mouth, arch your back harder against Taehyung, who you can feel cockteasing at your entrance.

“You want Tae to fuck you?” Yoongi asks in a low voice. “He won’t until I tell him to. He wants to, don’t you Tae?”

You hear Taehyung inhale sharply, his voice coming out in a desperate, rushed growl, “I want to fuck you so badly-”

“And do you want to be fucked by him, babygirl?” Yoongi directs the question to you, and you nod, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

You can feel the tip of Taehyung’s cock teasing at your slit. You are so wet that you aren’t sure whether it’s your own slick entrance or his precum, but he thrusts inside of you with ease.

Your breath stutters out at the feeling of him sliding inside of you, pushing his entire length deep into your walls. Before you can adjust to the feeling of him stretching you out, you feel Taehyung’s hands at the nape of your neck, fingers lacing through your hair.

Your fingers curl into fists around Yoongi’s bedsheets, almost out of instinct - and you feel a tiny rush of anticipation jolt through your body as Taehyung pulls hard against your hair.

He pulls hard enough to make your scalp sting, he snaps his hips hard against you, emits a small growl as he crooks his body even closer over yours.

The weight of him completely on top of you, dominating you, and the feeling of his hand wrapped up in your hair, has you keening out an animalistic moan.

Your lips are still clamped over the ball gag, and you look up silently with wide, lustful eyes at Yoongi, who is leaning closer to you now. Taehyung starts to snap his hips harder, tugging your hair with each punishing thrust of his hips against yours.

Yoongi’s lips brush at the side of your neck, his teeth nipping teasingly at the sensitive slope of skin there. You are faintly aware of his hand gliding up and down his own shaft, touching himself like Taehyung had been earlier. Touching himself over you, over each rough, dominating thrust of Taehyung’s cock.

Your mind is racing - the satisfaction of finally being full, stuffed full of Taehyung’s huge cock, the feeling of being utterly owned by him, one hand massaging your ass and the other tangled in your hair... and then this - Yoongi’s teeth grazing at your pulse point, his finger darting over your clit.

You are brimming with it, of the feeling of being touched and dominated, and then you hear Taehyung let out a low, desperate whine.

“You feel so fucking good,” Taehyung sighs out, “Such a sweet, tight cunt, God,” His voice is throaty and hungry with lust as he fucks into you harder - so hard that it has you crying out against the ballgag in your mouth.

It’s riding over you like a wave - pleasure, want, and a dark kind of lust that is unfurling inside of you. It’s like something is being unlocked, something sinful and darkly, deeply delicious.

Yoongi’s finger drums against your clit, in a teasing, lilting tapping motion that has no set rhythm - he presses long and fast, slow and quick, and it has your back arching even harder, desperation throbbing through your core.

“You look so hot with that in your mouth baby.” Taehyung sighs out, he grips your hair harder, jerking your head back. “Look at yourself- such a gorgeous fuckdoll.”

Your eyes widen as you take in your reflection in the mirror. The ballgag in your mouth, your dilated, fucked out eyes. Yoongi, by your side, gazing at you, his fingers playing with your clit, face dipped into your neck, other hand working his length.

Taehyung, behind you, his hair sweaty and falling into his eyes, shoulders arched as he fucks into you, one hand knotted through your hair.

You, bent forward on all fours, submitting under both beautiful hybrid men. Your walls tighten for a moment with pleasure at the sight- that same dark, sinful kind of pleasure.

“You look good…” Taehyung’s voice growls out, “I’m going to be thinking about how good you look all week. Make that all month. Not going to stop thinking about it, you, looking so obedient, so pretty, all ours...”

The thought of the Dog hybrid’s hand wrapped around his thick cock as he thinks about you and this, the words ‘all ours’, have your walls tightening.

Yoongi, sensing how close you are, begins to rapidly circle his fingers around your clit. This time, he settles into a rhythm - and you breathing quickens.

Yoongi’s lips move up to your ear, kissing a slow, teasing trail up your jaw.

Taehyung pulls hard on your hair, your head jerks up a fraction, enough to gaze into Yoongi’s dark, hypnotic eyes before he leans in.

You can’t speak, not with the ball gag in your mouth, but you tell him with your eyes how much you want them both, how good they feel. How you’ll do anything for them to keep going, to keep fucking you.

Yoongi dips his head forward, lips brushing at your ear.

“Does the Tiger fuck you as good as this?”

You tremble, moan out against the ballgag in your mouth at that sudden words that spill out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“We could fuck you like this every night…” Yoongi continues, his voice silken, “You could be Daddy’s slut, how does that sound?” He runs his tongue over your earlobe and you feel Taehyung start to fuck into you faster, harder.

Yoongi’s fingers are still on your clit and you are hyper-aware of how wound up you are getting, how hard your core is pulsing.

Taehyung adjusts his hips and pushes into you, so deep that it has you gasping out. You catch Taehyung’s eager smirk in the mirror’s reflection as he thrusts even deeper inside of you, enough so that you feel your toes curling.

You are close - so fucking close that all you can taste and see is a crimson red urgency.

“You’re ours right now,” Taehyung sighs out, you keep your gaze locked on him.

Yoongi chuckles in your ear, puts another finger against your clit. You shudder, still staring directly at Taehyung. He has an easy, confident smile teasing on his face, he tugs on your hair and your head jerks back.

Yoongi’s fingers tease harder against your clit and you begin to tremble. You can feel it like a wave, so close to orgasm that your vision blurs, and then your entire cunt clenches.

The release fills your with a heady, hazy bliss, one that has your walls throbbing.

Your body shakes, Taehyung moans out and slows his thrusts, fucking into you with deliberate strokes of his cock, eyes fluttering as he feels you cum around him.

Yoongi pulls his fingers away and reaches behind your head, he undoes the ball gag and your head lolls forward.

Yoongi’s fingers brush delicately at your chin, cleaning you up from the ballgag, behind you, you can feel Taehyung bend forward, stamping kisses down your spine and shoulder blades.

Yoongi’s fingertips brush over your lips, your eyes rolling slightly from your intense orgasm, you obediently lick your wetness clean off of his fingers, a glow settling over your skin as Yoongi reaches forward and kisses you. Slowly, with his tongue gently teasing yours, and you feel the euphoric haze of your orgasm slip away as you kiss Yoongi back, feel Taehyung’s hands caress your back and your shoulders.

When Yoongi pulls away, you are dazed, blinking heavily with wide, fucked out eyes. You turn your attention to Taehyung, who is still buried deep inside of you, his hands holding your hips in place.

He meets your gaze, his eyes intense, a smile toying on his lips.

“I want to stuff you full with my cum, baby girl.”

“Y-yes, please Tae-” Your voice is hoarse, desperate, you turn to look at Yoongi. You reach out, wrapping your fingers around his shaft.

“I, I want...”

Yoongi’s eyes darken in realization, he swallows hard, and for the first time you see his composure falter as an expression of pure lust slips over his features.

“You want me to cum on you too, baby girl?”

You nod, and Yoongi lets out a soft, throaty sigh.

“God, you’re...” His voice trails off and you begin to run his hand over his cock faster. Taehyung licks his lips and brings down his palm against your ass, you shudder as he squeezes where he spanked you, pushes into you deeper.

Yoongi sits beside you, one hand brushing through your hair as you work his length. It feels good, his fingers working through your scalp, as Taehyung begins to slowly slide in and out of you, grinding upward with each ministration of his hips.

You moan out, letting out a shaky “Please cum in me, please,” and nod your head, Taehyung just smiles, clenches his jaw and begins to thrust into you harder. You turn to Yoongi, “I want you to cum on my face.”

The thought is erotic - Taehyung filling you with his cum, enough so that any zodiac hybrid who comes near you for the next few days will smell it on your skin and buried deep inside of your cunt. Yoongi, with his cum all over your lips and cheeks, claiming you.

You know it turns both men on too, Yoongi lets out a soft moan. “I’m close.” He moves, shifting so that he is on his knees in front of you, his cock directly in front of your face. “Good,” You sigh out, you glance up at Yoongi. “Thank you, Daddy.” He lets out a long, pitchy moan at your words, and you turn your head, fluttering your lids at Taehyung, “Please fill me up with your cum too, Tae.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen momentarily and he lets out a low moan. “You want everyone to know how good you were fucked by us tonight, don’t you?”

He grips your hips harder, you can tell he’s close from the pitchiness of his voice. Taehyung is so expressive - you can see it all over his face, the twitch of his jaw, the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips, how he keeps his gaze locked on you like he wants to devour you, all of you.

“Yes,” You moan out. Taehyung’s hips snap harder, faster and then you gasp out. He crooks his body over yours, his hands grabbing the small of your waist as he stutters forward.

He lets out a shaky, desperate moan, you can hear his orgasm in the velvet strain of his voice. He cums deep inside of you, his sounds of pleasure melt against Yoongi, who is beginning to let out a broken, desperate groans as you continue to work his cock with your hand. “I’m-” Yoongi stutters out and you continue to glide your hand faster up and down Yoongi’s shaft until finally his body jerks, and ropes of cum shoot out, painting your face - his cum dripping down your lips and cheeks.

After a beat, Yoongi’s body relaxes, he lets out a soft, hummed “Fuck, that was…” His voice trails off, you lift your head to meet Taehyung’s gaze in the mirror. He has a happy, dazed smile on his face as he slides out of you.

You let out a tiny gasp, feeling some of his cum drip out of your walls and down your thighs.

“Open.” You look up to see Yoongi running his fingers over the inside of your thigh, he traces the finger over your cheek before holding it to your lips. They’re coated in Taehyung’s and Yoongi’s cum, and you obediently lick his finger, until it is clean. You feel Taehyung shifting behind you, looping his arms around your waist, watching with wide, aroused eyes.

“That’s so hot,” He sighs happily, “You’re so hot.”

He flops back on the bed onto his back and Yoongi brushes the hair away from your face, reaching over to his bedside table and grabbing a fistful of tissues. He gently dabs at our face, wiping the cum away.

You can still taste both hybrid’s cum on your tongue, suddenly aware of how much your body aches.

“Let’s rest,” Yoongi says, his voice soft, and you nod.

You settle back onto the sheets, after a moment you feel Yoongi lowering himself onto the bed beside you.

Your eyes flutter closed. You can hear Taehyung’s breaths, heavy and labored, contrasted against Yoongi’s soft, deep breathing, and the sounds are comforting – they help to settle your dizzy mind and slow your fevered thoughts.

As you relax, Taehyung lets out a content sigh and rolls over onto his side, curling closer until he is nestled against your side. His palm splays over your hip, his face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his leg thrown comfortably over you.

You can feel so much of him, his lips pressing sporadic, sloppy little kisses against your collarbones.

Yoongi on the other hand stays completely still, lying flat on his back. He reaches out with one hand and brushes his fingers up your jawline, brushing over your hair.

Carefully, he combs through your hair with his fingertips, scratching your head in slow, hypnotic motions. His touch is surprisingly tender and you feel your body start to unwind.

You are melting into the mattress, your body tucked in between two men. You feel safe, heady with bliss, and you slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you awaken a few hours later, you let out a happy sigh.

Your body is sated, your mind a touch fuzzy around the edges, muscles starting to ache – and with that as a cue, you sit yourself up and start to get dressed.

When you are fully clothed, you look at the bed, all crumpled sheets and the smell of sex in the air, and feel a sense of fondness bloom inside of your chest.

Both men are still fast asleep, Taehyung is spread like a starfish on his tummy, eyelids fluttering, animated even in his sleep. Ever the Dog hybrid. Yoongi is beside him, utterly still and serene, lips parted as he lets out the tiniest of snores, body curled tightly into a ball.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

You straighten, cast one more look at the sleeping Snake and Dog, and with that, you leave Yoongi’s apartment.

Yoongi wakes up to the sound of clattering pots and pans. Letting out an irritated “tch”, he drags his body out of bed to find the source of the racket.

As expected, it’s Taehyung- digging around in his kitchen cabinets for something to eat.

“I’ll order food, there’s nothing there.” Yoongi mutters bluntly and Taehyung turns his head a fraction, Yoongi sees a corner of his signature boxy grin.

“... We could get pizza.”

Yoongi just rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

Taehyung bounces away from the cabinets and leans over the kitchen counter, eyes locked on Yoongi.

“So,” He begins conspiratorially. “When are we seeing her again for round two?”

“We aren’t.” Yoongi says in a flat tone.

“Why not?” Taehyung pouts, “She was so good. And she knew she was good, she liked it-”

Yoongi suppresses a little shiver at Taehyung’s words, dark and sinful images of all the things he had done to you and all the things he still wants to do to you flooding into his thoughts.

He presses them down, meets Taehyung’s pouty frown and sighs.

“I know she was good. But there will be no round two, Tae. You already know why.”

Taehyung grumbles in protest, but Yoongi knows Tae isn’t going to push it further. As happy go lucky as the younger man seems - he still keenly observes his surroundings. If Yoongi had picked up on the reason why their evening with you was going to be a once off, then Tae definitely would have too.

“I’m gonna have a shower.” Taehyung sighs, “Don’t forget the pizza.” He calls over his shoulder as heads straight for Yoongi’s bathroom – without even asking by the way – and Yoongi just lets out another “tch”, right from the back of his throat.

You had been as good as he had hoped – no, you were even better, with your doe-eyed obedience and expressive, pretty face. Your sloppy cunt and each desperate little whimper that had fallen out of your lips.

Yoongi would love to make you his, to claim you… but, as both he and Taehyung understood, he can’t.

As much as he wanted more of you, the Rabbit… he knew that this was going to be the only time. He had been surprised when Namjoon had even agreed to it in the first place. He had even enjoyed the animalistic jealousy and anger that had flashed across Namjoon’s face when Yoongi had asked.

Yoongi knew that Namjoon wouldn’t be able to say no, that he was too proud to admit that he had been tamed. That as much as he had a claim on you, you too had somehow put a claim on him.

But it wasn’t until Yoongi had actually been with you, touching you, feeling you that he actually got it. You and Namjoon belonged to one another. Yoongi had tasted it all over you, known it with the innate animal instinct deep in his belly – the Rabbit had won over the Tiger.

Something deep and inhuman inside of his core told him that the moment you left him and Taehyung in that bed, Namjoon would be there somehow, with his body pressed against yours, reclaiming you, telling you he wanted you all to himself.

A wry smile twists at Yoongi’s lips. If he was any other hybrid, maybe he’d fight for you - but that wasn’t his style. He was the snake hybrid through and through: composed, watchful, cool and collected. If anything, he would wait for an opportunity to strike or let it go. That included all things surrounding you, now.

Just like in the old Zodiac legend that they all knew back to front, the Tiger is just a little bit faster, a little bit stronger, a little bit smarter, and most of all – he had gotten there first, met you first.

If only, Yoongi muses to himself. If fucking only.

“Pizz-a!” Taehyung shouts out suddenly, and Yoongi’s head jerks up,, shaking him from his thoughts. He shakes his head and grabs his phone, googling the nearest pizza place to satisfy the Dog and his neverending appetite.

“The Rabbit.” Yoongi sighs under his breath resignedly as he brings the phone to his ear, a wry smile twisting at his cool, usually composed features. He would give up nearly anything to claim you as his - to have you as his own, to see all the ways in which he could make you scream out his name in pleasure.

“If only,” Yoongi mutters, the phone ringing out in his ear.

If fucking only.

amynote: thank you for indulging my Need to write hybrid threesome pwp ♡ i’ve been wanting to write a ballgag scene in a fic ever since reading Nana to Kaoru, and finally it’s happened! yahoo!

also why do i want to write a dragon jimin spinoff now

#yoongi smut #bts hybrid au #taehyung smut #taehyung hybrid au #yoongi hybrid au #taehyung x member #yoongi x member #taegi smut #taegi fic #bts threesome smut

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joonbird · 6 years

Text

Punch Drunk

➭ “Min Yoongi talks with his fists, and the only language he knows is one of anger and pain. He’s damaged, untouchable, a boxing underdog with something to prove. You are the sister of Yoongi’s rival - Jeon Jungkook, the number one elite boxer in your prefecture - and as Yoongi soon discovers, you are also his one and only weakness.”

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: boxer au, smut, angst

wordcount: 33k

❀ 6 / 8 of my oneshot requests ❀

** warnings: violence, descriptions of blood and injury, gambling references, heavy themes, mentions of death, drug references, slow burn, rough sex, breathplay, unprotected sex, cumplay, facial, light analplay, derogatory language during sex

Three seconds of silence.

Silence that stretches out heavy and slow, amongst an audience with lungs squeezed breathless in anticipation. All eyes are locked on the two people facing each other in the centre of the ring.

In these three seconds, all focus is whittled down onto the two bodies circling one another, waiting for the first strike to fall.

Three seconds is what takes for even the most elite to still their shaken thoughts, to slow their heartbeat enough to locate that opening. It also takes approximately three seconds for the gear to make its own assessment of the situation, to lock even tighter around strained muscles and aching bones before it tells the boxer what to do.

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t wait for three seconds to pass. He doesn’t need three seconds.

He lashes forward with enough speed and brutality to catch his opponent completely offguard. The amassed crowd falls apart in roars of shock and excitement, like a fresh buzz of electricity has jolted through them.

Jungkook feeds off of that energy, he recoils, and slams up with an uppercut punch right to his opponent’s jaw. The chrome finish of his gear glints in the bright light of the boxing ring, and it feels as though everybody sitting in the audience is holding a collective breath.

Crunch.

Jungkook’s glove connects squarely with bone. His opponent, a reputable fighter named Kim Taehyung, known for his agility and speed in the boxing ring, collides to the ground with a loud thump.

Three.

The electronic counter rings loud and clear through the ring. The crowd falls into hushed whispers, Taehyung lets out a choked groan.

From your seat in the VIP box, you can see it clearly – Taehyung is struggling to get up. He has three seconds to stand, or the match is finished.

The metallic gear laced over his back is helping him, you can see his arms twitching with effort as he finally rolls onto his side. His face is bruised, one eye already swollen closed, his bruised jaw causing his mouth to loll open. You shudder.

Two.

Taehyung hoists himself up onto his elbows. The crowd falls silent, so silent that you can hear the electronic click and whir of Taehyung’s gear as it forces his muscles to cooperate.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to him, his jaw tightens. You can hear Seokjin hiss in sharply, mutter out a brisk, “Jungkook, don’t-”

One.

Jungkook lowers his foot on Taehyung’s back, wedging it between his shoulder blades. Taehyung’s gear cracks under the weight, Taehyung lets out a brief, warbled scream. He swallows it down, his face contorted as he desperately tries to conceal the pain that he is clearly feeling.

In this world, pain is pride. To openly show your pain is worse than any defeat in the ring. Dealing with pain is strength, showing suffering is weakness.

Your hands curl into tight, uncomfortable fists. You want to look away, but you cant – no one in the audience can.

It’s a spectacle. The entire ring that you are sitting around has been designed to cater to the spectacle of the fight. The buzz of the crowd, the bright lights that shine crystalline onto the fighters, the screens hung up on every wall to capture every micro-emotion that flickers over Taehyung’s face while his body is pinned under Jungkook’s foot.

Winner of the Olympia Qualifiers Round Three: Bloodhawk.

The electronic voice calls out, and the silence is finally shattered.

The audience erupts into shouts, the screen switches to Jungkook. His face is blown up on all of the screens as he steps off of Taehyung’s body and walks to the centre of the ring.

All of the lights beam on him, the Bloodhawk. A bloody, vicious, glorified fighter, with gear so expertly fused into his bare back that it looks like a second skeleton.

Jungkook raises one glove in the air, the audience screams in delight. Jungkook is relishing in it, but you pick up on the other details. The way he is exerted, heaving for breath, bruises beginning to blossom on his ribs from the first half of the fight. Taehyung, who has tucked his legs into his chest, the referees and medical staff rushing over to examine him.

It’s a bloody, gory spectacle… and you are in the eye of the storm.

“Your brother is an idiot,” Seokjin mutters to you, sighing heavily as he leans back in his seat. “It doesn’t matter how good of a fighter you are, if you fight like that.”

You don’t respond, your hands still curled into tight fists in your lap.

The Olympia Boxing Championship is held once a year. It’s an event that the annual boxing calendar revolves around, the most highly revered boxing event in current rotation.

Olympia was originally intended to be a celebration of the marriage of boxing and robotics, an avenue for boxers to show how robotic gear enhanced their fighting skill. This meant that Olympia was nearly always a celebration of boxing’s elite class, those who possessed the means to acquire the highest tech and undergo rigorous training. Olympia saw the top of the food chain fighting it out, all to establish the king of the boxing world.

This year however, in celebration of the 100 year anniversary of the Olympia Championship, the qualifiers were opened to anyone. The prize - $1 million bit and a lifetime membership to the Olympia association – attracted fighters from every prefecture.

This year, the hype of Olympia and technoboxing have increased tenfold. It feels like your entire city was crawling with it, a feverish excitement soaking through the bones of your town.

The qualifiers this year are different too. Due to the high numbers of entrants, the qualifying matches have been stretched out over several weeks.

At the very top of the pack is Jungkook, your older brother.

“You were not fighting smart. He got in too many hits at the beginning, and you left too many openings when you went for that uppercut. Not to mention that ending the fight like that is going to deter our sponsors and tarnish your name.” Seokjin is speaking to Jungook now, voice steeped in disappointment.

Jungkook is draped over a chair, the sweat being dabbed off his forehead by one of the many assistants hired by your parents.

Jungkook just grunts in response to Seokjin’s lecture, and the older man lets out a long, defeated sigh. “How’s your gear?”

“Yeah, it’s holding up alright.”

Another assistant is tending to it, examining the robotics carefully for any damage.

It’s one of the key rules of Olympia and technoboxing in general that all fighters are required to be equipped with gear. The gear is akin to a metal skeleton, protecting the most vulnerable parts of the body – the spine, the back of the skull, the ribs – and it has embedded technology that enhances the boxer’s movements and muscular capabilities.

Furthermore, the gear acts as artificial intelligence in several ways, physically stopping boxers from going too far in their fighting, and ultimately preventing in-ring depths and permanent boxing injuries. Gear represents the more economical future of boxing by creating boxing that is more glorious to watch, more extreme to watch, thanks to the gear that pushes the human body to peak performance without the risk of death.

Seokjin sighs heavily.

“Your gear could have gotten seriously damaged with the way you were moving-”

“I won, didn’t I?” Jungkook interrupts, he waves off the assistants hovering around him and stretches out his limbs lazily. Seokjin just lets out an irritated “tch”.

“You didn’t have to step on his gear like that, Jungkook.”

Jungkook just shrugs. “I didn’t expect it to break apart so easily.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by a knock on the door. It swings open. A woman dressed in a crisp black suit enters, she nods politely at Jungkook, the grey teardrop etched on her jacket pocket indicates that she is a member of the Olympia Association.

“Mr. Jeon, are you ready for the post match interview?”

Seokjin falls silent, crossing his arms over his chest as Jungkook nods and smiles, standing up and following the woman out of the room. Seokjin follows suit, a few paces behind. You hurry, falling in step with Seokjin as you both enter a busy room filled to the brim with impatient reporters.

Jungkook is ushered to the centre of the room, while you and Seokjin wait silently in the wings.

“He’s pushing himself too hard.” Seokjin sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose. You glance at him but he isn’t looking at you, eyes focused on Jungkook who is preparing for the interview.

“He’s wanted to win the Olympia since he was a kid, you know that.” You respond softly, looking at your brother.

Your brother has been in boxing gloves for as long as you can remember. The expectation had always been made clear that Jungkook was expected to follow in your father and grandfather’s footsteps.

Your family is boxing blood and Jungkook has always accepted that fate, knowing his purpose was to make full use of that which ran in his veins. As soon as his spine had finished growing, he was already being fitted for his first set of gear, and while you had been in school, Jungkook was training in the ring.

You had been close to your brother when you were younger, always looked up to him in awe, listening to his excited rambles about what he was going to do once he was an Olympia champion. But as time had passed and as Jungkook crawled up the ranks, you had noticed the light fading from your brother’s eyes. The distance between you grew until it wasn’t a crack but a chasm.

You can still pinpoint the moment you realized that Jungkook’s childlike enthusiasm for boxing hadn’t merged with your family’s expectations of him, but had been overtaken completely.

“If he keeps at it like this, he’s going to unravel.” Seokjin whispers to you. “I don’t-”

His sentence is cut off by a reporter, clearing her throat into a microphone. Both you and Seokjin fall silent, attentions piqued by the interviewer who is now turning to Jungkook, a smile pasted on her face.

“Congratulations on yet another overwhelming win, Bloodhawk.” She says sweetly. “The odds were in your favour of course, but to take down a member of the Kim family in just one round is very impressive. Nothing less from one of the top picks of this Championship.”

Jungkook smiles thinly in response. “I’ve wanted to fight one of the Kims for a while, it’s a shame that it ended so quickly.” His smile twists at the edge of his lips, “I didn’t expect to defeat him so easily, so I’m sorry if the match wasn’t as exciting as people hoped.”

The room titters with laughter and you roll your eyes, knowing full well that Jungkook had trained to defeat him in one round, that he had strategized the best way to manoeuvre around Kim Taehyung’s specific fighting style. It was this that gave Jungkook his fighting nickname of ‘Bloodhawk’ –He gripped his opponent with talons and went for the killshot, with no mercy whatsoever.

“Well, like I said, we expected nothing less,” The reporter lets out a soft, tinkling laugh, “Given that you’re a Jeon, and your coach being a former Olympia finalist.”

Jungkook nods his head, but you can see it in the tiniest tense of his jaw that the reporter’s statement has frustrated him. You know your brother well, you know how much he despises it when his hard work and training is talked down as a byproduct of his family ties and connections.

“Seokjin is a great coach.” Jungkook just responds in a slightly strained tone, ignoring the first half of her statement completely. The reporter leans forward, her eyes glinting. You can tell she has picked up on the tension, and you bite your lip, knowing that she is going to tease it out, play on it, stir him up even more.

“It’s nice to hear that you put so much faith in him,” Her tone is syrupy, “Given his history in the ring. He was blacklisted from boxing for life, wasn’t he? If I’m remembering that correctly…”

Jungkook’s mouth tightens into a straight line.

“That’s irrelevant.” He grits out. The reporter leans in even closer, her eyes widening.

“Is it, though?”

Jungkook’s jaw twitches.

You can hear the shutter of cameras capturing the stormy expression on his face. Your eyes flicker over to Seokjin, who lets out a heavy sigh.

“He lets himself get wound up too easily.” He mutters. “And the press knows it.”

You just hum softly in agreement, this is something that often happens during post match interviews with your brother – they find something to pick at, to pull at, to create the construction of Jeon Jungkook, Bloodhawk, as a merciless fighter. This, fused with his tendency for violence in the ring, have earned him countless rivals, fighters desperate to fight and overtake him.

It all makes for better boxing, more betting money, more sponsorship and marketing. You can tell by Seokjin’s grim expression that he knows it too, he knows how easily Jungkook plays into their hands and feeds their narrative – and moreover, that Seokjin feels guilty for being the cause of it this time.

Seokjin was at the peak of his boxing career only five years ago, a finalist in the 95th Olympia. His blacklisting, coupled with an injury that riddled him unable to walk without the assistance of mechanical gear that wrapped around his hips and through his femur bones, had come as a huge shock to the boxing world.

“He was one of technoboxing’s greats,” The reporter continues now, she pushes her glasses up her nose and smiles. “As are you now, Bloodhawk.” Her flattery lingers off in the air. Her eyes narrow. “And by now, I’m sure you’ve heard of another name that has recently been associated with boxing greats such as yourself. You’ve heard of Scorpius? He’s a strong contender to take the Olympia title this year.”

The room falls silent. You nudge Seokjin, voice lowering into a hiss.

“Who’s that?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t heard of him. Whoever he is, he isn’t a seeded boxer.”

Seokjin’s face is apprehensive. The fact that this year’s Olympia is open to all boxers has seen to an influx of names and faces that are unfamiliar, but this is the first you’ve heard of him – Scorpius.

Scorpius. The name is familiar to you, thanks to astronomy classes that you had taken in your school years – from you recollection, Scorpius is one of the constellations of the Zodiac.

“Haven’t heard of him.” Jungkook answers in a brusque voice, and the reporter tuts her tongue condescendingly.

“Well. Now you have,” She leans back on her chair, eyes locked on Jungkook. “He’s an excellent fighter. And he has no high tech gear, no… infamous coach…” Her voice slows. The room tenses, cameras pinned on Jungkook’s face, which is tight in irritation. “…And some people say that even without a boxing legacy backing him up, he might just end up beating everyone. Including you. And you didn’t even know who he was before today. The world of technoboxing is changing.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, but his face is furious. He opens his mouth to speak, but the reporter cuts in, voice gliding smoothly over whatever Jungkook is about to say.

“Anyway, that’s all we have time for today. It was lovely to speak to you again, we’ll see you in the semi-finals.” She stands and raises her hand, offering it to Jungkook.

Jungkook rises, shoulders braced, and turns – leaving the reporter’s hand hanging. She clicks her tongue, you hear Seokjin groan beside you. You both know full well that this is the last thing you need- the press having a field day about Jungkook’s reaction to the mention of this new boxer, his refusal to shake the hand of the reporter who had been needling him for a reaction.

Scorpius. The name is definitely familiar; you are deep in concentration trying to remember the exact story behind the zodiac constellation.

“He did not like what that reporter said.” Seokjin murmurs to you. “He’s probably going to want to go check out one of that Scorpius guy’s matches now, fucking hell.”

“Probably,” You echo.

“Hey, what does Scorpius even mean? Like, a scorpion?”

You blink. The word clicks in your head. Scorpius.

“It’s Scorpius constellation, there’s a whole story behind it,” You murmur. Seokjin glances over at you, an expression of mild interest on his face. “There was a Greek God named Orion who boasted that he was going to destroy every living being on earth. A scorpion was dispatched from the heavens to battle him. It was a fight to the death, and the winner was put into the heavens after his victory.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow and turns, walking towards the locker room. You follow him, biting down on your bottom lip.

“So… who was the winner?”

As you approach the locker room where Jungkook is waiting, your brother immediately leaps to his feat, furious. He is talking in a fast, angry voice – ranting about the reporter, about how the actual fight hadn’t even been discussed, about why Scorpius was at all relevant to him. Seokjin steps forward, voice flat in intonation as he calmly addresses Jungkook, your conversation about Scorpius forgotten.

Who was the winner of the fight to the death?

Your eyes land on Jungkook, you suddenly feel a knot of uncertainty in the pit of your belly.

Scorpius.

True to Seokjin’s prediction, Jungkook insists on sitting in on one of Scorpius’s matches. The next one is coincidentally the qualifiers for the Olympia semi finals, and after some initial resistance from Seokjin, you, Jungkook and Seokjin set out to observe Scorpius in action.

Jungkook reasons that it’s the best course of action for him as he may gain some information on his potential future opponent, Seokjin reasons that once Jungkook has made up his mind, it’s impossible to stop him.

Jungkook has been wound up tight ever since the interview, ever since that match really. You haven’t pressed the issue, merely observing with watchful eyes. Even now, as you weave your way through the heaving crowd outside the ring, Jungkook is on edge.

This qualifying match is different to any other you have been to before. You had heard that the ring itself was requested by Scorpius, and that it’s actually his training ring.

It’s surprising now that you are in the space – the ring is inside a warehouse, a huge cavernous warehouse structured like a shipping container. It’s dark inside, the light broken with plumes of smoke. It’s a far cry from the polished lights of the training rings that you and your brother had grown up in, and that distinction between the two is evident in the gathered crowd too. This crowd is different – more intense, more frenetic, almost as if there is a different blend of energy that flows through the ground here.

Jungkook is keeping a low profile tonight, clad in a black hoodie. Seokjin too is wearing a cap slung low over his face. You’re feeling overwhelmed by it all – the scent of tobacco that kisses the air, the grittiness of the boxing ring.

“You go ahead,” You reach out, prodding Seokjin, “I’m gonna step outside for a bit before the match starts.”

He nods at you, he and Jungkook slope off to find your seats, talking in low hushed tones.

You carefully pick your way through the heaving crowd, slipping outside. With most of the people waiting to go into the warehouse, there are only a handful of people standing outside, clustered in small groups, chatting around drags of their cigarettes. It seems like every second word in the conversations that you overhear is Scorpius. You wonder idly who exactly he is - the scorpion who in such a short amount of time has already caused such an impact.

You wander until you reach the side of the building, where it is quieter. You don’t have long, perhaps ten minutes, until you have to go back inside.

You lean your back against the serrated metal wall, breathe in deeply. You can hear from here the faint sounds of the crowd from the other side of the wall.

You tip your head back and stare at the sky, exhaling out slowly. There isn’t a cloud in sight, just inky black and the occasional splash of stars. A clear night, a rarity in this city, when so often fumes from the robotic plants pollute the thick velvet of the evening sky.

You hear footsteps and you tear your eyes away, canvassing over to the person who has emerged from a door a few paces down. He stumbles out with a loud, defeated sigh, back crashing against the wall beside you with a thump.

You do your best to hide your stare – he’s frustrated, irritated by something, it’s evident in the way he wrings his fingers out, scuffs restlessly at the dirt beneath his feet. He’s dressed in a white track jacket that’s zipped up all the way under his chin, a bandana is tied around his forehead, a shock of icy blonde hair flopping over it and into his eyes.

As if he’s sensing your stare, his head snaps to the side, eyes surveying you. He has dainty features and pillowy lips, they juxtapose sharply against his eyes which are intense and piercing.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare at people?” He asks in a dry voice. His facial expression is even, controlled, and he accompanies his words with a raised eyebrow. There’s something in the huskiness of his voice and the directness of his stare that has you momentarily taken aback.

You don’t respond, his lips curl into a smirk. “Questions usually warrant answers, you know.”

His eyes still are intent on you and you finally feel your mouth catch up with your brain.

“And just what exactly makes you think I was staring at you?”

You just let out a scoff that’s not as derisive as you would have liked. Still, it catches him by surprise, and turns until he is leaning shoulder against the wall, completely facing you.

“Questions usually warrant answers, you know.” You throw the words right back in his face and for a second he looks momentarily stunned. His face splits into a slow smile.

Eyes narrowed, he laughs, a deliberate, throaty chuckle.

“Touché.” He says lightly. He tils his head, then takes a step closer. His face is suddenly closer to yours, and you blink at him.

This close, you can see that his eyes are actually a dark, espresso brown. Your eyes trace over him, the casual, thoughtful look on his face. This close, he smells like bergamot and cedar.

“You know, you look familiar.”

Your nose wrinkles, your cheeks flush in heat under the scrutiny of his stare.

“Yeah? Well you don’t,” You retort, and his eyes crinkle like he’s suppressing a laugh.

“Really, now?” His voice lilts with amusement. He’s still standing close to you, face peering into yours. His eyes are searching and you realize that you are holding your breath.

“What’s your name?” You stammer out, because they’re the first coherent words that fall into your head.

You can see him fighting a smile.

“Yoongi. And you?”

“____.”

He nods, slowly. You are still staring at him. Somehow, you don’t want to look away.

He leans in even closer, and you hold in your breath even harder, your lungs ache but you can’t breathe, your eyes widening. His face dips down. His eyelashes flutter slow, blinking purposefully, lips inches away from yours, arm outstretched on the wall above your head.

He leans in until his body crooked over yours, face a mix of emotions. Amusement, interest, and something else, something fixed and determined that makes your thighs suddenly ache.

“I think I’ve figured out where I recognize you from.” He whispers.

You want him to kiss you. Oh my God, you want this complete stranger to kiss you. You swallow, hard. Your mind wonders fleetingly what it would be like to kiss him. You have the sudden image of him closing the spaces between your bodies by just a few centimetres, enough to have his body keening into yours, pressing you into the cold metal wall.

“You recognize me? From what?” You breathe back instead.

He just gazes at you long and hard. The thought screams louder in your head. Kiss me.

He pushes off of the wall and you release a breath. He shoves his hands into his pockets, assesses you attentively before turning around.

“You’re the Bloodhawk’s little sister.” He muses. He turns his head, catches your surprised expression. He smirks.

“Like I said,” He rests a hand on the handle of the door he had come spilling out of just a few minutes ago, opening it and walking back inside.

“I knew you looked familiar.”

You have a thousand questions swirling in your mind as you find your seat inside the warehouse.

The stranger, Yoongi, he said his name was, knew that you're Jungkook’s sister. The only logical explanation that comes to mind is that he’s a boxer too.

You frown to yourself, reflecting on your initial impression of him – his frame which was slighter than that of all the boxers you knew. He didn’t have the typical build of a boxer.

Maybe he’s a coach or a trainer, you muse silently as you settle into your seat.

Seokjin and Jungkook are still talking in low voices. They are talking strategy, Jungkook staring straight ahead and nodding briskly every now and then. You watch them, Seokjin speaking with his hands in the way he does when he’s enthusiastic about something.

He’s a good trainer, Jungkook says that he’s the best trainer he’s ever had. It’s exactly that which keeps Seokjin around, because you know your father doesn’t like having the weighty presence of a blacklisted ex Olympia finalist associated with the family name.

Seokjin is the very example of how hard and fast someone can fall once they reach the top.

Everyone knows the story of Seokjin, the elite fighter who had taken part in a gearless fight with one of his boxing rivals. Without the protection of gear, and with all of that pent up rage being granted a path to flow freely, the fight had been brutal.

After that night, Seokjin had permanent spinal damage and was partially paralyzed from the waist down.

He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t fight, and news of him committing the ultimate technoboxing sin - defying the invention of gear and fighting gearless - spread like wildfire.

It all happened like dominoes falling after that. His public blacklisting from the Olympia Association, his boxing wins being stripped from him, the ban for life. Seokjin fell, all the way from his pedestal at the top.

He lost the fight.

It’s a surprise to most that your family allows someone with his reputation into their gym, let alone so close to Jungkook, a prized boxer. However, Seokjin delivers results. He knows the business, the knows the fighters, the gear, and most of all, he knows the innerworkings of a boxer’s mind. And as much as your family relies on Seokjin’s cunning ability to draw the very best fighting potential out of Jungkook, Seokjin relies on your family too.

Your eyes tick down to Seokjin’s legs, which are bound in paper-thin needles of metal. His repurposed gear is expensive, and difficult to both obtain and maintain… but it allows him to walk again. Yes, Seokjin definitely relies on your family.

The lights start to dim, the crowd begins to practically vibrate with excitement.

The match is starting.

“Welcome to the ring: Scorpius!” The electronic announcer bellows out, and is almost drowned by the shouts of the crowd.

A figure walks into the centre of the ring. White blonde hair, kept pushed back by a crimson red bandana. A taut frame, a build like a leopard, lean and compact. Two battered black boxing gloves. Gear that is old and outdated.

You inhale sharply.

“That’s Scorpius?” You hear Jungkook scoff.

There, in the centre of the ring, a smirk twisted at the edge of his lips, is Yoongi.

You don’t have time to dwell in your surprise, because the fight starts immediately.

Scorpius, Yoongi, is up against another fighter - a heavyweight boxer who is stocky and tall, all sinewy muscle and leering flashes of teeth. Yoongi’s frame is unassuming beside his, and you watch as he weaves away from the fighter, evading each blow with an airy, unbothered ease.

The fight so far is unimpressive. The beauty of technoboxing is its violence, its gratuity of the extreme. Most fighters go all out, knowing that the gear is intelligent enough to prevent fatal damage from occurring.

They don’t fight like this – eyes watchful and even bored, body darting around the ring as effortlessly as water. That isn’t Yoongi’s gear either, if anything, his gear is holding him back.

Yoongi is just that quick in his defense.

It’s getting on Yoongi’s opponent’s nerves. His punches are getting harsher, the gear hisses as it reins back on the aggression lashing behind his jabs. Still, Yoongi dodges around them effortlessly.

It’s not exactly exciting to watch. It’s not intimidating, either. You can tell by the slump of Jungkook’s shoulders that he’s unimpressed.

Fighters who rely on a strong defense eventually crumble in the world of technoboxing- there’s only so much that stamina and defense can give you, before you fall prey to one particularly ruthless punch.

Yoongi is still irritatingly calm in the ring. He blinks slowly and lazily and you can’t help but feel a little twinge in your stomach from it. Even you are getting frustrated by him, how unruffled his face is even when he dodges punch after punch, missing some by sheer millimetres.

On the contrary, his opponent is getting more riled up, growling and huffing in between snappy movements of his body.

Yoongi doesn’t even seem to be acknowledging the other man in the ring. He is cool as ice, while the other man is uncomfortably flaring with heat, boiling with it. He charges towards Yoongi, his arm lashes forward severe and fast. For a moment, you are convinced that it is going to crash into Yoongi’s nose.

Then, so quickly that you almost miss it, Yoongi ducks. His opponent’s fist goes flying disconcertedly through the air.

Yoongi’s body bobs up behind him, his opponent stumbles forward, clumsy and uneven, while Yoongi is controlled.

Yoongi’s fist recoils.

His eyes, previously so bored and distant, are now focused. They are so sharp, that you feel a chill trickle down your spine.

The realization snaps inside of you like a firecracker. Yoongi has his opponent right where he wants him. And before you can release the breath you are holding in, before the other man can react, Yoongi’s fist connects with a loud crunch into his face.

The angle is just right. The timing is just right. There is a shuddering amount of strength behind the punch, more strength than you had guessed was capable from Yoongi.

The crowd is silent. Time slows. Blood sprays out into the air directly from where Yoongi’s fist connected with his opponent’s jaw and mouth, his body crashes to the floor.

The crowd roars. Time speeds up again, the referee dashes over. The other man is out cold.

“Winner of the Olympia Qualifiers Round Nine: Scorpius.”

The crowd is bursting apart, almost. You understand, because you too feel exhilarated as you stare at Yoongi.

He smirks, he doesn’t raise a fist in the air, announce his victory – he just shrugs off his gloves, they fall to the floor. The crowd rumbles, chants of his name. Yoongi turns and walks away.

He is unscathed. You haven’t seen something like that in all your years of attending technoboxing matches. Y

ou let out a shaky breath.

You realize then that Jungkook and Seokjin haven’t exchanged a single word. They are sitting frozen, staring at the now empty ring. Jungkook’s shoulders are stiff, he has a look on his face that you don’t recognize, can’t fully comprehend.

Is he intimidated by him?

Jungkook senses your stare and stands up suddenly.

“Let’s go.”

His voice is cold, irritated, and Seokjin stands up too. He starts talking, dissecting Yoongi’s fighting style in a rambling voice, but Jungkook isn’t listening, his jaw tensed in annoyance.

You linger behind them by a few paces as they shoulder their way through the bustling crowd. Finally, you are outside, and you gaze up at the sky. It’s as clear as it was before, not a single cloud wrapped around the moon.

“Enjoy the fight?”

You are pulled back to earth in time to hear a familiar slow, raspy drawl. Sure enough, you spot Yoongi, strolling up to your small group. He’s by himself, and you see Jungkook stiffen, Seokjin placing a warning hand on his shoulder.

“That’s Scorpius!”

“What’s he doing out here?”

“Who’s he talking to?”

“I think that’s Bloodhawk-”

“Bloodhawk is here?“

Onlookers start to press in closer, encircling around your group like vultures. Jungkook just meets Yoongi’s gaze.

“Yep.”

His voice is clipped. Yoongi’s face stays passive, unflappable as ever.

“Entertaining?” Yoongi asks, his voice collected. Jungkook’s jaw tightens, and he doesn’t respond. Yoongi’s eyes tick past Jungkook to you, his lips twitch upward.

“Hello again, ____,” He addresses, and you feel Seokjin and Jungkook stare at you, surprised. You don’t answer, averting Yoongi’s gaze and trying to ignore the sudden skip in your throat.

Yoongi steps up closer to Jungkook until they are only a few strides apart.

“I’ll see you in the semifinals, Bloodhawk.”

You’ve put your finger on what makes Yoongi such a potent fighter, what lends him the title of Scorpius. He knows how to push at precise buttons, how to slice cleanly through an exposed nerve, all in the moments before he strikes.

He’s dangerous in his calculated intelligence, his composure, his ability to pick at the tiny threads of weakness and insecurity, before he tugs them out whole.

Your brother doesn’t answer. Yoongi leans in closer, and murmurs something to Jungkook. You don’t catch what he says, it’s spoken too softly, but you see the anger flash over Jungkook’s face before he reaches out and pushes Yoongi, hard. Yoongi stumbles back, deftly catching his footing. Even as he staggers, he’s watching Jungkook closely.

“You fucking-” Jungkook spits out, hand rising in a fist, but Seokjin is already behind him, grabbing his arms and muttering in his ear to walk away.

Jungkook is livid, you can tell in the twitch of his jawbone as he finally relents, allowing Seokjin to pull him through the crowd. Everyone gathered is excited by what they just witnessed, whispering to each other, speculating as to what exactly had just gone down.

You hesitate. You look at Yoongi, who has an indecipherable expression on his face. As if sensing your gaze, his stare moves to you.

You shiver, feeling a prickle of intrigue and uncertainty in your belly before you cast your eyes downward and turn, hurrying behind your brother and Seokjin, walking away from Yoongi.

A week later the Olympia association holds their semi-finalist press conference. It is a requirement of all Olympia semi finalists to attend, as a public display of their sportsmanship.

More discreetly, it is also a way for the Olympia association to see the dynamic between the boxers, to decide the line up of the semi finals and who will be pitted against the other.

You are attending this year’s press conference, along with your parents and Seokjin. The room that the press conference is being held in is small, filled only with select esteemed journalists and reporters. The eight semi finalists are sitting at a long table, all dressed in their training gear. While your parents are sitting up in the VIP box, you choose to stand in the wings with Seokjin and the other trainers.

The atmosphere is tense. The semi finalist press conference is always tense, but this year has kicked it up a notch. There are two unseeded rookie fighters in the mix of semi finalists this year – a young boxer named Jimin who had hacked into his gear’s software to make improvements, obliterating his opponent in the qualifiers, and of course none other than Min Yoongi, the boxer who arose from the concrete.

The addition of these boxers has thrown a spanner in the works and created a clear tension between the elite and the newcomers. They’re anomalies, and their presence is noticeable.

You can practically see the irritation falling off of Jungkook as he sits rigidly in his seat. Jungkook has never been good at concealing his emotions, he’s one to wear every single shade of his thoughts on his sleeve, and you can tell by Seokjin’s fidgeting beside you that he is nervous.

The press conference starts smoothly. Questions are peppered to each off the semi finalists, each answered with no issue.

Finally, a question is directed towards Yoongi.

“You’re a newcomer to the technoboxing scene. I hear you don’t even have a coach. Is this true?”

Yoongi lifts his head, confirms the statement with a nod. There is a slight commotion in the crowd from his affirmation. Yoongi surveys the room, one eyebrow raised before he speaks.

“I have a mechanic who helps me when my gear needs maintenance. I don’t need a coach.”

A stir travels through the room.

“Do you think that even without the experience, without a coach, you can win the Olympia tournament?”

Yoongi takes a moment to consider the question. That, or he purposefully leaves a pause to ensure that everyone in the room is hanging off of the silence and waiting for him to fill it. You aren’t sure when it comes to him. He’s intelligent, assured and cool hearted in a way that as much as you want to pretend it doesn’t, makes you ache with intrigue.

“I don’t need experience or a coach,” Yoongi answers, his voice is like silk, “And yes. I can win.”

His response, calmly confident, sends a louder flurry throughout the room. He has that effect on a crowd, you think. The interviewer leans in, presses further,

“Even against fighters who have been training to win for years?”

Yoongi smiles faintly. “Of course.”

Your eyes are locked on him, even when the interviewer moves on to the next person. Somehow, you don’t doubt his words. You’ve seen him fight, you know that he’s good, but there’s something in the assured tone of his voice, the measured weight in his eyes that makes you think Min Yoongi has been fighting for a long time.

“...I suppose the question that everyone is asking is whether you have what it takes to win the Olympia.”

The reporter’s question tugs you from your thoughts, he’s now turned to Jungkook. You wince, of all the questions, of course they had to start with this one.

“That’s a pointless question. Absolutely, I have what it takes.”

Jungkook’s blunt answer causes another stir to ripple through the crowd. The interviewer nods, absorbing this information, before he clears her throat.

“Make no mistake, you have a very distinctive and aggressive style of boxing. It’s what’s earned you your reputation. I think where the question comes from is whether your way of fighting, and your gear, will be victorious over say… another semifinalist with a very different fighting style. Scorpius, for example.”

The question is asked casually but you know it’s hardly a spur of the moment question. Jungkook and Yoongi have been pitted against each other in the press non stop for the last week. It’s a combination of factors - their opposing fighting styles, their different backgrounds, and of course, their very public moment of tension last week after Yoongi’s match.

“Like I said,” Jungkook grits out, “That’s a pointless question. My fighting and my gear would beat his anyday.”

You glance at Yoongi, who is looking down the line at Jungkook, a mildly interested look on his face.

Jungkook meets Yoongi’s gaze and his eyes darken.

“In fact,” He continues, voice rising, “Even without the gear. If I was to take him on in a fight, gear or gearless, I would win.”

Silence.

The interviewer looks stunned. Your eyes widen, Jungkook has a defiant, angry set to his eyes.

One of the greatest taboos of technoboxing is gearless matches, gearless fighting. It’s the cardinal sin of this world, and even mentioning gearless boxing is seen as deeply controversial.

Yoongi stands up, his eyes are flashing. The sound of his chair clattering to the ground is all it takes, Jungkook too pushes out of his chair and lunges at Yoongi.

The room erupts into chaos, security detail rushing in to pull the two men apart.

You and Seokjin jump up, but everything happens quickly. It’s a rough tumble, and in the commotion, you hear the sound of a fist connecting with bone.

It isn’t until Jungkook is dragged away that you see Yoongi violently shrugging off the security guard, a cut in his eyebrow from where Jungkook’s fist had collided with it.

Yoongi, for the first time since you’ve known him, looks vexed. The composure you’re so used to seeing on him has cracked.

The press conference is effectively over, dismantled by the brief window of calamity.

“Your fucking brother,” Seokjin mutters, pulling his ringing phone out, “It’s your father, Jesus Christ. Just what we need.”

“I’ll go get Jungkook,” You say to Seokjin, who nods distractedly, face curt as he answers the phone.

You shoulder your way through the crowd and beeline to the athlete entrance.

As you hurry down the hallway, you spot Yoongi, who is in an intense conversation with someone you don’t recognize, a guy with round glasses and curly red hair. Yoongi is frustrated, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and you feel a prickle over your skin when he glances up, eyes meeting yours. You ignore him, breezing past until you reach the locker room.

You push open the door to see Jungkook sitting on one of the benches, glowering at the wall.

“What the fuck was that?” You demand. Jungkook’s head snaps up when he sees you, his glare deepens.

“I don’t need to hear this right no-”

“How stupid are you, Jungkook? You punched him?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, he stays silent.

“Why would you do that? Bring up gearless boxing? Make the situation so much worse with Scorpius than it needs to be?”

Jungkook just scowls.

“Look,” You sigh, folding your arms over your chest. “Maybe you should smooth things over with him. Having this, whatever it is, rivalry, isn’t doing anything but add stress and drama-”

“No.” Jungkook bites out the word distastefully and you frown.

“Why not?”

“You don’t fucking get it!” Jungkook suddenly shouts, spinning around, his fist slamming into a locker.

You flinch at the noise, but keep your gaze evenly on your brother.

“I don’t get what?”

Jungkook is breathing in heavier, he doesn’t respond. His fist is still pressed against the metal locker.

“I don’t feel in control.” Jungkook finally says. His voice is ragged, and for a moment you don’t know how to respond. Jungkook’s shoulders are shaking, breath laboured.

He lowers another fist and drives it slowly against the metal, it connects with a heavy thud.

“Do you know how heavy it feels?” He finally whispers. You let out a shaky breath, knowing he’s not talking about gear.

“Jungkook…”

“I can’t lose to him.” Jungkook chokes out. “I can’t. I’m not smoothing anything over. Not over my dead body.”

He lifts his head and stares at you. His eyes are brimming with tears.

You haven’t seen Jungkook cry since he was fifteen, back when he was first getting trial fitted for gear. But these tears are different. They’re simmering in anger, in rage, in hate.

Hatred of the situation he’s in, the gear on his back, of Scorpius, of himself.

“You’ve never learned how to hold back your anger.” You speak finally.

ungkook doesn’t respond, he just turns his head, stares at the two fists he has up against the locker. His left fist is beginning to bleed, the blood trickles down along the grey slate.

“You were never told to hold back your anger.” You continue. Jungkook is silent, and you feel a sudden ache in your chest.

“You need to learn how to do that.”

You words hang heavy in the air. Jungkook is still staring at the ground, and you feel your own eyes prick with tears.

“Jungkook!” Your head snaps up to see Seokjin standing in the doorway of the locker room, “Let’s go..”

Seokjin’s eyes widen as he takes in the situation, his mouth opens and closes. Jungkook stands, blood still dripping from his fist. He doesn’t speak, his face guarded, the tears wiped from his eyes.

He doesn’t look at you, as he squares his shoulders and walks out of the room.

You sit alone on the bench, staring down at your hands. They are smooth, no bruises or cuts or tape wrapped around your fingers. Still, you curl your fingers until they form a fist.

If Jungkook won’t smooth things over with Yoongi, you think to yourself as you rise, then I will.

“Again. Harder.”

Jungkook is heaving for breath.

Seokjin falters backward, lowers the boxing pads, glances behind him where he knows Jungkook’s father, his gear specialist, the vice president of the Olympia association, are all observing. For whatever reason, they insisted on watching Jungkook’s training session today.

Seokjin assumes it’s aftermath from the press conference. It was mostly smoothed over by Jungkook’s father, who assured the press in a statement that it was just a tactic employed by Jungkook to rile up a potential future opponent, and that there was no true intent to harm behind his punch.

Still, the press had a field day with Jungkook, with the punch, his mention of a gearless fight. The media dragged Jungkook’s name and Seokjin’s through the mud, and the Olympia association put a warning under both Jungkook and Yoongi’s names. Three warnings, and they are blacklisted for life.

Since then, Jungkook has been different, unreachable, training with every inch of his spirit, pouring all of him into the gloves and the gear until he resembles a shell.

Seokjin is worried.

“Jungkook, take a rest-”

“I said again.”

Jungkook’s voice rings out clear across the boxing ring, his words hardened at the edges.

Seokjin freezes.

He doesn’t have to look in the direction of the viewing box to know what their onlookers want.

Jungkook is fired up, delivering more punishing punches, feet moving quickly with each powerful slice of his arm. He’s at peak performance, moving flawlessly in sync with his gear. He’s fighting at his prime right now, but Seokjin can feel the anger leaking out of the younger man’s fists, he recognizes that blue black rage all too well.

“Jungkook-” Seokjin murmurs it quietly enough for just Jungkook to hear.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, arm darting out in a punch that almost catches Seokjin offguard. Almost. His reflexes kick in before his mind does, lifting the pad in seconds, catching Jungkook’s fist.

Still, he stumbles, his weight unsupported on the gear that keeps him standing. Seokjin meets Jungkook’s eyes. They are cold, flat. That anger is like an old friend, and that’s what scares him.

The only accompanying sound is a rattled breath, the shuffling of feet, Seokjin straightening. Jungkook, muttering out, “Again.” and then the heavy thwack of a boxing glove hitting a mat, again and again, until the onlookers in the viewing box shuffle out, satisfied with the show.

Yoongi��s gym is dimly lit when you walk in. At first, your eyes strain in the muted light that filters through the room, until you spot him.

He is a lone figure in the middle of the ring, a heavy, old punching bag in front of him. It’s a far cry from how this ring had looked during the qualifying match you had watched.

Yoongi is wearing a black pair of boxing shorts with a maroon red stripe down the thighs, shirtless, his skin gleams with sweat under the light. He doesn’t notice you slip inside, and for a moment you watch him.

His body is tensed, he cuts through the air with a slice of his fist, ducking down and then up quickly. You are mesmerized watching him, transfixed by how he stands still, lazily almost, like he can’t be bothered to put his fists in front of his face, too light to be weighed down even by the atmosphere.

And then he’s striking, fist darting out so hard and fast that the only indication that Yoongi has struck is the loud thwack of his boxing glove against the punching bag.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi suddenly calls out, his fists held in front of his face. You freeze, unsure of what to answer, unsure if he’s even talking to you, and then he glances carelessly over his shoulder.

His dark eyes meet yours, and through the veil of the hazy light in the gym, you swallow hard.

“I came to find you. I want to talk.”

You walk up to the ring, Yoongi is still crooked over, his fists held in front of his face. He doesn’t respond, he weaves back and forth, punches the bag again, thwack.

You clear your throat uncomfortably, watching the dust that rises from the bag, floating up into the orange light that hangs above his head.

“About what my brother did in the press conference-”

“I’m not interested in talking about your brother.”

Yoongi’s voice is steely, you see the muscles in his jaw clench.

“Yeah, I get it, I just wanted to-”

“I said, I’m not fucking interested.”

His voice hinges on venomous and you reel backwards, feeling awkward. Yoongi all but ignores you, continuing to jab into the punching bag with angry fists.

Plumes of dust continue to rise from the bag.

“Oh um, okay. I’ll…” You mumble, biting your lip.

Yoongi glances over his shoulder again at you and his face is cold.

“Get out.”

Your shoulders stiffen and a burn of humiliation and disappointment flashes over you, a low burn right in the pit of your belly. Yoongi has already turned his head, no longer looking at you, no longer interested.

You turn on your heel, breath pitched in sharply, but when you reach the door, you pause.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Your voice rings out clear and sharp across the room, even though your legs are shaking. You see Yoongi pause, and then he lets out a low, disinterested scoff.

Anger sears hot in your veins because of this Yoongi, this cold, mean, flat eyed Yoongi, as unreachable as ever while he is in the ring.

“You can act as pissed off as you want, but you wanted this. You’re the one who’s been pushing my brother, prodding him-”

“Shut up.” Yoongi’s voice is harsh and he straightens, his fists lower to his sides.

He turns to face you, his eyes narrowed in anger. Something switches inside of you, and you step towards him, eyes flashing.

“What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it? It’s true. You know, I actually came over here to try and smooth things over on his behalf, make things easier for the both of you, but you know what? You both deserve it.”

You hiss out the words and Yoongi’s eyes darken, he reaches up and swings his body over the boxing ring’s barriers, drops effortlessly onto the ground like a cat.

He stalks towards you until he is standing opposite you. His chest is heaving, sweat dotted on his bare shoulders and on his pecs, headband pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Get out. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t get it.”

You let out a loud, bitter scoff. “So everybody keeps telling me.”

Yoongi just stares.

“Get-”

“Get out? Yeah. Got it.” You spin on your heel and feel a wave of emotion cresting up in your chest, disappointment, anger, hurt.

“Hey.” Yoongi’s voice, hoarse and loud, cuts through the air. You pause. “You didn’t have to come here and apologize on his behalf.” Yoongi’s voice calls out from behind you, and you turn your head.

Your eyes meet his, dark, unreadable as always. His chest is still heaving with exerted breaths, red boxing gloves on his hands.

“I know.” You response in a short, abrupt voice. ”I wanted to, okay?”

The two of you stare at each other before Yoongi lets out a dry snort.

“What are you, Jeon’s spokesperson?”

You narrow your eyes but your shoulders relax a touch. “No, I just… he took it too far at the press conference, alright? I felt like I had to say something on his behalf, I mean he is my brother.”

Yoongi just lets out another sarcastic click of his tongue and you roll your eyes.

“I probably shouldn’t have bothered though, I mean you’re being such a delight right now-”

“You really came all this way just to tell me that?” Yoongi crosses his arms, gazes at you, his head cocked to one side.

You bite your lip.

“Mm.” You mumble out noncommittally, and Yoongi just raises an eyebrow.

“Mm?” He asks in a pointed tone and you feel a swell of irritation bloom inside of you, irritation at Yoongi picking up on everything as he always does in the confines of the boxing ring, at how Yoongi manages to read between the lines even though he hardly knows you.

You almost flinch when Yoongi steps closer towards you, crooks his head closer until you can smell him, his dark eyes searching yours.

That same flash of irritation sears inside of you like a white hot flame, and you grind your teeth together, grind them together because you want to grind that smirk on his face with your fist. You think about it, how satisfying it would feel to punch him square in the face, imagining the expression of surprise that would ghost over his features if you really drove your knuckles right into that calm, unreadable face.

Another thought trespasses in your mind - the thought of that same face hovering above yours, those bruised knuckles curled around bedsheets, those shoulder blades dipping your bodies together and the heaviness of his body lurching into yours-

“What’s with you?” Yoongi’s voice, low and slightly amused, cuts through your thoughts and your face burns with embarrassment and you shake your head, trying to distract yourself from the sudden, dangerous heat rising up in your face, in your body, between your legs.

Get yourself together. You chide yourself, your eyes meeting with Yoongi’s yet again, you repeat that mantra in your mind but it doesn’t have much weight when his dark eyes are inches from yours, his skin, glowing with sweat and his muscles shaking with exertion are so close to yours.

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, he leans in closer.

Fuck.

“You’re- you’re bleeding.” You stammer out the words and for a moment the two of you just stand completely still, bodies centimetres apart.

“Oh,” Yoongi finally says. He retreats, and you exhale, letting out a breath you hadn’t even known you were keeping in. “Yeah, that would be thanks to your brother.”

You avoid his gaze, looking closely at his eyebrow. He has the faint marks of a black eye forming there, and a split of skin is slowly bleeding in his brow.

“Have you got a medical kit here?” You ask, and Yoongi just smirks.

“What, you’re a doctor are you?”

You ignore him pointedly. “Do you, or don’t you?”

Yoongi just nods, lifts his eyes. “Mm yeah, I think so. It’s not a big deal-”

“Just shut up and get it, it’ll take two seconds to clean it up and put a bandaid on it.”

Your voice comes out sterner than expected and a smile flickers over Yoongi’s lips before he nods, a bemused, lazy smile dancing over his lips.

“Alright then.”

He retreats into one of the side rooms of the gym, leaving you alone. You shake your head slightly, trying not to think about how close he had been standing to you earlier, trying to ignore the stirrings of want that seem to be carved in your consciousness right now.

You walk over to the boxing ring, which coincidentally, is the brightest lit area in the gym at this time in the evening. Gingerly, you hoist yourself up, ducking under the ropes until you are standing at the centre of the ring. The ground is hard beneath your flat soled sneakers, it smells faintly like chalk and dust in the air.

You hear the sound of footsteps and turn to see Yoongi deftly hoisting himself up and over the ropes, his muscles rippling under his skin as he lands on his feet, a battered medical kit in one hand.

“Here.” He tosses it to you and you fumble as you catch it, opening it up. There’s a small bottle of antiseptic, wrapping tape, ice packs, bandages. You nod, more to yourself than to anyone else, and then you sit cross legged on the floor of the ring.

You glance up expectantly, Yoongi watches you with a slightly bemused expression on his face before he too sits opposite you.

“It’s gonna get infected if you just let chalk or whatever get into it, idiot.” You mutter, and Yoongi doesn’t answer, he just hums in response. You pick up a cotton swab and douse it in antiseptic, it’s sharp and acidic in scent and carefully, you inch closer to Yoongi.

“Don’t move.”

You swipe the cotton over the cut, it’s deeper than you expected, your mind flashes to the silver rings Jungkook sports on his fingers and you wince.

Yoongi however has a completely passive face as you carefully clean out the cut.

“Doesn’t hurt?” You ask finally, breaking the silence. Yoongi levels his gaze with yours.

“I’ve been through a lot worse than this.” He says wryly, and he smirks, but his smirk is split, his eyes a little far away, and you bite your lip.

You rummage in the medical kit until you find a small bandage. Yoongi clicks his tongue, you can feel his gaze heavy on you.

“Not your first time patching up an injured boxer?” He quips in a low voice.

You glance up and you meet his gaze. He is so close to you that you can feel the heat of his body radiating off of him, feel the pressure of his stare.

“No,” You say faintly, “It isn’t.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply, he just keeps his eyes on yours and you feel a hum start to race through your body from him being so close, so intense, so focused on you. Clearing your throat, you lift the bandage.

“Stay still.”

Carefully, you smoothen the fabric over his eyebrow.

“Done,” You murmur.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says gruffly, and you know you should shift away, back into your own personal space, but something keeps you there, with your fingertips skimming over his skin, travelling the canvas of his face.

They brush over the swollen bruise on his eye just underneath his eyebrow, then to his jaw, which you can tell has been dislocated in the past, to his nose, which has a tiny crook in the centre.

All the imperfections, up close, marks and battle scars.

You snap out of your reverie, your eyes focus on him. He too, is intent on you, his own eyes scanning your face just as closely as you had been with his. Your eyes find his and you swallow.

“Ah,” He starts, and you’re so close to him that you can feel the hum of his voice, the vibrations of his words. “Seriously… thanks.”

He doesn’t specify what he’s thanking you for, he doesn’t need to, and your eyes widen a little in surprise.

“Um,” You whisper. “It’s okay.”

You’re barely aware of what words are coming out of your mouth, too conscious of how close he is to you, of the electricity that is crackling like a film over your skin, the heat mounting in your chest and spilling up into your cheeks.

It feels like your heart has gone into overdrive, your brain in overdrive too, thoughts and heavy thumps of your heart an incoherent, incorrigible mess.

The thought occurs to you that is isn’t just your heart rate and your ability to form a thought that’s a mess, but rather you- you’re a mess, and it’s all due to Min Yoongi.

He’s still in front of you, body crooked above yours. Your palms are flat on the ground of the boxing ring, it’s the only thing tying you to reality.

Yoongi leans in even closer. His face dips towards yours, his eyes searching the map of your face. His lips hover, inches away from yours, so close that if he leaned forward his mouth would brush a seal over yours.

“Yoongi,” You whimper out his name, and Yoongi doesn’t move.

“Hm?” He murmurs, questioningly.

Impatience and urgency twine together in your bloodstream, and you respond by pressing your lips against his.

Something dark and intense unfurls in your chest when you kiss him, it’s a clumsy collision of your lips against his, your palms resting on his thighs, your body hooking into his. Your hear at the back of his throat, a sound of surprise, a groan, and then Yoongi’s hands are curling around your hips.

He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth, making you moan. His arms hooked around your lower waist, he tugs you firmly until you are in his lap, you wrap your legs around his waist until you are straddling him, keening your body into him hungrily as his thumbs begin to knead long, teasing circles into the fleshy part of your hip.

He kisses you deeper and harder with every kiss, his mouth dominating, his lips slightly chapped, he barely gives you time to breathe as his hands roam from your hips to the small of your back up to your shoulders.

Your heart is ricocheting in your chest, blood rushing to your face and there, like the staccato of a hummingbird’s wings knotted up in the core of you, a gnawing desperation starts to knock hard and heavy.

His hands knot into your hair, fingertips light on your scalp as he tugs on your hair, your kisses break apart as Yoongi mouths at your jaw, your ear. His breathing is uneven, his breath sending delicious shivers down your spine, you arch your hips into his, grinding yourself into his lap, as he murmurs into the shell of your ear, “I’ve wanted to fuck you from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

You let out a moan at his words, his lips nibble against your earlobe before they start a trail down the slope of your neck. He nibbles at the sensitive skin there, hard enough to elicit sharp breaths from you, he washes over each bite with a swirl of his tongue, sparking heat that pools in your core.

Yoongi is confident, in control, his hand still tugging at the base of your head, hair wrapped around his fingers, his mouth territorial on your neck, his other hand stroking the front of your belly.

You on the other hand feel like you are unravelling, bucking your hips into him, grinding into him deeper and more desperately.

You can feel the erection beneath your now throbbing cunt, and when you hear Yoongi’s breath grow more shallow, the hoarseness in the moan that he lets out against your collarbones, it grants you some relief that Yoongi is growing as feverishly desperate as you.

Yoongi starts kissing you again, messy, sloppy, wanting kisses, his palm intentfully grazing underneath the hem of your shirt and over your belly. You hiss in for breath, whine against his mouth, as the tips of his fingers brush the very underside of your breath, a teasing touch that has you coming undone even more than before.

Yoongi chuckles, a dark laugh against your mouth, murmurs into your kisses, “I love hearing how needy you are for me.”

“Yoongi,” You pant out, “God, I want you.”

Yoongi lets out a hum, drawing one finger up between your breasts, his other hand trailing down from your hair to the flat of your back, holding you close to him.

You arch your back, your hair falls in your eyes, as you meet his stare. His lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes dilated with want and you feel a fresh spark of lust as he draws his finger back down between your breasts, his tongue licking his bottom lip.

“Yoongi, please. I’ll do anything.”

The begging words that fall out your mouth are out of character for you but you don’t care, stepping into a new role and a new self as you infuse your words with as much desperation and submission as possible.

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans, “I love hearing you say my name.”

His fingers stop at the bottom of your breast and you pin your hips forward, roll against his erection, enjoy the way his eyelids flutter.

“Yoongi, please.” You murmur.

His groan is hoarse with lust as his fingers trace around your breast, you moan louder, swell your hips upward so that you can feel the friction of his cock against your wet cunt.

You are so wet that you can feel it, the ache throbbing and emanating from your pussy all the way up to your belly.

His fingers finally stroke over your nipple, you let out a staggered, soft moan at the tingling pleasure it feeds you as his fingers deftly pinch your hard nipple. He glides over to your other breast, squeezing hard before he grips the bottom of your shirt.

You hold your arms above your head obediently as he pulls it over your head, you shiver involuntarily when he tosses it to the ground. His eyes lock on you, glossing over you and you watch as his Adams apple bobs in his throat, his jaw twitches, drinking in the sight of you, wrapped around his waist, topless.

You watch, mesmerized, as Yoongi grips the hem of his tank top and pulls it off his head, in one fluid motion, tugging his headband off as well. His hair is messy and sweaty, and you can’t hold the throaty hum that escapes your lips.

The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders ripple as they grip at your waist, his abs are cut and his stomach lean and taut, and there at the band of his boxing shorts you can see angled lines that disappear beneath the fabric.

The thin fabric of his shorts, and the denim of your jeans are the only fabrics in between Yoongi’s hard cock and your wet, throbbing slit and you inhale sharply at that thought.

The thought doesn’t stay coherent for long, because Yoongi’s mouth is on yours again, teasing out long, hungry kisses. He tastes good, he smells good, and you press yourself close to him and shiver at the feeling of his warm skin against yours.

His body is soft to touch, muscles firm and solid beneath you, and your fingers curl at the nape of Yoongi’s neck as you kiss him harder, urgently, communicating to him through ruts of your hips and whines against his mouth that you want him.

Yoongi reads the ministrations of your hips and pulls you off of him, untangling your woven bodies as his fingers unzip your jeans. You feel a spark of eagerness shoot through you as you wiggle your waist, helping Yoongi pull the denim and your underwear off of your skin until you are sitting on the floor of the boxing ring naked.

Yoongi tosses your clothes to the side carelessly, his eyes locked on you possessively. You can see it, there in the glint of his eyes, the lick of his lips, the tent in his shorts, that he wants you and he wants to claim you.

Your tongue darts over your bottom lip shamelessly, the fire between your legs licking hot flames up your thighs as you lower your eyes, stare at Yoongi from beneath your lashes. There is a heavy, all consuming throb between your legs and it’s making you dizzy with need.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper.

Yoongi’s eyes flash, his fingers are tugging off his shorts and then he’s naked.

Your breath ceases into a whine at the sight of his cock, hard and thick, the tip moist with his precum. His blonde hair falls into his eyes as he gazes down at you, swallows thickly.

“Look at you, on the ground begging for me to fuck you,” He murmurs and you nod, feeling anticipation knot inside of you as he lowers his body on top of yours. His arms support him so that he’s hovering above you, the weight of his body restrained and serving a reminder of how strong he is, how close he is to dominating you.

He angles his hips and you feel the tip of his cock brush against your slit, you whine, spreading your legs wider, tilting your hips higher.

Yoongi lets out a growl, and reaches between your bodies, presses his palm against your hipbone and pushes you back onto the ground firmly. You let out a sharp chirp at the feeling of it, the flash in Yoongi’s face and the smirk that flickers over his lips at the sound of your surprise.

“Why should I give it to you?”

His voice is low and confident, syrupy as he slowly rolls his hips. The tip of his cock drags over your slit and you wince at how close he is, how badly you want it. You clench your fists, fight to not rut your hips upwards, feel more of him.

Yoongi smirks and you feel heat flash in your belly.

“I want it so badly, please Yoongi,” You pant, loving the soft hums he lets out at your words, the warmth of his body held over yours, skin on skin.

“You’re such a good needy little slut for me, aren’t you,” Yoongi murmurs and you can hear his breath, ragged, feel his cock twitch as it grazes against your slit. Each touch against you has you growing wetter, your folds getting slicker.

Anticipation is coiled tight inside of you as finally, his eyes locked on you, he pushes in, hard.

Your wetness helps him ease his entire cock inside of you, and you let out a yelp at the sensation of him stretching out your walls, the feeling of his entire length buried deep inside of your wetness.

Your yelp softens into a long, drawn out moan as Yoongi stays still for a moment, adjusting to how you feel. The satisfaction of the feeling of him, filling you, sends a fresh wave of tension and want skimming over your skin, as Yoongi starts to rock his cock in and out of you.

He doesn’t start slow or gentle, riding into you with long, intense, punishing thrusts. The sounds of his hips snapping against your body echo throughout the empty gym, the ground is hard beneath your bare back, your palms are flat on Yoongi’s back, your fingernails digging desperately into his skin, and it feels as if everything is amplified.

The dewy sweat on your skin and Yoongi’s, the complete lack of space separating your bodies, the grunts he lets out as he fucks into you, hard.

The dust rising from the ring, the loudness of your moans and screams of his name, the sound of each, hard, intense thrust of his cock deep into you. It is drawing something deeply embedded out of you, a whimpering, shattering kind of want, a gnawing ache that is slowed and given release with each forceful push of Yoongi’s cock deep inside of you.

Yoongi’s hands flutter at the side of your face, he brushes the hair out of your eyes and lowers even closer, lips at your ear, a growl of “Say my name.”

You gasp out his name, a broken “Yoongi”, and Yoongi lets out a moan that is rough and sends shivers up your spine and makes your core clench hard and tight, as a throb begins to ring hard and fast deep inside of you.

Your body stiffens, your fingers claw into Yoongi’s shoulder blades, your eyelids flutter.

“Yoongi, I’m…” You whimper out breathlessly, Yoongi’s eyes dart down at you and he fucks into you particularly hard, coaxing out a loud cry from your lips.

“Look at me,” He demands in a low, rough voice. “I want to watch you cum.” The feeling is climbing harder and faster, it’s the deepness of Yoongi’s fucking, the intensity, how everything seems to be exaggerated tenfold, the angle of him inside of you.

You are so wet that you can hear the slick sounds of him pushing in and out of you, harder, faster, and you can feel it climbing up rapidly inside of your chest.

The throbbing grows harder, and it feels as if every muscle is locking in place.

“Look at me,” Yoongi snaps out and your eyelids flutter open, focusing on Yoongi’s face. His eyes are dilated, he is staring at you, and he murmurs out, “I want to think about your pretty face cumming around my cock and your lips saying my name when I win my next match.”

His words bring out a cry from deep inside of your chest, your thighs quiver and the throbs heighten until they melt away, they crumble, until you feel nothing but blissful waves of satisfaction that pour over your skin.

You moan, your lips curving around his name, whimpers and mewls of Yoongi spoken out into the thick, heady air as you curl around his cock. You can feel Yoongi’s cock twitching from it while still buried deep inside of you, the pleasure is still cascading inside of you as Yoongi slows his thrusts.

“God,” You whimper out, Yoongi slows down even more when you wince at the feeling of it, the rawness that slightly stings through the euphoric afterglow that is beginning to sink into you. “Wow.”

Yoongi hums, and your eyes focus on him again, on his face which is pleased and self-confident, eyes widened in arousal.

“You’re not actually going to think about that during your next match, are you?” You pant out, letting out a soft, tired moan. Yoongi smirks, you don’t see it but you can feel it in the air.

“Oh, I definitely will be.”

His words send a fresh, muted shiver of pleasure through you and you place your palms on Yoongi’s lower abdomnen, push upwards and he follows, slipping out of you.

The sudden ache of emptiness fills you when he pulls away, and you can see the question forming on his lips but you move quickly, shifting your body until you are on your knees.

Yoongi’s eyes widen in understanding, swallows thickly, eyes searching your face. Your eyes are full of want, your cunt beginning to feel sore, the high from your orgasm still riding inside of you as he stands up, your face level with his hard cock.

You wrap your hand around his length, hard and still slick with your juices, run your hand up and down, pumping his shaft and enjoying the staggered moan that escapes his lips. Your eyes flicker upwards, feeling a rush of satisfaction when you see that he is staring straight down at you with wide, hungry eyes. A flame of heat ignites in your stomach as you continue to glide your hand over his cock in long, teasing strokes, lowering your mouth until it is at the very base of his cock.

You run your tongue flat alongside his length, slowly, shift in place until the tip of his cock is positioned at your lips. You move your hips, your legs tremble with the movement and serve as a reminder of how good he had fucked you, and you feel that carnal need to please him, to submit to him, as you wrap your mouth around the head of his cock.

Carefully, you lower yourself until you are taking his entire cock in your mouth, you gag slightly against his length and then begin to bob your head up and down. You feel Yoongi’s legs start to shake, hear the staggered moan that is drawn out from his lips.

“Jesus fuck,” You hear him mutter, “God you feel so fucking good…” his voice breaks around the words, you feel him tilt his hips against your mouth, slowly, carefully, fucking himself against your mouth.

You moan against it, feel a tingle of satisfaction at the huskiness in his voice as he moans out your name.

His body jerks, you glance up to see him gazing down at you with glassy, fevered eyes. “Fuck if you keep… God I’m gonna…” his voice is stuttered, far from the pieced together Yoongi who had been fucking into you just a few moments ago, and you take him in even deeper, hum against his cock, Yoongi lets out a long, ragged moan and you pull your mouth away from his cock, replacing it with your hand.

You keep your face where it is, continuing to tease his cock with long strokes, staring up at Yoongi from where you are bent on your knees.

“I want you to cum all over my face,” You whisper out the words like they’re a secret, something dark jumps in your stomach. This is unlike you, but there’s something about being with Yoongi that unlocks a part of you that you didn’t know existed, a part that is raw and animalistic and that feels so fucking good that you don’t want to stop feeling it.

“Fuck.” He musters out, and you smile, continuing to tease at him, “Something else to think about in the ring next time.”

He cries out your name, his eyes blown and blackened with desire, his body jerks and as your hand pumps down his shaft, he cums. It hits your face, the ropes of his seed on your cheek and your forehead, and you relish in the sight of Yoongi staring at you with widened eyes, trembling lips, wonder and pleasure and desperation and neediness snapping over his face with the rise and fall of his orgasm.

You memorize it, the expression on his face, his lips curled around your name, the orgasm evident in the shake of his thighs.

You stay still for a moment, the two of you staring at each other, both breathless.

“Hey,” You murmur, to break the silence. It’s the first thing that pops in your head.

Yoongi smiles, and it’s the first genuine smile that you’ve seen on his face - unadulterated, blissful, eyes softening and creasing in the corners, sweaty hair falling in his eyes, head tilting to one side.

“Hey.”

His voice breaks as he sits down, legs shaking. He leans across the floor, grabs his white tank and is in front of you.

His thighs are still trembling as he cups the back of your neck and carefully wipes away his cum from your face. When he’s done, he pulls away, tossing the discarded shirt to the side of the ring.

You sit facing each other for a moment, breathing heavily, and you turn to face him, a lazy smile dissolving over your face.

“How you feeling?” Yoongi asks, he has a lazy satisfaction on his lips, his words drawled out.

You just smile in response, you can still feel the hazy glow from your orgasm in your toes, you nod at him. “Good.”

Yoongi smiles.

“I wasn’t expecting that to happen between you and me.” You confess, and the smile on Yoongi’s face falters slightly, he blinks at you and then he diverts his gaze.

“Yeah,” He mutters. You blink, as Yoongi stands up, his face suddenly closed off.

“Hey, everything okay?” You ask as Yoongi bends, he scoops his shorts off of the floor and slides them on, grabs your jeans and your shirt.

“Uh huh.” He throws your clothes towards you, they land in a discarded pile and you blink. “Thanks, but I’ve gotta go back to training.”

His voice is clipped, distant, his eyes averted from meeting yours. You feel a sting of confusion as you stare blankly at him before you clear your throat, grabbing your clothes.

You stand up, your legs ache but you ignore them as you slide into your jeans, roughly put your top over your head.

Annoyance and hurt mingle with the high you’re still feeling from the sex as you wordlessly walk to the edge of the ring, ducking over the rope and landing neatly on the ground on the other side.

Hesitating, you turn, only to see Yoongi staring down at the ground, putting his gloves back on, an unreadable expression on his face.

It’s like a light has switched, daytime has turned back into night, Yoongi is no longer reachable. If it weren’t for the burn between your legs and the glow from your orgasm, you would’ve been convinced you imagined the whole thing.

Your mouth opens and closes, forming around words that you consider briefly saying. His name, asking him if everything is okay. But you hesitate, your hurt and rejection stops you.

You stare at him, he walks up to the punching bag. You close your mouth, feel a flash of upset in your belly and you turn.

You don’t look back as you walk out of the gym, but you hear it as you push open the door, the sound of Yoongi pressing his forehead against the punching bag and weakly driving his fist into its leather belly.

Logically, you know that you shouldn’t care about Yoongi, about the coldness that had been etched into his features last night when you walked away from the ring. The rational side of you tells you that it doesn’t matter, that what happened last night was just a once off. That you shouldn’t have slept with him anyway, given the nature of his relationship with Jungkook.

But no matter how many times you try to soothe the ragged sting of rejection over with rationality, it fails. You can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop replaying that string of events in your mind as though you’ll somehow find that one loose thread to tell you what exactly went wrong.

You cross your legs, angle your head, wonder idly if it was something you did, something you said, before you tell yourself to stop thinking about him.

You’ve been doing just that on loop for the past two hours. No matter how many times you try to cast Yoongi out of your thoughts, he lingers still, weighing heavily in between the spaces of your heart beat, like he has a finger on your sternum to remind you of him every five minutes.

You let out a restless sigh because this isn’t you. You aren’t the person to be wound up tight with question marks after a one night stand.

This has never been you. But it’s you now – sitting in your room, half heartedly tapping away on your laptop clicking onto links and trying to distract yourself.

What is it about Yoongi? Your fingers pause from where they are hovering above the keyboard, mind racing thanks to that new stray thought that’s flitted, unwelcome, into the forefront of your thoughts.

It’s not just with you – it’s like he knows exactly what buttons to push with all the people that cross his path. He’s ragged around the edges and dangerous too, like the serrated edges of a rusty blade.

Everything in your world is polished. The advancements of new technology and the growing divide between the upper class and the lower class have seen to the wall of ignorance that has divided your world from everything else out there, everything that Yoongi represents.

You grew up blind and oblivious, an outsider floating in the fringes of the boxing world, unsettled and uncertain of your place yet never thinking to look beyond those walls. And why would you? Everything in your life was pristinely kept together. Even the things that were supposed to be messy, broken, violent – boxing, for example – were kept clean and orderly thanks to gear, the metallic skeletons that fused to fighter’s bones and kept them in check.

Now though, you realize that perhaps things aren’t as perfect as they seem. Things are fraying apart, so slowly that an outsider couldn’t be able to tell, seams splitting and cracks fissuring.

Your brother, eyes growing darker and more distant, a storm brewing inside of him like a storm in a teacup.

Seokjin, who pushes down the pain and the loss you knew he feels, because showing pain is weakness.

Even you – lingering behind your brother like another member of his boxing posse because you have no other semblance of identity.

Things have been falling apart, they have been doing so for a long time.

You shake your head. You stand up abruptly, closing the lid of your laptop. You can’t think like this, seesawing in your own mind. You grab your coat from where it is hanging on the back of your door, headed to one place where you’ve always been able to gather your thoughts, a place that as much as you hate to admit it, is familiar to you.

The boxing ring.

Being next to the ring clears your thoughts, or at least, it serves as a willing distraction for them. Seokjin doesn’t say anything when you slip into the large, airy room, leaning against one of the pillars and folding your arms over your chest as you watch your brother train.

As you watch Jungkook drive his fists methodically into his punching bag, Seokjin barking out instructions with each punch, time ticks on.

Eventually, you stretch your body out like a cat, slipping outside of the training gym for a breath of fresh air. You are standing outside, feeling the brisk air kiss your skin, when you hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel.

Something in your head whispers to you that it’s Yoongi. Instinct, hope, rationality - you aren’t sure, you dont have time to dwell on it, eyes carding up to confirm that Yoongi is indeed standing in front of you.

He doesn’t have his headband on, his hair hanging long in his eyes, fine and floppy and damp, he’s clearly just stepped out of the shower. He looks softer than you’ve ever seen him before, and you hesitate.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, blinking once and then again in succession. “You’re not here to get under my brother’s skin again, are you?” Your words are pointed and Yoongi just stares at you, his face blank.

“No, I’m not here to do that,” He responds.

“Really, because that seems to be something that you enjoy doing.” You retort. Yoongi’s eyebrow twitches.

“I’m here to talk to you, actually.”

You expression falters a little under his heavy stare, you shift your weight and wring your fingers together.

“Um. Okay. So then, talk.”

You suddenly feel nervous, you attempt to mask it by folding your arms tight across your chest, but Yoongi’s stare is as intense as ever. Somehow, you have the suspicion that you’re not doing a very good job of acting nonchalant.

“Can we talk somewhere else? I don’t exactly want your brother coming out of practice and seeing us having a conversation.”

He has a point. You glance at the gym, you can hear the faint sounds of gloves against punching bags, before you look furtively at Yoongi. He is still staring at you, and you swallow.

“Yeah, alright.”

Yoongi nods. “I’ve got my car parked down the street. Let’s go for a drive?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and you bite the corner of your lip uncertainly, not sure of what exactly he wants from you, what he’s doing here.

“Er, sure.”

He turns and begins walking briskly in the opposite direction, for a beat you stare at his retreating back before you follow. The two of you walk side by side in silence, the nerves growing in your chest before you finally reach an old, battered grey car.

As you climb into the passenger seat, Yoongi turning the key in the ignition, you sneak a glance at Yoongi. His face is like stone.

“So… where are we going?”

Yoongi looks over at you, he swallows hard and it’s an expression that you’re not used to seeing on him.

Is he… nervous?

“There’s this spot not too far from here that I go to sometimes. Maybe we can talk there for a bit.”

You slowly nod, Yoongi’s eyes are still trained on you, “-If you’re okay with that, that is.”

“Uh huh.”

Yoongi just nods his head, pulls away from the street.

You sit in silence, you fight the urge not to look at him, running through the entire scenario in your head.

The last thing you expected was for Yoongi to appear at your brother’s gym. It was risky for him to be waiting around there, yet, you suppose, it’s the only place that he knew where you might’ve been.

What was it that he wanted to talk to you about so badly? You sneak a glance at him, he has one hand on the steering wheel, face indecipherable as always.

Yoongi? Nervous? The concept seems impossible, but it’s a thought that you have swirling around in your thoughts as Yoongi drives.

He eventually pulls into a side road, car slowing, and he clears his throat.

“Hey so uh…. About yesterday. When you left.”

“Yeah?” You answer, purposefully not looking over at Yoongi.

“I was acting weird and I’m… I’m sorry.”

Your mouth falls open, you can’t hold it any longer, eyeing Yoongi. He has his eyes on the road, but you can tell by the twitch of his lips that he’s paying close attention to you.

“It’s okay.” You respond, your voice a little unsteady. “It just caught me offguard. Was everything alright? We can forget last night happened, if you want. We probably shouldn’t have done it, to be honest.” Your words spill out and there is a moment of nothing, of silence.

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Yoongi finally speaks. “I just… I panicked. You said you weren’t expecting last night to happen.” His words end in a sigh and he shrugs. “I wasn’t expecting things to happen like they did either.”

His voice quiets until it is barely audible. “I guess I was trying to fight it.”

He pulls up at a small lookout spot and turns the ignition. The car lapses into silence and you are aware of the fact that you are holding your breath, uncertain of how to react or what to say.

“Fighting is all I’m good at, after all.” Yoongi tilts his face to you and smiles, a wry, slightly sad smile.

He holds your gaze for a long, heavy moment. “I… If you want to forget about last night we can.” Yoongi stammers out suddenly.

“No, I-” Your voice is shaken, you can’t pull away from Yoongi’s gaze. You don’t know what it is about him, that has you like this - breath held so tight that you can feel it heavy in your chest, pulse thrumming in your veins.

It’s a feeling like nothing you’ve felt before. Yoongi is like nothing you’ve known before.

“I don’t want to forget either.” You finally speak.

Yoongi’s eyes soften.

“Where are we anyway?” You ask suddenly, breaking your eye contact with him to glance around, taking in your surroundings. His car is the only one perched on the edge of a cliff, a makeshift observation deck of sorts.

“We are at my place.” Yoongi says. He sighs, tipping his head back. Your eyes are on him, and you can’t look away.

This, here, him - limbs stretched out in the seat of his car, window rolled down, face tipped up to the night sky. His hair flutters in the breeze, eyes closed, and it occurs to you that all the sides of Yoongi that you’ve seen, you haven’t seen this – his face so utterly serene.

You pull your gaze away from him out to the view in front of you.

“I love it here.” Yoongi says suddenly, his eyes still closed. “The view, you know?”

He opens one eye, reaches out and cards a hand through his hair. “It feels like that, there, is my life. When I’m here I feel like I can see it clearly. The past, the future… all of that.”

You follow his nod to the view stretched out in front of you. You are no stranger to beautiful city views, having one in your living room at home. But this is different – this isn’t the showcasing of the bejewelled, glittery lights of your city. From this spot, sure, you can see the glinting lights and commotion of the inner city, but you can also see the dark patches of the areas that aren’t technologically advanced.

This view is like shades of light and dark. Yoongi’s words, that this is his life – the light juxtaposed so sharply and unapologetically against the darkness, has something inside of you stirring.

“Why do you box?” You ask.

Yoongi clicks his tongue, tucks both legs in and rests his chin on top of his knees. Like this, his frame is smaller, his face pensive as he drops his shoulders up and down in a shrug.

“It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.” Yoongi is staring straight ahead, at the cityscape in front of you. “Fighting to survive.” The corners of his lips twist up into a wry smile, like he’s thinking of a joke that you haven’t heard the punch line to yet.

“I grew up without a family. I was raised in a home, me in a sea of kids without any kind of real identity, I guess. The only way to get any kind of sense of who you were was to stay alive and figure it out. And the only way to stay alive was to fight. And I mean real fighting. No gear, or any of that.”

You’re staring at him. His words are passive, cool – but you can see it in the barest flicker of his lids and the twist of his lips that there’s something painful buried there, nestled deep under the hard shell he always carries on his back.

“When Father -the guy who ran my home, we had to call him that- realized I was pretty good at the fighting thing, he got me into boxing.” Yoongi’s eyes move over his words, he curls in a little closer into his body. Perhaps without realizing it. “I was practically a kid and he had me in the underground ring.” His eyes flick up to you. “It’s nothing like whatever Championship rings you and your brother are familiar with. The underground ring is different. You wear gear, but it’s modified gear, so there are no other regulations or rules or protection over bodies. Half of the fighters are junked up on all kinds of drugs. Speed, ket, whatever it takes to get the fighters agitated and bloodthirsty. And take it from somebody who knows… that shit is addictive.” He scoffs out an empty laugh.

You don’t know whether he means that the fighting was addictive, or the drugs. Guessing from the faraway look in his eyes, you suppose both.

“Anyway… when he realized there was more money in it for a boxer to throw a game rather than win a game, he had me lose them on purpose. That didn’t exactly win me very many favours with the other boxers, who threatened to kill me if I kept throwing matches. Then there was Father, the fucking asshole, who threatened to kill me if I didn’t throw matches.”

“You threw matches?” You breathe.

You know how professional fighters feel about those who throw matches intentionally – they’re viewed as the worst of scum. While the Olympia Association has strict rules on gearless fights and underground fighting rings, when it comes to the fighters who were ousted for throwing matches on purpose... it's an entirely different story. When their bodies turn up battered and lifeless outside of their gyms, the Association turn a blind eye. It was an unwritten rule of boxing that if you were to throw a match, anything was on the table for you. You had committed a crime, the lowest of low, so you were expected to be willing to pay the price.

“Mm. Didn’t feel like I had much of a choice. I didn’t have anyone. I didn’t have anything. I wanted more drugs, more money, I wanted his approval, God knows why…” His voice stutters and he halts mid sentence. “Anyway. I got out of there. Somehow. Met Hoseok, my mechanic, who for whatever reason, took me in. Beat a few guys who wanted to take revenge for my past, got beaten up bad by a few others. Started fighting for real. And now I’m here.” He stretches out his legs, lets out a sigh, turns his head to you.

You mull over his words for a moment. You have so many questions, but moreover, you can’t get the image out of your head of Yoongi, the impenetrable, unpredictable Scorpius, clawing his way from the shadows to this. The Olympia Semifinals, the gear on his back, the run down gym that he owns and fights in.

He’s worlds away from your brother, from Seokjin, from every other elite fighter you’ve known and witnessed in the ring – but he has that same drive written in the lines of his face.

The drive to survive, to fight, the addiction to adrenaline and victory that you’ve never understood, but can recognize when it’s written all over a man’s face and in his heart.

“So why do you want to win so badly? The money? The protection from becoming a member of the Association?”

Yoongi turns his head fully to regard you. His eyes search yours, you feel your heart skip a beat.

In this limited light, and the complexity of Yoongi’s stare- assessing, soft, contemplative – you don’t know how to think, how to feel.

“The money and the protection are tempting,” Yoongi supplies. It’s true – the amount of money offered to the winner is baffling in it’s extravagance, and the guaranteed status and protection from the Olympia Association is priceless.

Especially to, you muse, a boxer born from the concrete such as Yoongi.

“But actually I want to win because ‘Father”-” Yoongi’s lips twist around the words, “Always said I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t. That I would die young and alone. Winning the Olympia would be my way of winning that fight.”

Yoongi’s face is simmering with anger, with hate.

“He sounds like a prick.”

Yoongi’s face splits into a smile at your words.

“He is.”

Yoongi shakes his head, the laughter dying from his lips. His eyes meet yours, you see hesitation flicker across his face before he swallows.

“I’ve never told anybody all of that before.”

You tilt your head to the side, looking at him, trying to decipher if he’s being serious.

“Wait, really?”

Yoongi just shrugs, and nods. “Really.”

You try not to dwell on what that means, attempt to stop your mind and your nerves from unravelling. You look down at your hands, folded in your lap, try and slow the rate at which your heart is pounding.

When you look up again, you catch Yoongi’s gaze - and whatever conviction you had in keeping yourself locked up tight unravels, spools apart like loose thread, because Yoongi is staring at you with eyes softened and sweet and open.

He isn’t smiling, he isn’t saying anything, he’s just looking at you, and with that look alone, you feel yourself coming completely undone.

You open your mouth to tell him that, tell him something, anything, but all that comes out from your mouth is a soft “Oh”.

Yoongi’s eyes crease, his lips twitch, and he leans a fraction closer - barely an inch, but you notice him closing the distance between you two and your heartbeat, earlier a rapid, terrifying staccato, slows in your chest into a hypnotic languid beat.

Neither of you speak, heads dipped slightly to one another. It’s dark in Yoongi’s car, it smells distinctly like him - like his cologne, like his gym clothes, and most of all like him. Woody and masculine and clean, all at once.

You can make out the lines of Yoongi’s face in the darkness of his car, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the flash of his silver earring when it catches the light.

His entire face is open, a mixture of emotion, so far from the Min Yoongi the world sees that your heart beats slower, deeper in your chest, vibrating through your bones.

The thought flits in your mind that he is possibly the most beautiful person you’ve seen in your life when he’s like this, vulnerable, open, and it feels like you’re part of the world’s best kept secret.

And then he kisses you.

His lips are slow, a touch awkward, uncertainty behind his lips like this is his first time. Your pulse is still slow, stirring in your veins as you let out a small sound of surprise against his lips, your hand instinctively curling around the rest on the nape of his neck.

His skin is warm beneath your fingers and you find yourself pulling him closer into you, your body shifting so that you’re closer to him, nearer to him. Your fingers card through his hair, and you feel Yoongi’s muscles relaxing at your touch, his kiss deepening as his tongue licks over your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

You let out a sigh at the feeling of him lazily, slowly swirling his tongue with yours, his hand reaching out to rest at the side of your neck, fingertips resting on your jaw.

It feels as if your muscles are unwinding, your spine lengthening, your legs melting into the beat up seat of Yoongi’s car. You have felt like you’ve been moving so fast the last few weeks, like everything has been rushing by, blurred faces and moments, but this right here, Yoongi kissing you slowly and deeply like he’s memorizing the feeling of you held against him in his car, your face cupped in his palm, has time slowing down. This was what you needed - things to be slower, easier, for the slip of time to be irrelevant.

Right now, all the matters is this - the boy who is kissing you, the boy who is dismantling your sense of equilibrium and reality with the simple press of his lips against yours, the boy who, right now, pulls away from your mouth to plant a breathy kiss at your ear.

You shiver at it, think distractedly to yourself that you can’t remember the last time you were kissing somebody like this, evenly paced, with no intention other than to kiss. Yoongi plants another kiss on your earlobe.

“I like kissing you.” His voice is low, almost rough with shyness and before you can respond, he kisses against the side of your neck, mumbles something you don’t quite hear against your skin.

“C’mere,” He says as he pulls away, gazing at you.

You move, bringing your legs up and swinging them over until you move, pushing your body off of the seat so that you can slide onto Yoongi’s lap. He’s watching you with a slightly bemused expression on his face, letting out a soft laugh when you fall clumsily onto him.

His palms glide up from your upper thighs, caressing over your hips until they press against your lower back. You oblige, leaning closer to him and lacing your fingers around the nape of his neck.

You kiss him again, Yoongi lets out a husky, barely audible sigh into your lips and runs his tongue across your bottom lip, seeking entrance. His face is tilted up to meet yours, your back arched, his palms gliding slowly over your thighs to your hips.

He kisses you deeper, and you let out a soft whine when his hands curve around your ass, cupping you and pulling you even closer to him.

You break free from his kiss, tilt your head back with shallow breaths escaping your lips as you feel Yoongi's eyes on you, watching you on top of him.

A rush of confidence and exhilaration works its way up your spine as you look down at Yoongi, cheeks ever so slightly flushed, hair messy, teeth biting down on his lower lip as he gazes up at you with a slow, intense expression.

You begin to grind your hips against him, gyrating your lower body as slowly and tantalizingly as you can, feeling a rush when Yoongi's eyes flicker dark, his breath sharpens, and his hands grip at you harder, more desperately.

It occurs to you as a fleeting thought that perhaps this is what has got you so hooked on Min Yoongi - the softness underneath the shell, the hands that betray his attempt to stay tough when they grip at you harder, the eyes that stare up at you wide and full of lust and tinges of wonder.

You roll your hips against him and he lets out another choked moan, you can feel the stirrings of his erection from beneath you as his hands squeeze your ass, massaging the cheeks slowly in circular motions.

Your own breathing is starting to grow stuttered, as Yoongi groans, tilts his head back as you push yourself against his hardened cock.

“C’mere,” he mutters, and you meet his lips in a kiss, satisfying his demands as his hands shift from your ass to your hips, moving you in time as you continue to glide your now sensitive, swelling pussy against him.

The friction is starting to make you heady with arousal, and you suck in for breath when Yoongi reaches up to your neck, his fingers brush down over your lips, pulling the bottom lip down, hands gliding a dangerous, seductive trail from your neck to your throat to the top of your shirt dress.

He undoes the buttons slowly, with each giving of the fabric more skin is exposed, and you find yourself clenching your thighs together, pressing yourself more firmly against him in an attempt to speed it up somehow.

Finally, your dress is off, leaving you all but naked on top of him.

Yoongi lets out a hum, smirks. “Let me look at you.” He says in a soft, husky voice and your cheeks flush with heat as you lean back, feeling the heaviness of Yoongi’s eyes on your bare breasts, your body, before he reaches out and laces his fingers around your waist, pulling you on top of him.

He immediately presses quick, feverish kisses to your collarbones, his tongue and his lips working as they trace a pattern down your clavicles, his tongue lapping at your skin as he reaches your breasts.

You hiss in, as his lips kiss the top of your right breast. Your fingers curl, grasping at Yoongi’s waist, slipping underneath his hoodie until your palms touch his warm skin. You let out a whimper as Yoongi kisses down your breast in a straight line, his lips so close to your hard nipple that every inch of you shakes.

Your fingers keep roaming underneath his hoodie, feeling the hardened muscles of his abdomen, enjoying the way he tenses at your touch.

Yoongi stops, his mouth still so close to you, breathes out, “I’m so fucking hard right now.”

His breath, softly ghosting over your nipple has you pressing your body against him harder, and Yoongi chuckles.

“You like that, don’t you?” He all but purrs, his voice teasing, your breath shaky and broken as he finally, finally presses his tongue flat against your nipple.

You cry out at the sudden feeling of his warm, wet tongue teasing slow strokes over your sensitive nipple. Yoongi is torturously slow, tongue intently and sinfully pulling out and heightening your need, until finally, his lips latch and it, teeth catching on it gently, enough to have your hips bucking forward a fraction, your head jerking forward, a stuttered moan falling out of your lips.

Your core is throbbing so desperately that you press yourself harder against Yoongi, your hand, which was lying flat against Yoongi's stomach, trails down until it finds his erection.

You feel Yoongi stiffen at your touch, Yoongi moves his head and his tongue swirls around your other nipple, starting off slow and languid yet again as you begin to palm at Yoongi’s hard cock from on top of his pants.

Yoongi lets out a growl as he sucks hard on your left nipple, hard enough to cause a bit of a sting, it sends a fiery need coursing through your veins as Yoongi pulls away from your chest, eyes darkened in lust.

“You’re so fucking needy for me,” He whispers in a low voice, you feel completely wound up, hips pressed against him, your cunt throbbing and so in need of stimulation that you feel like you are on the verge of falling apart, your nipples wet from Yoongi’s mouth and erect, Yoongi’s cock hard underneath your palm.

You nod, clamping your lips together because you know that if you speak, a moan will be ripped from your lips. Yoongi pulls away from your breasts, kissing up your neck until his lips catch on your jaw, your ear, finding your mouth and kissing you long and wet and hard. You moan weakly into his kiss, he pulls apart and you whimper.

“That sound drives me fucking crazy,” He mutters in a throaty voice as his fingers hook around your hip, you hiss in for breath as he leans in, his lips hovering above yours as his fingers begin to slowly, torturously trail down to the apex between your thighs.

“Everything you do drives me crazy, you know that?”

All you can do is nod, you are flushed with heat and desperation and so completely aware of Yoongi's fingers lingering on your inner thigh. You meet his gaze, your lashes flutter, your breath comes out softly and desperately in a hushed murmur, “Yoongi, please touch me, please.”

His hand slips between your thighs and his fingers, two of them, brush slowly up your slit.

Your hips buck at the feeling of it, the release of finally being touched. You are so wound up and desperate that even this - the slowest, briefest teasings of Yoongi's fingers against you have your back arching in need.

You hear Yoongi let out a groan, a sound like a ‘tch’ in the back of his throat.

You're so wet,” He moans out, his voice is thick and you hear him swallow as he pushes his finger inside of you.

The feeling of his finger pushing inside of your walls, sliding in without protest thanks to how wet and slick you are, has your back arching, your chest so full of want that it feels like your sternum is going to shatter into pieces.

You are moaning, soft and rushed whimpers of praise and curling around Yoongi's name as he starts to slide his finger in and out of you, fucking you out until you are writhing beneath him.

You can feel it, him pushing himself inside of you until he is knuckle deep, but still, you want more.

As if he is reading your mind, Yoongi pushes in a second finger, eyes latched on you, breathing growing uneven as you hiss out an affirmative cry.

Your hands are shaking, they glide distractedly over the expanse of his smooth skin and unfasten the buttons on his shirt as quickly as they can manage while Yoongi is pumping two fingers in and out of you clean and fast and filling you whole, leaving you wanting more with each ministration of his hand.

Finally, all the buttons are off and you pull the shirt off of him, Yoongi pulls out of you to shrug off the shirt and then his fingers are back, this time teasing and toying with your clit.

You whine out louder, you can feel it climbing inside of you like a wave, Yoongi's body pinning you down, the air in his car is thick and heavy and you can feel your back arching, toes curling.

Lust is thrashing through your blood, as Yoongi's fingers continue to slide in and out of the seams of your cunt, the rhythm intense and pulling every inch of want out of you.

You buck your hips forward, feeling your breath start to tighten, you core start to squeeze, you slant your body upwards, forcing yourself even closer to Yoongi.

Yoongi lets out a choked moan and then you feel it. His thumb, slick with you, brushing over your rim.

You gasp, your breath breaks as it shudders out of you and your eyes widen, a fresh, new flush of pleasure racing through your body.

Yoongis eyes are searching your face, and your fingers slip under the waistband of his pants and curl around his hard cock. You can feel it - the moist precum that is over the tip of his hard dick, the way his body stiffens when you wrap your fingers around him.

You cant focus enough to move your hand, your lips tremble and you whisper, “Again, please.”

Yoongi hooks his two fingers and his thumb brushes again over the edge of your hole.

“God, yes,” You moan out, you see Yoongis eyes widen as you squeeze your eyes shut, and then you feel it, him easing his thumb in until he is just barely inside of you.

You let out a groan as he continues to push, slowly, carefully, until you are full of a delicious heat and your jaw grows slack and all you feel is him.

Its almost too much at once, but then it settles and you start to feel waves of pleasure ebbing and washing over you. It feels good, and you feel good, a wicked kind of good that you feel hooked on and addicted to, and your breath stutters at the sensation of it, of him.

Your eyes flutter open and you see Yoongi gazing down at you, he reaches forward and he kisses you- a breathy kiss that you gasp into, his skin against yours, his fingers stuffing you full and then his fingers hook.

You can feel it - a deep seated, indescribable kind of pleasure, the hum of desire crackling over your skin, because this feels so good and it feels sexy and you feel unbelievably good.

Yoongi pulls away from your mouth, gazes at you and his eyes are full of lust and your breath hitches, your toes curl, and then it breaks apart over you in waves.

You moan out Yoongi's name, it becomes muffled as you bury your face in his neck, you feel Yoongi shaking on top of you as your body twitches with your orgasm. You can feel it, the satisfying, warm glow that seeps over your skin.

“Fuck,” You whisper, as Yoongi pulls his fingers out of you, you cling to him and rake your fingers through his hair, pulling his face towards you in a long kiss that you swoon into, still high off of him and how it he had made you feel.

“You look so hot when you cum like that.” Yoongi sighs, you smile. “Thank you,” you whisper as you pull away and Yoongis eyes crease in the corners, soft and amused, you can practically hear his unspoken response, a dry, light, “Any time,” but you don't give him time to respond, hooking your fingers through his hair, bringing him closer to you.

He lets out a soft growl as you draw his body closer to yours, tightening the space as you pull lightly on his hair, it’s long enough for you to wrap it around your fingers. You gaze at Yoongi, picking up on the flash of his eyes as you let out a soft, breathy whine, right there in the briefest of spaces that separates your lips from his.

“I want to ride you.”

Yoongi's eyes widen a touch, his jaw grows slack and he swallows, you can see it thick in his eyes the arousal as he nods, and then his hands are on your waist, maneuvering your bodies in the small confined space of his car until he is underneath you.

Your fingers skim over the waist of his pants, hearing the hiss in of his breath when the bottom of your palm brushes against the hard tent in his pants.

You grasp at the hem of his hoodie, tugging it off of him. You look down at him, take him in - his hair, ruffled and falling in his eyes, face lit up by the moonlight, the slope of his collarbones, each curve of his abs.

You feel a shiver of desire as your fingers trace over his collarbones. You keep your eyes latched on his as you start to slowly skim your hand down his chest, over his nipples, his taut stomach, down until you are toying with the waistband of his pants.

You can see the flex of his jaw perfectly in this lighting, the bob of his Adams apple as you press your palm against his hard cock. He lets out a tiny moan, a slippery “You’re enjoying this, arent you?”

You flash him a quick, wicked smile to answer that you are, you are enjoying every twitch of his jaw and lustful flash of his eyes, the jerk of his cock under your palm.

You are still wet, you can feel it as you shift your hips and tug his pants and boxers down until they are down at his knees. Yoongi takes over from there, kicking them off until he is completely naked beneath you. Your eyes tick down to the lower half of his body - he has two, chiselled lines like a perfect V sloping in until they meet the top of his thighs, which are strong and muscled, tensed with anticipation.

Your eyes fall onto his cock. It’s hard, so hard that you can see the head of his cock moist with precum, and you feel a hard, heavy knock of arousal sear through your core.

“You look so sexy from this angle.” Yoongi grunts, you feel a hum of pleasure and affirmation at his words as he reaches up, palms cupping your breasts before they loop around the nape of your neck and draw you into him.

Your lips find his, in a messy kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth and kissing you hot and wet and deep. You settle your palms onto his chest, moving slowly until you are positioned directly on top of him. Your hand reaches behind you, wraps around his length.

You lower yourself until you can feel just the tip against your wet slit, and you can’t help the breath of desperation that races out of you as you feel the tip of his moist cock against your soaking wet entrance.

You can’t tease anymore, prolong it further when you want it so badly. You lower yourself, slowly, until you can feel his cock entering you, stretching you out.

You are slick with wetness enough and you sink lower onto him, until finally, he is all the way inside of you. A tiny mewl escapes your throat as you settle around him, feeling the ache of his cock deep inside of you.

It feels so good to have him inside of you like this, filling you whole, but you dont wait to bask in the feeling - a crimson red lust has begun to lick at your insides and you need more.

Your eyes focus on Yoongi, his head his tipped back on the car headrest, eyes blown out, staring at you with an expression that is completely open, lust traced in his features.

It fills you with a whiter hot sense of neediness, desperation, as you start to rock your hips back and forth.

You are filled with it- a desire to fuck Yoongi. To ride him as hard as he had fucked you the other day in the boxing ring, to render him as breathless as he had made you.

Each of your undulations has his hard cock pushing deeper inside of you, and you hear Yoongi moaning. You look down at him, seeing his hand reach up, he bites down on the flesh of his palm, eyes wide and tracked on you.

You preen, twisting your body a little, fucking against him harder. His eyes are locked on you, hypnotized by the bounce of your breasts, eyes squeezing shut with a muttered fuck as you slide into him deeper.

Your body tips forward a little as you lean closer to Yoongi, palms flat against his chest as you push against him, sliding up until you are nearly all the way out of him.

Yoongi lets out a tiny hiss, a whine, and he buries his face against your neck, his mouth leaving hungry kisses down your collarbone and shoulder, groaning out begging sounds of “please give me your pussy, fuck”, until you sink back down onto him.

This time, a louder whine if pleasure rips out of your throat. Your face is flushed with heat, you are so full of want that you feel like you’re brimming with it.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Yoongi moans, his voice his husky, “God, you’re so fucking good, how…” He stumbles over his words as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hips tilting forward as you grind your hips upward, letting out a broken moan as you feel the contact sting deep inside of you, granting you some release.

Yoongi’s hand cards up, snaking over your spine until it entangles into your hair.

The other hand finds your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he helps you bounce up and down on his cock, fucking yourself against his length.

The car is hot, the windows steaming up, you and Yoongi are both flushed, sweaty, breaths coming out in desperate pants as his hand digs even harder into your hip, fingers pull even tighter against your hair.

“I’m so close,” Yoongi groans out, “Let me get on top of you. I want to fuck you until you can't walk straight, baby girl.”

His rushed term of endearment has you pausing for a moment, you look down at him and he smirks at you. He is all dark eyes and flushed cheeks and blonde hair turning brown with sweat.

You are so wet, so hot with the heat filling his car, so needy for him, and you nod breathlessly as you pull away from him. He weaves around you in the tight space in his car, and before you can settle down so that you are facing him, he pushes down on your back.

Your breath rushes out in a gasp as your belly presses against the back of the car seat, you feel Yoongi’s body curve down around yours, lips pressing at the base of your ear.

“I can’t wait to sink my cock deep into this pretty cunt.”

Yoongi’s voice is low, uninhibited, almost animalistic as he growls around his words. You can feel his palm gliding along the slope of your back, caressing your skin, drawing it all out even more.

It’s heightening inside of you, the desperation and anticipation clustering into an inescapable heat.

“Yoongi,” You breathe out his name, your voice raspens around the word as you feel Yoongi’s skin on yours. The tip of cock grazes over your slit and you hiss in at the sensation of it, the ache between your legs is growing unbearable.

“Yoongi, please,” The words that spill out of your lips are shaken, and Yoongi teases in closer, his cock dragging along your wet cunt. You let out a choked whine, your hands tightening around the headrest of the carseat.

Your breathing is ragged, and just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore, Yoongi’s hips press forward, his cock pushing inside of you hard and fast with no relent.

You let out a cry that quickly melts into a moan, Yoongi’s body presses against yours. The air in the car was warm, crackling with heat almost, and you feel it rolling over your skin - pure satisfaction from finally being granted this release, the feeling of Yoongi’s cock buried deep inside of you.

Yoongi doesn’t give you time to bask in it, letting out a husky purr of dominance before he pulls away, cock sliding out of you, nearly all the way before with a firm, intense snap of his hips, he fucks into you again hard and slow.

It’s like a symphony of moans, yours entangling with Yoongi’s, the dirty, illicit sound of skin slapping against skin, his car almost rocking from the intensity of his thrust.

“Yoongi,” You moan out his name, “God, yes.”

The affirmation spurs Yoongi on, you can sense it in the hum of anticipation, and then he fucks into you again, rocking his hips against you, swelling upwards so that you can feel every ridge of his hard cock.

You preen under it, arch your back so you can feel the sensation of him fucking you long and deep, coy moans falling from your lips.

You’re playing into it, the submissive murmurs of his name falling out of your mouth in an effort to spur him on, get him to fuck you even harder. It occurs to you faintly that this is something about Yoongi that has you so completely fixated, his ability to pull out a side to you that you didnt even know existed.

This - you, legs spread on your stomach against the front seat of his car, begging him to fuck you through your words, the sway of your hips and waist, the flutter of your eyelids.

There is something about Yoongi, his hips snapping into you even harder, thrusting into you like he wants to own you, claim you, that has a hypnotic, dark heat spreading over your skin like melting butter. It entwines with the carnal satisfaction from having him fuck deep into your walls, his body pressed against yours.

“Fuck me, Yoongi.” You breathe out, and Yoongi just lets out a slow laugh, his lips at your ear.

“Believe me, I haven't even started. You’re mine tonight, baby girl.”

He carves his words out by placing one hand at the base of your throat. He is supporting his weight with the other arm, and you can feel his muscles flexing as he holds himself on top of you, the heaviness of his fingers settled right there at the base of your throat.

You are so aroused that it feels as if you are consumed in it, Yoongi’s fingers tighten, just enough to send a thrill rushing through you and a strange noise like a rough moan of pleasure vibrate out against his palm.

And then Yoongi starts to fuck you.

He is almost punishing with his thrusts, grinding his hips upward so that you can feel the friction against your clit, like a teasing staccato rhythm. His palm is still wrapped around your neck, the pressure just enough for you to feel a rush, your voice trilling breathy moans in sync with each of his thrusts.

“You feel so good,” Yoongi moans out, “Your pussy is fucking amazing.” He accentuates his words by holding your even closer, fucking you even deeper.

This time he doesn't tease, he rolls his hips up and you can feel it pressing against your clit, teasing deep inside of you. You tip your head back, relishing in it - and then Yoongi returns to the rhythm from earlier.

Your hands tighten around the headrest, a “Fuck” that is wrapped up in desire and frustration slips out of your mouth. You are a mess, falling apart under each dominant thrust, each powerful fuck of Yoongi deep inside of you, breath quickening under Yoongi’s fingers, pulse racing even faster at each of Yoongi’s praising murmurs, his groans.

You are close. You can feel it, mounting inside of you - each teasing time Yoongi hits your spot you feel it lingering, approaching, the pressure of pleasure that is about to spill over you.

You are all quickened, desperate breaths, Yoongi is all panting moans and ragged grunts, his voice against your ear, lips, littering messy kisses and bites to your cheek and neck in between thrusts of his hips against yours.

The two of you are fevered, desperate for each other, desperate to feel more skin against skin, you desperate to feel the clench of pleasure that is so close you can almost taste it.

Yoongi’s hand falls from your throat to your chin, he tilts your head to the side and his lips connect with yours. He kisses you deep and rough, your tongue against his, gliding desperate and hot.

Your hands clutch at the seat harder, your back arches against Yoongi’s and you whine soundlessly into his kisses with each of his thrusts. You are losing yourself in this, in the feeling of him, it’s like you are about to break apart at any moment. You are helpless to it, the crescendo of desperation, and you kiss Yoongi deeper, hungrier, until finally your core clenches.

You let out a sharp moan, your vision hazes, Yoongi pulls away and presses his lips against the pulsepoint of your neck as you let out a broken moan, he angles his hips up a fraction and fucks you again, this time slow and tantalizing so that you can feel it right there and everywhere.

You can’t think about anything, you are saturated in it, soaked in the euphoric, dizzying pleasure. It’s like you are being devoured by it, and you tip your head back, toes curling as Yoongi moans encouragement against your skin.

“I’m close,” Yoongi murmurs and you can hardly form a response, you just nod, body stuttering forward as you feel pleasure radiating through every inch of you. It’s less intense now but you can still feel it, satisfaction carnal and seared red pulsating through you.

Yoongi starts to fuck you harder and faster, fucking you out as your eyes flutter with pleasure, still high off of your orgasm. You know Yoongi is close, you can sense it in the tenseness of his breath, the guttural whispers of your name. You feel drunk on your orgasm still and you tilt your head back.

“I want you to cum in me, Yoongi.”

You hear Yoongi intake for breath, his hips snapping into you a little harder, a little more desperately.

“Yeah?”

You hum, arch your back coquettishly, vision still hazy from the slowing waves of pleasure that are ebbing through your body.

“Uh huh. I want you to make me cum drunk, baby.”

With your words, Yoongi lets out a tiny yelp, hips bucking as he fucks into you, cum flowing hot deep inside of you.

His head falls forward, face burying into the crook of your shoulder and you can feel his hips twitching. “Fuck,” he groans, his cock still pulsating, still coming, until you are filled with Yoongi’s cum.

Your bodies are still wound together, and you let out a shaky sigh of content.

You stay completely still for a second, the two of you still basking in it, aftershocks of pleasure causing you to press even closer to one another.

You don't speak, both completely drunk on pleasure, strung out on the glowing fire of your consecutive orgasms.

Finally, Yoongi straightens, pushes his body off of you. You can feel it, that you are stuffed with his cum, and you let out a shaky sigh as you shift over.

The seat in his car barely fits the two of you together, but you curl your body into his, he slots his arm around your neck, hand curled around your shoulder as he pulls you in. He presses his lips against your forehead, his face flushed and sticky with sweat.

For a long moment, the two of you just lie there, faces tilted to one another, eyes closed. You are nothing but heavy breaths, slowing pulses, clutching one another and just shivering intermittently as you wind down.

You feel drowsy, so relaxed and heavy and euphoric. Your eyes flutter open, only to see Yoongi’s dark ones staring directly at you.

His entire face is open, soft, and something twists inside of your chest, something sweet and hypnotic. It feels almost dreamlike, your skin glossy with sweat, palms curled into fists that are pressed against Yoongi’s chest, his arm tucked around your shoulders.

He gazes down at you with an expression that is so soft and full of a wry fondness unmistakably Yoongi that you feel your heart start to pound faster. His car’s windows are completely fogged up, the air thick and hazy between you.

You think that you have never felt this before, you have never felt so connected to someone, and then Yoongi leans forward and kisses you so delicately that you stop thinking anything at all.

You lie there until your breathing slows to normal, bodies cooling down. You don’t speak, your body still curled into Yoongi’s. The car seat is uncomfortable, cramped, but neither of you make any movement.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t think this would happen.” Yoongi whispers suddenly. His voice is hoarse and you look at him. He has an expression on his face like something you’ve never seen on him before, features twisted uncertainly.

“Hm?” You respond slowly.

Yoongi gazes at you, shifts his body. This close to him, you can see the flecks of amber in his eyes, the small chestnut brown freckles that dust over some corners of his face. He is staring at you just as hard, like he too is finding tiny features written in the map of your skin.

“I didn’t think that I…” his voice trails off and then he just exhales. “I just…” He breaks off again. His eyes card up to yours roughly. “I’m not good at words, but I…”

His face twists and you wriggle closer, you hear his breath pitch in seconds before you press your lips against his. A kiss like you're kissing glass, careful, gentle. You hear his chest rumbling underneath your kiss, his body relaxing, and then you pull away.

“I know.”

He blinks, hard. He doesn’t respond, he just pulls you in even tighter until your limbs slot together. It’s impractical, it’s uncomfortable, but you press even closer, feeling the tension spooling out of his body as he holds you to his frame.

After a beat of quiet, you disentange from him, craning your head to look at the time on Yoongi’s car clock.

“Hey,” You murmur, breaking the nice stillness that had settled between the two of you, “Don’t you have to train soon?”

Yoongi glances at the clock.

“Yeah,” He mutters, “I do.” You straighten, Yoongi, still lying down, looks at you before he too hoists his body up. His hair is messy, chest bare as he grabs your clothes from where they are crumpled in the front compartment of his car.

“Hey,” He says suddenly, clothes scooped in his arms. “Do you want to come?”

You can’t keep the surprise out of your voice. “To your training?”

Yoongi shrugs, passes your clothes back to you.

“Yeah. It won’t be too long, and… maybe we can do something after. Get food or whatever. I’m always starving after I train.”

You are watching him, he speaks as he tugs his shirt over his head, pulls his trackpants on. He pushes his blonde hair off his face as his eyes lock with yours, seeing the hesitation that traces over your features.

“I mean, you don’t have to, it’s not a big deal-“

“No, i...” Your voice trails off and you stare at him, you swallow hard. You aren’t hesitating because you dont want to, you are hesitating because of the feeling that is mounting in your chest and swirling through you.

“I’d love to come.”

Yoongi’s jaw twitches, he nods, a smile fighting at the edge of his lips before he turns his attention ahead of him, turning the key in the ignition.

“Cool.” Yoongi says. The car roars to life and you pull your top over your head, trying to settle the flutter of your heart.

Yoongi is dripping in sweat. His icy blonde hair is darkened with it, pushed off of his forehead with a sweatband.

His chest is bare, his skin glossy with sweat, droplets of it in gathered in the dips of his clavicles and running down the slopes of his abdomen.

It is one of the few indicators that he is actually physically exerting himself - How sweaty he is, that, and the slightly laboured breaths he takes, like he's sipping for air.

If somebody wasn't looking closely at either of those, they wouldn't be able to tell that Yoongi was even pushing himself. He holds his body almost loosely, arms dangling, a light, cocky expression on his lips. There I s no tension in his body, rather, he is completely at ease- relaxed as if he was just standing around, waiting for something to happen.

He stays that way, comfortable, frustratingly calm, until an opening appears and then he strikes. He moves fast, with a deadly kind of precision, calculated and quick and smooth, all at once.

He gives it all with one hit, and it is that one hit that has Yoongi's practice partner stumbling, falling, hand falling to his mouth with a wince and a grimace as Yoongi closes in and double in hard against his ribs, until the other man is splayed on the floor.

It's oddly mesmerising, the way he moves, how each time his partner falls, Yoongi smiles to himself and calls out, "Again."

You pick up on different things about him as you watch - how even though he looks so relaxed, how he's alert, eyes twitching when his practice partner moves a certain way, tongue darting out to lick his lips as if he' starting the changes in the air.

The gleam that flashes in his eyes when a punch lands, the predatory narrowing of his gaze as he hones in and finishes them off. He's so different to what you've grown up around, the way he practices, the way he holds himself, the way he fights - this isn't about accuracy, or technique, or resources. this is all about instinct.

His gear isn't as synchronised to his body and his movement as Jungkook's, or any of the other elite fighters, but it doesn't matter when Yoongi is moving around the ring, slowly and languidly like a panther about to pounce, unreadable and untouchable in every manner of the word.

He is always composed, always stitched together so tightly even on the rare occasion that his practice partner lands a blow, and it occurs to you that the only time you've seen him coming undone is when his body is hovering on top of yours, skin brushing skin and pupils blown, breath heavy with his lips curved around your name.

"He's good, isn't he?"

You jump in place at the sound of the voice, Hoseok's, flushing with embarrassment even though it's not like he can read your thoughts. Yoongi's friend and mechanic has come up beside you, hands shoved low in his pockets, eyes locked on Yoongi.

Yoongi had introduced you to him when you arrived together at the gym, Hoseok’s face had split open in a grin, rushing forward to sling one arm over your shoulder in a greeting. He had wavy, messy red hair and he wore wire frames, he was sunny and optimistic and distracted, and so completely different to Yoongi that you had initially been taken aback. You soon realized though that their friendship made total sense, even in its seeming unlikeliness - there was a deep level of trust and care there.

"He is good," you affirm, turning your eyes back to Yoongi. He zip lines in across the ring, and punches his partner up in a southpaw, so hard that the other man jerks, his body flung to the ground.

"Yoongi, fuck, take it easy man," The other man grumbles, groaning as Yoongi lets out a sheepish laugh, bending down to give him a hand.

"Sorry, Hyungwon. Got carried away."

You watch the exchange, when Hoseok clears his throat, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glance over to him, he's watching you with a thoughtful look on his face.

"You know, Yoongi doesn't let anyone watch him train." He says, "And he's been in a better mood lately, or something. Less 'I hate the world' vibes than usual. Wonder what the correlation is there." He smiles wryly at you and you feel a flutter in your veins at his words, trying desperately not to let yourself wonder what that means.

"Oh?" You respond instead, keeping your voice as without expression as possible.

"Hmm," Hoseok just answers, eyebrow twitching upward, "He didn't even let me watch him practice for the longest time, and I'm his damn mechanic. I fix his gear, for fuck’s sake."

His voice is light, and you turn to him, voice airy and teasing.

"You jealous or something, Jung?"

Hoseok's face melts into a grin as he folds his arms, returning his attention to the ring, where Yoongi and Hyungwon have begun another practice round,

"Naw. I'm just saying, its like a whole different Yoongi. It's nice."

You just hum in response, fighting to control the dusting of heat that wants to spread across your face at the words and the blossoming of warmth in your chest.

You and Yoongi slip into somewhat of a rhythm.

You spend your days apart, and like clockwork, find each other after the sun sinks into the horizon.

Some evenings are spent with you cross legged on the floor of Yoongi's gym, listening to Hoseok lamenting about his haphazard dating life with cups of instant ramen and beers, Yoongi slinking up to you once practice is over, an arm slipping around your waist and his chin leaning comfortably on your shoulder as he listens to Hoseok's stories.

Other evenings are spent differently, you and Yoongi going for long drives, his hand on your thigh and the other on the wheel until he finds a spot with a good view. On those evenings, the two of you sit in his car and talk, sometimes about the most obscure of topics that Yoongi just snorts softly at, others, he slips into a quiet, pensive mood and feeds you tiny tidbits of his childhood, his life, giving you small pieces of the puzzle that make up the enigma of Min Yoongi.

You talk to him about your life too, about your fading relationship with your brother, about the dreams and hopes you harbour, about everything grey and tangled you feel inside of your chest at the bleakest point of lonely nights - and Yoongi listens with those eyes cool and catlike and completely centred on you.

Other nights end up with you tangled in Yoongi's bedsheets, in his tiny flat that is run down and decrepit, but it doesn't matter because you and Yoongi don't leave his bed.

The mattress is lumpy, the springs squeak with protest at every movement and his curtains are threadbare, allowing moonlight to spill mottled and splotchy against his bedroom walls.

Those nights, however, are your favourites - Yoongi with his arm crooked around you, holding your body tucked into his, his face completely unguarded and softened in every corner and edge as he drifts to sleep.

Every morning, you slip out of that world and re-enter yours, sneaking back into your house with swollen lips and a heart so full it feels like it's going to burst out of your chest.

It's a whole different slice of the universe that you didn't know existed- Yoongi is so utterly different to anything else that you thought existed.

It's on one of those mornings when you quietly slip into your house from the back door, closing it behind you, when you find yourself pausing and basking in it.

You feel like you're simmering in warmth, your fingers shake as you think about Yoongi, who tonight, had been a little drunk, tipsy off of beers and one of Hoseok's ridiculous, sprawling stories - and how he had held you close, arms looped around our waist, fingers hooked on your hips, as he murmured in the shell of your ear, "I want to keep you."

You are still thinking about it when a voice cuts through your thoughts.

"What are you doing up at this time?" You jerk in place, blinking before you adjust to your environment - you're in the hallway of your house, wake up, hello - and see your brother squinting suspiciously at you, a towel draped around his neck.

You stutter out the first words that pop in your head.

"I uh, went for a walk. Couldn't sleep."

Jungkook's frown grows steeper.

"At 5:30AM?"

You just nod mutely, wondering if he'll push the issue, press it further when it's so obvious you're lying. Your eyes dart down to his hands, his knuckles are bruised, his wrist bandaged up tightly.

How hard has he been pushing himself?

Jungkook just nods and brushes past you, headed to the kitchen. You stand there numbly for a moment, surprised he let it go that quickly, that easily, before you shrug to yourself and head up the stairs to your room, trying to push down the stirrings of unease in your stomach.

A few nights later, you, Seokjin and Jungkook find yourselves at a match in a gym a few towns over. The semi finals for the Olympia are only two weeks away, and this is the last of the qualifiers - a renowned strength boxer and an agility boxer, both adorning high technology gear, battling it out for the last spot in the semis.

Seokjin and Jungkook are there to observe the competition, and you're there because Seokjin has more or less dragged you out. It's the same as any other match - heaving crowds, a bloodthirsty energy surging through their shouts and cries, all culminating to the final moment when the stronger boxer overpowers his opponent.

Jungkook immediately murmurs to Seokjin, discussions on the techniques on how to get around his sheer strength and power, Seokjin is responding with soft hums of agreement as the winner of the match lifts his gloves in the air, a triumphant snarl ripping from his lips as he turns to his collapsed opponent.

The crowd roars as the stronger boxer goes in for another punch, a kill hit, and his gear stops him, his fist frozen in the air. Everyone can see it- the struggle on the boxer's face, the twitch of his muscles as he attempts to fight the gear, to drive his fist once more into his already unconscious opponent's skull.

The crowd bellows, and both Jungkook and Seokjin still for a moment, eyes locked on the scene.

It's a surreal experience, one you've forgotten - people's enthused, hungry grins as they watch a man attempt to pummel the other to a bloody pulp, the cold, calculating look on Jungkook's face juxtaposed with Seokjin's sober one.

You shiver.

Soon after, the crowds thin out and you follow Jungkook and Seokjin as they walk towards the exit. They're a few paces in front of you, Jungkook has a hoodie low over his head to avoid attention, and you're lingering behind, the bloodthirsty look on the boxer's face seared into your thoughts as you distractedly pick your way through the crowd.

Something feels decidedly off tonight, you can't shake the unsettled feeling that is sinking into your bones. You stare at the ground, the chattering of the crowd around you serving a distraction, brusque voices discussing who the strongest fighters are in your prefecture.

You shudder, you cannot shake it tonight, the prickle of unease, an instinct telling you that something is wrong, something is awry. It had started settling over you in those few seconds of silence before the boxer in the match tonight had crunched his fist into his opponent's face, those few seconds of false, luring stillness.

It's a lake with a surface like spun glass, completely untouched and moving, air still and silent, the calm before the storm, perhaps.

You feel fingers brush against yours and your head jerks up, heart pounding until you see a familiar smirk. It's Yoongi, bandana underneath his signature icy blonde hair.

"Hey you." He says in a low voice. "What are you doing here? Did you come with your brother and his coach? Can't see them anywhere."

He raises an eyebrow at you and you feel your earlier frayed nerves settling as you nod in affirmation. You glance around the crowd, frowning when you can't pick out Seokjin's bulky frame in the mix of people.

"Yeah, I think I lost them though-"

Yoongi's face splits into a grin. "Perfect. Wanna get out of here?"

You look at him, eyes raised, that light smile dancing on his lips. You almost ask him what he was going here tonight, but you know the answer before you can ask the question - he's here to scope out the competition too, to place the man he might be fighting in a few weeks time. The thought makes you feel uncomfortable and Yoongi frowns.

"Hey. Everything ok-"

Before you can register what is happening, a body pushes past you, bumping your shoulder hard.

You stumble, hand instinctively claps up to your shoulder but whatever protests you have die at your lips.

Jungkook, shoving past you, lifts his hands and pushes Yoongi, hard. Yoongi, taken aback, slighter in stature, stumbles on his feet, eyes flashing.

"What the fuck-"

Jungkook doesn't give him time to finish his sentence, his fist withdraws sharp and fast, striking towards Yoongi's abdomen, like a cobra. You hear Yoongi grunt sharply, body doubling over as Jungkook leans closer, uses his other hand to sucker punch Yoongi in the face.

The entire exchange is rapidfire, and the crowd is as stunned as you are, conversations ebbing away as all eyes fall on the two men. It's only when Yoongi's body completely falls to the ground that the onlookers realise what's happening, forming a small exploitative circle, whispering to each other in excitement.

You feel frozen in place, shock rendering you unable to move. The still lake you had been so fearful of from before has now been dismantled, pebbles rippling and breaking through its surface.

You watch as Jungkook draws his fist back, Yoongi is still on the ground, heaving himself up with his elbows. For some reason, he isn’t fighting back.

"Jungkook!" Your voice screams out before you can even tell it to, you rush forward blindly and grab your brother's arms.

He's stronger than you, and he growls in irritation, pushing you off. You catch yourself before you fall to the ground, eyes wide with anger and disbelief as you stare at him. His eyes are flat and black, furious, you glance at Yoongi who has pulled himself upwards. His mouth is bloody, he spits a mouthful of blood out onto the ground and lets out a low, flat laugh.

Jungkook's eyes flash like blackened steel.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You snap at your brother, his eyes pin on you.

You're faintly aware of the jeers from the crowd that has gathered, you wonder where Seokjin is, why Jungkook has taken it upon himself to attack Yoongi like this yet again when he already has one mark against his name.

"He-" Jungkook lifts his hand, jabs a finger at Yoongi, who is wiping a hand across his blood stained lips, "Is fucking my little sister, I think a king punch is more than justified."

You're momentarily lost for words, you begin to stammer out an excuse, a lie, but Jungkook's voice cuts over yours, harsh and unrelenting.

"What, do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"

You fall silent, you can feel your heart throbbing loudly in your head, in your blood, your ears. Your mind is racing, thinking of something to say, something to do, to say.

"Jungkook, this is between me and Yoongi-"

Jungkook finally drags his eyes up, meeting your worried gaze with harsh eyes.

"This has nothing to do with you."

His words are stony and you open and close your mouth.

"I-"

"You know he's just sleeping with you to get to me, right?" Jungkook's voice quiet ens into a cold, icy tone. "He told me he was going to do it after his qualifying match."

You freeze in place. It feels like you have been drenched in ice. Your mouth goes dry, your eyes flicker to Yoongi, who is staring at Jungkook with eyes that finally have fire, are finally angry.

"Shut the fuck up, Jeon."

Jungkook just lets out a short laugh. "I can't believe you got her to fall for you too. You really have it out for me, huh, you fucking scorpion? Gotta get to me and take my place at the top at any means necessary, right?"

Yoongi's body darts forward and pummels into Jungkook's frame.

The gathering of people surrounding you burst into loud, hungry roars as Jungkook lets out a grunt of pain, Yoongi's fist landing in a uppercut up on Jungkook's jaw, a loud crack only causing the stirrings of the crowd to grow more frenzied.

You whirl around, eyes frantic, picking through the crowd until you spot him- Seokjin, who has finally arrived at the scene, eyes widening as he takes it all in.

"Jin-" Your voice is high, pitchy, and Seokjin pushes past a few of the gathered men.

"Jungkook, stop it!" His voice is loud, angry, but both Yoongi and Jungkook are blind to his words, you can only see limbs and the sounds of fists crunching.

You hear feet behind you, turning to see two of the neatly dressed official representatives from Olympia running up.

Seokjin pushes Yoongi hard, hard enough for him to topple to the ground, and he turns to Jungkook, punching him in the face. The younger man stumbles back, palm darting up to cover his nose, which has started bleeding.

"What is going on here?" One of the officials, a man in a starchy suit, calls out. Seokjin is breathing heavily, he stares at Jungkook, eyes hard.

"Just a small disagreement." He responds in a stiff, cool voice. The official just raises an eyebrow, eyes traveling from Yoongi, who is on the ground, blood trickling from his lip, hair mussed and eyes cold, to Jungkook, who is still cupping his nose, eyes flashing with heat and fire.

"Do I need to remind you both of the no external fighting condition of the Olympia?" The official's voice is hard and unforgiving, Seokjin nods, "I know, we're sorry for the disruption." He bows, and the official nods.

"Show's over, people." He flits his hands around, eyeing the gathered crowd, who reluctantly, begin to disperse. Finally, the official leaves too, giving Seokjin a warning stare as he walks away.

You breathe out a sigh of relief, knowing how easily they could have dragged the three men in for questioning, placed a second mark against Yoongi and Jungkook’s names.

"What the fuck are you doing Jungkook? You know you could get disqualified from the Championship or get another mark against you for being in a public street fight?" Seokjin hisses, his voice is poisonous. Jungkook finally casts his eyes downward. You can see the twitch of his jaw that he's still furious, like a hurricane, only momentarily restrained.

You glance at Yoongi, who is wincing in pain, he looks up and his eyes meet yours.

"Is it true?" You ask. Your voice is numb, quiet. You don't know how to feel, it's like every inch of you is cold, not working correctly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Yoongi's face crumples, just a fraction. His mouth opens, and closes, before he whispers out, "Let me expl-"

It feels like a knife has been plunged right between your ribs, through your stomach. You shudder and look away from Yoongi, closing your eyes.

"Yoongi!" You hear Hoseok's voice, you open your eyes to see Hoseok pushing his way through the thinning crowd, reaches Yoongi, who shrugs him off bluntly, eyes tracked on you.

"...Let's get out of here." Seokjin says in a clipped voice, he doesn't acknowledge Yoongi, glancing briefly at you.

You don't look at Yoongi, you turn your body, arms instinctively wrapping around yourself. Your heart is thumping hard in your chest, you feel fragile, cold, like you are wading in a bad dream.

"Jungkook." Seokjin snaps.

Jungkook hasn't looked at you once, eyes locked on Yoongi still, pupils burning with hate.

"Hey. Scorpius." Jungkook barks out, the five of you stop moving. "I'm not finished with you."

Yoongi just ignores him. You see it bristling over Jungkook's face, irritation, but before you can intervene and settle it somehow, Jungkook narrows his eyes.

"How about I take you on in a gearless fight?"

There’s a stunned silence, Seokjin grabs the back of Jungkook's neck, you can hear him swearing under his breath, telling Jungkook to shut up, to walk away.

You can't help it, your eyes flicker up to Yoongi, who is still staring straight at you.

You tear your eyes away from him, feeling a twist in your chest. You turn until you can't see Yoongi at all anymore, your hand claps to your mouth to hold in the sound that wants to come out, something halfway between a sob and a gasp.

You hear Yoongi's voice, resigned, throaty.

"Fine."

You still don't turn around. You don't move, until you feel a hand on your shoulder and you glance up to see Seokjin.

"Come on, let's go."

You still don't turn around. You ignore the heavy, laboured breaths that you can hear and recognise as Yoongi's.

You block out the sound of Hoseok's voice, worried, and Yoongi's reply, saying he doesn't care, he needs to talk to you, saying your name, calling it out.

You close your eyes. You nod, and still not turning around, you follow Seokjin and Jungkook in silence until you can no longer hear Yoongi’s voice.

You feel your heart thumping in your rib cage at an erratic pace as you pull up to Yoongi's training ring later that evening. It is as if every nerve in your body is on edge, tinged and blackened at the edges with fear and impatience.

As soon as your car stills, you are out, slamming the door and rushing to the entrance of the now familiar gym.

The moment you push open the door, it’s like sensory overload - the darkness of the gym, the scent of chalk in the air, and most of all, the silence. It’s unfamiliar, you were so used to hearing the shuffling of feet, the soft sharp gasps of breath, fists against the punching bag that for a moment you halt.

Then your eyes focus on him, Yoongi, who is leaning with arms dangling over the boxing ring ropes.

Fear skips loud in your heart for a minute, thoughts fighting in your mind - telling you that you were overreacting, a creeping, more sinister voice telling you that maybe your brother was right.

There is only one way to find out.

"Yoongi." Your voice rings out clearer and steadier than how you feel. It’s like every inch of you is trembling, the exhilaration of confrontation buzzing through your veins like you have downed six shots of espresso.

Yoongi glances up at you and for a moment your heart tugs painfully. He has a purple bruise blooming down from his eye socket to his cheekbone, his bottom lip cut and swollen.

"I need to ask you something."

Yoongi doesn't respond and you take hisi silence as encouragement to forge on, the words spilling bravely from your lips.

"Why did you sleep with me?"

Your question takes Yoongi by surprise, you can see it in the twitch of his eyes, the melting of the stony, cold expression on his face.

"What-"

"Why did you pursue me? Why did you kiss me? Was it because you wanted me?"

Yoongi's eyes flicker and a shadow of guilt crosses over his face. You feel like you are being plunged in ice.

"I-" He starts but you don't hear him.

"Or was it because you wanted to get to my brother?"

The words slip out and linger in the space between you two. Yoongi doesn't speak but the answer is clear in the way his face cracks, his lips relent in their corners, his hand reaching out to you.

It feels like you can't breathe.

You are being crushed, pressed down into the very earth beneath your feet, your heart has stilled.

Everything is stilled - and all you can feel is the horrible, sinking feeling that you were wrong all along.

"I'm an idiot." you whisper. Tears are pooling in your eyes, your mouth is so dry that you can't swallow. Your eyes, blurring with wetness, focus away from Yoongi because you can't look at him anymore, you can't see that expression on his face- guilt and regret, intermingled with pity and fear.

Your eyes focus on the boxing ring that sits empty behind Yoongi, the same very place where he had kissed you weeks ago.

Your mind flits back unkindly to every moment, every kiss, every touch. Your heart gives in as you think about how you had felt your heart soar an inch at every soft caress of Yoongi's, over the silent celebration you felt when you believed he was opening up.

It was all a lie, you think to yourself, he never really wanted you. He was using you.

You squeeze your eyes shut and tears spill from your eyes and down your cheeks. It's a sting that sears hot into your gut, a lash of rejection, and most of all anger because you have no one to blame but yourself.

"____," Yoongi's voice is tinged in desperation, "It's not like that anymore, I never thought I was actually going to be with you, I was just trying to get under Jungkook’s skin-“

“Don’t.”

“-I got to know you, it became so much more than revenge or a boxing tactic-"

"I said, don't." Your voice is not the ice you try to pull it out as, instead, your voice shakes, your words are thick with tears.

"You have to listen to me," Yoongi's voice is desperate, rushed. "I... I didn't think things would become what they are with us, I didn't think I'd care about you, I didn't think I would-"

"Yoongi, I said don't-"

"I didn't think I would fall in love with you."

Silence settles between the two of you and you look at him. Yoongi, with a bruised face, eyes that are teary. He looks so broken like this, desperation etched on his face, his frame hesitant as he battles internally whether to reach out to you, touch you.

Your arms have curled around your frame subconsciously, holding yourself together and preventing yourself from reaching out to him.

Because, you hate yourself for it, but you so badly want to. You can't stand that even now, with the harsh sting of rejection and betrayal rushing through your blood, your heart sings with hope at his words, you want to fall into his arms.

"I'm so weak." You whisper out and Yoongi's eyes crumble, his mouth opens.

"I don't want to lose you. You're the first... The only person who's made me feel this way."

His voice is thickened and breaking around each word, and you realise with a dulling throb of pain that he's crying too. You wonder why he's crying - whether he's crying for everything in his past, everything he is today that led him to make these decisions and pursue you in the first place.

How can you forgive him? How can you fall back into his arms like nothing has changed, like it wasn't your own brother who drove his fists into his face, it wasn't your brother who spurred him on to use you as a vessel of achieving violence? Hurt is screaming through your veins as you shake your head. You love him, so wholly that it makes this hurt more, because doubt and a horrible, unshakeable feeling of questioning now permeates the future you had longed for with Yoongi.

"I... I need some time."

A stuttering of silence, and then Yoongi, clearing this throat uncertainly.

"Time? How... How long?"

"I don't know."

You feel it, the finality of your words settling between the spaces between you and Yoongi. Yoongi steps forward now, his hands reaching out, desperation infusing his words.

"I... I just... please," His last words are broken and you step away.

Yoongi freezes and you stare at him. You open your mouth, different words and sentences linger at the tip of your tongue - I can't, I'm done, I love you, how could you, I'm sorry. But nothing fits, nothing works, and with that, you close your eyes and turn.

Yoongi doesn't follow you, but you hear it - a sharp, broken intake of breath like the preface before a sob, as you push on the door, leave the darkness of the gym, leave Yoongi's corner.

As you step outside, you let your composure crumble. Tears spill down your cheeks and you clamp your hand to your mouth to contain the keening sounds that fight to escape from your lips.

You are crying for everything, for him, for everything that had built up to this. You tell yourself not to cry, swallow back the sobs and feel your heart beating in your throat.

You can feel it, sinking and settling into the very pit of your stomach. The feeling.

The feeling, of being so desperate for somebody you can't have, that it sears through your skin and your blood.

The feeling crawls over your skin and grips around your heart, holding it hostage, as you walk back to your car, fighting every urge in your body to turn around and walk back into that gym.

You turn the key in the ignition, the car elapses into darkness and you sit there in silence. The silence is deafeningly loud, and you sit there for a moment, muscles locked. Your hands grip the steering wheel until your knuckles are alabaster white, your forearms trembling.

“Fuck,” You whisper, so softly that it wisps into the air and disappears. “Fuck,” You repeat, louder, angrier, untli your body folds over the steering wheel.

Your shoulders are tensed, you feel a rawness in your throat, an ache in your chest so heavy it feels as if an anchor is pulling it down.

Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks, heat and pain welling in the pit of your stomach, but you press it down, refuse to let it take over.

You keep your hands on the steering wheel and grip harder, until your knuckles hurt, you tell yourself to breathe, until finally, finally, it feels as if you are regaining some semblance of self again.

You straighten, your hands relax and then you open the car door. The night air is dewy and fresh, the scent of rain lingering in the air as you walk up to your front door. Your house is still as you quietly let yourself in.

There, standing in the middle of your hallway, bare feet on marble floor, you think about Min Yoongi.

His face flashes in your mind - the plea in his eyes when you had walked away from him, the sense of hopelessness you had felt sitting in your car outside his boxing ring wondering if the shadow of his frame would come spilling out.

You straighten your shoulders and walk down the corridor, through past the kitchen, slipping down the stairs to the basement. Surely enough, a dim golden light spills over the stairs, the soft, rhythmic sounds of leather against leather fill the small space.

“Jungkook.” You reach the bottom stair and call out your brother’s name, he doesn’t respond. He is breathless with exertion, punching into the heavy boxing bag in front of him with careful, precise taps of his glove.

“What?” He finally mutters back, keeps punching, eyes intent and focused on the bag in front of him.

“Can you stop for a second?” You ask, frustration seeping into your tone.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, bounces on the balls of his feet and coils backwards, striking a punch clean and fast into the centre of the boxing bag.

You step forward, saying his name once more, “Jungkook-”

Thwack.

You step forward and place your hand on the boxing bag, palm flattening over it and Jungkook finally freezes.

“Stop it. I need to talk to you.”

Jungkook lets out a long sigh, straightening. He shrugs off his boxing gloves and they fall with a heavy clatter to the ground, he massages his knuckles and lets out another defiant sigh.

“Fine. What do you want?”

For a moment you stand there, palm still flat against his boxing bag, your brother irately massaging his knuckles.

There is a distance between you and your brother, between your brother and the rest of the world. A distance that you’ve never known how to close, a gap you’ve never fully understood.

“Call off the gearless match, Jungkook.”

He lets out a scoff, and you rush in, “Please. Just call it off. There’s no point going through with this-”

Jungkook barks out a laugh, your words die on your lips. “There’s no point?” He repeats sarcastically.

“Yeah. If you go through with this, one of you will end up dead or permanently injured-”

“Good, I hope so.”

Jungkook is as stubborn as ever, his eyes flash with his words and you feel irritation prickle at the tip of your tongue as you speak over him.

“This isn’t a game, Jungkook. It’s serious - it’s not only illegal, but it’s dangerous, you’re a fucking idiot if-”

“Why are you getting involved anyway? Don’t want your boyfriend to get hurt?”

Jungkook infuses his words with a sneer and the words die from your lips as you meet his gaze, narrowing your eyes.

“He’s… he’s not- that’s not the fucking point, and you know it. It could be you that could end up dead or permanently injured, you know.”

Jungkook just rolls his eyes.

“If there’s anyone who should be worried about that, it’s him-”

“Haven’t you learned anything from Seokjin? Do you think he was worried before he entered the ring, gearless? Then left it, unable to walk?”

Your words ring through the room and for a moment Jungkook’s face tightens, his jaw clenches.

“That’s not going to happen to me-”

“Jungkook-”

“Stop it.” He cuts in. “I’m doing this.”

You stare at your brother and feel something pang in your chest. You wonder when this happened, when Jungkook went from being just a little kid with oversized boxing gloves on his tiny fists, to this - a hardened expression on his face, determination and anger flashing in his eyes.

You glance behind him, at the gloves perched on the shelves, the blackboards filled out with words dictating Jungkook’s training schedule, his nutrition schedule, his supplements schedule. You wonder when Jungkook stopped being a part of this world, and when this world started becoming a part of him.

“What is this all about, Jungkook? Getting revenge? Winning? Jealousy?”

The anger has faded from your tone and you meet your brother’s gaze, seeking something in his eyes to pull him back to earth. To tell him not to go through with this, because the thought of your brother, or Yoongi, with mechanic legs or lying in a hospital bed attached to tubes makes your chest constrict.

Jungkook’s face twitches. His lip trembles and he tears his gaze away from you, looking down at his knuckles, at the fading green and purple splotches that paint his skin.

“I’m not calling it off.”

You deflate, step back, feel the tears from earlier crest up inside of you like a wave.

You think about Seokjin, late at night when he takes off the gear on his legs and lies in bed staring at the ceiling with hollow, broken eyes. You think about Yoongi and his voice, raspy and feathery, telling you he loves you. You think about your family, this house, your brother who is standing in front of you now as hard as steel.

You nod, and turn. A tear rolls down your cheek as you start walking back up the basement stairs, and by the time you’ve reached the top stair, the rhythmic beat of Jungkook’s fists against the boxing bag have started again, filling your ears like a deep, inescapable drumbeat.

The next morning, discomfort is still wedged in your chest. You awaken suddenly, your eyes snapping open to stare up at the ceiling you have woken up to every day for as long as can remember.

You lay still under the covers, wondering if it was all a bad dream. You squeeze your eyes shut, so hard that colours start sparking vibrant beneath your eyelids, as if to somehow convince yourself that all of this is just a terrible joke, a figment of your imagination gone wrong.

You open your eyes and for a moment your mind flits to what it would be like if you were in an alternate universe- if you woke up, to this same ceiling, with an arm crooked around your belly and him fast asleep beside you, long eyelashes fluttering with every breath, that jagged scar on his eyebrow quivering as he mumbles in his sleep and pulls you into his arms.

I want you all to myself, I wanna keep you, I love you.

You crook your head to the side. The space beside you on the bed is, of course, empty. Still, you let out a soft, disappointed exhale and pull yourself out of bed.

When you are all freshened up for the day, you make your way downstairs. The house is quiet, a hum of everyday activity and conversations in the air - your father making a business call in his office, the tinkling of laughter coming from the living room where you mother has friends over. It was like any other day, really.

Still, your chest aches because this isn’t any other day and once again it feels jarring how mechanically you are capable of going through the motions.

You walk into the kitchen and for a moment you tense when you see a figure with his back to you, mixing together in a large bowl. His broad shoulders and dark hair deceive you and your mouth curves around your brother’s name before you relax, walking over instead to sit up at the kitchen counter.

Seokjin glances behind his shoulder when he hears the sound of you shifting in your chair, he nods a greeting and you nod one back.

“Want some?” He asks, he’s tossing what looks to be a stirfry. You shrug and let out an agreeable hum. Seokjin pulls out an extra plate for you, piles on the salad.

“You’re up late.”

He pushes the plate across the counter to you, along with a fork. You nod, stabbing into your noodles.

“Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Seokjin leans across the counter. “You and I both.”

For a moment, the two of you lapse into a companionable silence. Just the sounds of cutlery against bowls, chewing, and then Seokjin sighs.

“I tried talking some sense into him last night.” He shakes his head ruefully and clicks his tongue. “No luck. He’s so fucking stubborn.”

You eye your brother’s coach, he has his usual guarded expression cast over his features, a rueful twist on his lips.

“You talked to him?”

Seokjin just nods in response, delicately takes a big bite of his stir fry. Your brow creases as you try and imagine how that conversation would have gone down - mild mannered, perpetually fractured Seokjin confronting your equally broken brother.

“I did too. He won’t… he won’t call it off and I just can’t understand why.”

Frustration rings clear in your words and Seokjin is eyeing you closely, carefully.

“Have you…” His voice trails off and you can hear the uncertainty in his tone before he forges on. “...Talked to him? Scorpius, I mean?”

Something akin to a bitter laugh rises in your throat and you think back on your conversation last night with Yoongi, the words he had left you with, the look in his eyes when you had walked away.

You swallow it down, compress it, and nod.

“And just what exactly is he to you?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you look down at your hands.

“He is… he was… I don’t know.” The words spill out. “It hurts.” The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them. That wedge of discomfort shifts under your ribs, cracks at the composure you are struggling to keep over your face.

Because it does, it does hurt. It hurts, to think back on every touch of Yoongi’s, his dark eyes and smile as pretty as the moon, and wonder how much of it was real.

It hurts even more to think about each of his kisses and the words he had whispered to you, that he loves you, and that that right there is real, so tangibly real that you can feel it inside of you like a sixth sense.

It hurts to think that you love him.

“Yeah,” Seokjin says quietly, “I know. It’s hard to love somebody broken.” His voice is calm, and it pricks at you, your eyes suddenly sting.

You push the bowl away, will yourself not to cry, not now, not here.

“You know what I think?” Seokjin begins, he doesn’t wait for a response from you, continuing on. “Your brother and him, Min Yoongi, all they have to live for is boxing. Your brother - his whole life revolves around it. It’s all he knows. He’s been told all his life that it’s all he’s good for. He’s sacrificed everything for it, including himself. And now he doesn’t know if he loves it or if he’s doing it because he doesn’t know anything else.” Seokjin sighs.

“I can’t speak on behalf of your Min Yoongi in that sense but… Jungkook’s there. I’ve been there. When you’re in it, you can’t see out of it. And you’ll keep on going, keep fighting, until you die or until you don’t care anymore and you want to die. You get drunk on the pain, addicted to the feeling of winning, hooked on the ring and the gear and the fame, and the rush you get when you knock out a guy and hear people screaming your name.” Seokjin’s words are infused with a dull bitterness, like the muted edges of an old knife.

“You start to hate yourself for it. For feeling empty and broken when you’re not in the ring. For the times when you want to take it further, when you want to push past the limits that gear sets for you. For when you start losing, slipping from your place at the top. Then gearless fights start becoming more and more of an option, an easy way for you to gain it all back, the rush. Really though, they’re just a way for you to fight against everything you hate about yourself, by channelling it into another person. By beating them the hell up when the person you really want to beat up is yourself.”

You glance up, Seokjin is leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms folded. He has a faraway, distant look in his eyes, when he senses you looking at him, he shakes his head, snaps out of it.

“Anyway, that’s just my take on it, I-”

“Jin…” Your voice is hoarse, you clear it, Seokjin glances at you questioningly.

“Hm?”

“If you could go back, would you do it differently?”

Seokjin looks down. At his legs, which shift in place, creaking the floorboards beneath.

“I don’t know,” He says honestly.

You nod slowly, absorbing that, thinking about his words. About Min Yoongi, who is splintered and broken, bandaged together with boxing tape, hardened eyes that soften when they meet yours.

You wonder if you could go back and do things differently- if you would pull your brother out of the path of Scorpius, if you would knowingly avert your gaze from Yoongi’s that first night when you were stargazing outside of his gym.

Would you have done things differently?

“Are you... coming to the fight tonight?”

Seokjin’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. Seokjin is placing the question carefully, you can sense it in his words, like he’s treading around you.

He’s good at this, you think - peppering you with questions and conversation masked in a casual tone, trying to ease you to open up. There’s no wonder that most of the time the only person who can reach Jungkook when he’s in one of his moods, is Jin.

You think about Seokjin’s words, about Min Yoongi, the man you love, the man who is drunk on boxing, punch drunk.

You think about the alternate universe you imagined this morning, with Yoongi’s arm heavy around you, his breath slowly and evenly ghosting over your skin, his body warm and huddled beside yours.

You think about that same question, that question of, would you have done things differently.

You look up at Seokjin.

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

The gearless fight is being held in a small abandoned factory that has since been converted into a makeshift boxing ring. It’s one of several that are scattered throughout your city, built to be discreet locations for boxers and fighters to engage in gearless fights.

The gearless fights are more often than not self-elected, two fighters sloughing it out until one is crippled or dead, their broken bodies left for whoever is there as their support to drag away and tend to.

Once two fighters have agreed to a gearless match, they have committed, and the match can only be called off if both fighters agree on it. It’s the one and only rule of gearless matches, Seokjin explains to you during the drive, nothing else is off limits. Other times, these makeshift rings are used in illegal gambling matches, or for a sick form of underground entertainment, sometimes even, Seokjin says, people sell themselves to stand in that ring gearless so that other boxers can fight them, pummel their bodies senseless.

Seokjin tells you all of this as he drives, and although his voice is calm, even, you can tell by the tenseness in his jaw and the way he fidgets with the radio that he’s on edge.

You pull up into a parking lot at the side of the factory, Seokjin doesn’t waste any time and is out of the car. You scramble to follow suit, closely behind him as he weaves his way around the back and through a small door that is marked Employees Only.

The space is dark, a few old crates and boxes littered around the room. There, at the centre of it all, is the ring. It’s far from the gleaming, monochrome spaces of the Olympia Championship, instead, pieces of rope and wire mark out a slightly lopsided elevated platform, two stools on opposite corners.

The space is nearly empty, you recognize Hoseok standing to one side of the ring, his lips pressed together in a terse line. There is another man beside him, one you don’t recognize, but at the stiffening of Seokjin’s shoulders, it’s evident that he does.

The taller man glances over at Seokjin and you, recognition lighting up his features as he strolls over. He has long limbs, a lean, tall frame and Seokjin mutters to you that he’s the guy who sets up these hidden rings, somewhat of a business mogul in his own right.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin greets, there is tightness in his voice as the two men speak in low, rushed tones.

You stop paying attention to the two of them when your eyes fall on a man sitting on one of the crates at the sides of the room.

It’s Yoongi. Your breath catches in your throat as you gaze at him.

He’s wearing his usual, thick white headband, his fists curled into balls as he hunches forward on the crate. He looks tired, and you feel something spark in your chest.

“...He tried to talk it out with Jungkook? The Min kid?” Seokjin’s voice rises in disbelief and your head snaps away from Yoongi. Seokjin has an incredulous expression on his face, the taller man, Namjoon, just shrugs and nods.

“Uh huh. He approached Jeon as soon as he walked through the door, tried to talk things out, was talking about working it out outside of the ring or something along those lines.”

Seokjin lets out a soft whistle. You are momentarily stunned.

“And how did the kid take it?”

Namjoon just scoffs. “What do you think? He lost it, was furious. Said there’s no backing out of it now, et cetera… then wanted to start the fight right then and there. I escorted him out of the building, he’s out the main entrance right now if you want to talk to him.”

Seokjin nods, and glances at you.

“Will you-”

“I’ll be okay, Seokjin. Go.”

Your head is still reeling from the information as Seokjin nods tightly and walks away. He’s only a few steps away when Namjoon calls out, “Let the kid know the match is going to start in fifteen sharp.”

You feel momentarily locked in place, and before you can stop yourself, your legs are moving, walking towards Yoongi who is still crooked forward on the wooden crate.

At the sound of footsteps, he lifts his head, his eyes meet yours and you feel all of your reservations, that steely wedge of discomfort locked inside of you, all of it - slip away.

“___.,” Yoongi says your name, his voice is hoarse. He straightens, stands up, his jaw slack, and you swallow hard, suddenly nervous.

“You tried to call it off?” You ask, it’s the first thing that comes to mind, and Yoongi blinks a few times before he nods.

“Why?”

You want to hear it from him, want to know why he tried to talk things out with your brother when they have been like fire fighting fire from the start. Yoongi pauses, his eyes intent on you.

“Why do you think?” He says finally, softly.

It feels as if something breaks inside of you, and tears spring in your eyes, your shoulders slump forward into a sob.

Yoongi’s arms encircle around you, and then you are there, smelling him, he smells like cedar and driftwood, and feeling his arms tight around you, his hands stroking your hair, has you holding on tighter.

Tears spill down your cheeks, and your heart twists so painfully in your chest that a sob arises in your throat.

“Don’t cry ‘kay?” Yoongi’s voice is hoarse, thickened with emotion as you pull away.

You look at him, tears wet on your cheeks and see that his eyes too are glossy with tears.

“Even if… even if you win this fight, it’s not the end of all of this. There’s still the Olympia semi finals. And other boxing matches after this. You know that, right?” You whisper and Yoongi just nods. Tears gather at the corner of his eyes.

“Yoongi, I…” Your voice shakes, “I love you. Don’t do this.”

Yoongi blinks, and a tear rolls down his cheek.

“I have to,” He says in a low voice. Roughly, he reaches up, wiping it away with jerky movements.

“I know, I just…” Your voice breaks off, you press your face into his chest. “I can’t...”

Yoongi rests his chin on the top of your head, holds you tighter to him. His arms are trembling.

“I love you, okay? Just don’t… just don’t….” Your voice breaks off and your shoulders shake, and Yoongi steps back into you and he’s holding you again.

“Okay,” He murmurs, his palm strokes your back, his voice is by your ear, “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

You are crying because of this, how solid he feels in front of you, crying because you don’t want to lose him, you don’t want him to lose himself.

You cry tears for your brother, who you don’t want to lose either.

You cry because you, torn in two different directions, have made your choice. You know whose side of the ring you will be standing on.

“I love you too.” Yoongi whispers it in your ear. “So… so god damn fucking much. Okay?” His voice is fierce, and you pull away to see the intensity in his eyes.

Your lips touch his, he kisses you - slow, sad, sweet, and you can taste tears in your kisses and feel the desperation in his hands, cupping your jaw, his mouth, kissing you tenderly and slowly and with restraint, even though you can feel it beneath the surface, simmering, how badly he wants this, how badly he wants you, all of you.

“Yoongi, it’s time.” Hoseok’s voice cuts in and Yoongi ignores him, you ignore him. He kisses you deeper, more desperate, and then he’s pulling away. His eyes, still teary, are focused on you.

He doesn’t say anything, perhaps because there are no more words to be said.

He turns, faces the ring. You turn too, see Hoseok standing there, watching the two of you with a pained look on his face.

You and Yoongi walk towards the ring, Yoongi continues until he climbs up, deftly ducking over the ring’s barriers until he is there in his corner. You walk up until you are beside Hoseok, who puts an arm around your shoulders for support.

You are crying, open, salty tears trickling down your cheeks.

There, in the ring, is Jungkook.

Your eyes meet your brother’s. He is staring at you with a hurt expression on his face, his body coiled and tensed. He has his gloves on, the same gloves he was wearing last night.

You wonder if your brother will forgive you, for choosing to stand on the opposite side of the ring. Behind him, Seokjin stands still, his arms folded, a stressed expression on his face, eyes locked on the ring.

You stare at them. Two fighters, in their corners.

Jeon Jungkook, the Bloodhawk, shifting slowly from side to side like the hypnotic dance of a rattlesnake, his muscles tensed, his jaw clenched.

Min Yoongi, the Scorpion, standing perfectly still, muscles rippling under his skin, a void, terrifying focus settling over his face.

Orion versus Scorpius.

And then the bell rings.

amynote: *the concept of ‘gear’ and the Olympia Championships, are both loosely inspired by the anime Megalo Box (it’s amazing, btw!) Re: the ending, i wanted it ultimately to be open-ended and up to reader choice who the winner of the fight was. i may write a sequel to this... maybe!!! we’ll see. i sort of like the ending as is, but also, i really enjoyed creating and writing this universe and these characters. so we’ll see!! edit 18/08 - I am definitely writing a sequel to this! stay tuned!

→ Access my moodboard for this fic here. ALSO, check out this incredible fanart by the super wonderful @syukatsu!

thank you for reading! ♡

#yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts boxer au #yoongi boxer au

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joonbird · 6 years

Text

Honeycomb

➭ “For your one year anniversary, your boyfriend Jungkook surprises you with a special gift- a vibrating love egg.”

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: pwp, smut

wordcount: 5.2k

** warnings: use of sex toy, creampie, sex in a semi-public place, some major fluff at the end because I am a Soft Thot for jjk right now

“Jeon Jungkook, I hate you.”

There is a slight pause, and then the unmistakable sound of Jungkook’s laughter on the other end of the phone.

You can’t see the look on his face, but it’s not too difficult an image to conjure up, given that you’ve seen it so many times - Jungkook’s eyes creasing in the corners, nose scrunching in the middle, smile teased over his lips - the picture of a clueless guy who is utterly unaware of how annoyed you are with him.

A clueless guy who is also, you know, your boyfriend.

“You’re so cute when you’re mad, babe.”

You glower at the grey door in front of you, lips contorting into a frown.

“I’m being serious. Stop laughing-”

“It’s funny-”

“It’s not funny! I’m being serious! It won’t go in.”

Your voice quietens into a barely audible hiss on the last few words of your sentence, and you hear Jungkook let out a soft sound of surprise.

“Shit, really?”

“No Jungkook, it is in right now, I’m just stranding myself in the women’s bathroom for fun.” You huff out sarcastically, glowering at the object in your hand.

“Oh. That’s a little weird of you, but okay.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “Jungkook, I was being sarcastic.”

“How was I supposed to know!” Jungkook protests, and you grumble in irritation, internally cursing your boyfriend’s inability to detect sarcasm.

“Anyway, the point is- it won’t go in!. Look, I’m just gonna give up, maybe you can get a refund on it or something-”

“I can’t get a refund for it if it’s been used-”

“Trust me, it definitely isn’t being used right now!”

Your voice rises half an octave as you stare down miserably at the small object clutched in your palm.

It is a love egg - a small, silicone, rounded sex toy, one that you are trying to insert inside of yourself right now.

“Why won’t it go in? Are you not wet enough?”

Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of your stream of thoughts, he is speaking at normal volume. Your face flushes with heat as you picture him standing outside of the women’s bathroom in the shopping mall, discussing whether you’re wet or not. You can also picture his answering reply - who cares if somebody hears?

It’s classic Jungkook not to care about the opinions of strangers. It’s also classic Jungkook to gift you something totally unexpected for your one year anniversary - and this love egg toy, complete with a red bow perched on top of it along with an attached note with a drawing of a wink face, was certainly unexpected.

You had been surprised by the gift - especially since you had insisted no presents - but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued by it.

You and Jungkook have been dating for a year now, but it still feels like no matter how much time has passed, no matter how many nights you had spent with his arms curled around you while a movie played on his laptop, or how many days you spent downing coffees and having study cram sessions at your college library - Jungkook always manages to find a way to surprise you.

When you had first laid eyes on him - he had been one of your classes - you had quickly written him off as someone to ignore. He always hung around with a group of guys that were boisterous and confident and brashly loud in that kind of way that hotshot college guys just are, but Jungkook had surprised you when you realised he was different. He was softer around the edges, he had a wide-eyed blink to his eyes and a sheepish smile that tugged on his lips when your eyes met his. He ordered these ridiculously sweet flavoured frappucinos at coffee shops, he always laughed during inappropriate moments, and he without fail, always got misty eyed during Ghibli films.

Somehow, the two of you tumbled into a friendship that was an almost thoughtless kind of easy - like he had always been there in your life, or maybe that he was always meant to be in your life. He was different, he was surprising, but still you had decided he was a good friend and nothing more. Then of course, Jungkook had surprised you by kissing you one evening a year and a half ago. It had been a kiss that was so long and slow and deep that your knees had gone weak, your heart ricocheting in your chest like a fucking jackhammer as you realised that Jeon Jungkook was quite possibly endgame.

“Babe?” Jungkook’s voice drags you out of your thoughts and you let out a tiny huff, glaring at the love egg.

“Yes, I’m not wet enough,” You whisper back, unable to keep the threads of frustration out of your words.

“Have you tried playing with yourself?”

“Yeah I have, but it’s just… It’s not happening-”

“Even if you think about me?” Jungkook’s voice dips suddenly into a lower pitch, his tone a touch more intense.

You hesitate.

“Yeah, I don’t kn-”

“Even if you think about what I did to you last night?"

A sudden flash of heat licks between your legs and you blink, swallowing.

"Last night?”

“Mm. You know, when I bent you over your roommate’s bed and fucked you until you came around my cock?”

Jungkook’s voice is as casual as ever and your breath stutters involuntarily at his words. Your mind flashes to the feeling of his hands gripping the small of your waist, his palm firmly pushing your back down, the sound of your body being slammed and fucked against his hips and his muscled thighs. You feel a shiver dart over your skin as you recall the words and the dirty, desperate moans that had tumbled out of your lips as Jungkook fucked you, rough and unforgiving, on top of your roommate’s bed of all places.

“You know, you looked so hot when you were cumming like that, your pretty ass and your pretty face in my hands.” Jungkook sighs softly and you feel your mouth go dry, a heavy, intense knocking beginning between your legs.

That’s another surprise of Jungkook’s that you had discovered - he had a thing for looking at your face while you came, he liked grasping your chin in his fingers and watching you cum, seeing each spectrum of bliss and urgency and neediness melt over your face like butter.

“We shouldn’t have done that on her bed…” You say, your voice struggling to stay composed. Your thighs quiver at the memory of it, and you ease a finger down, lightly swooping your slit.

You shudder as you make contact, because you are unmistakably wet.

Jungkook’s voice, lilting and deep and familiar, hums in response.

“Weren’t you the one who asked me to fuck you on every surface of your house?”

You are still holding the love egg. Experimentally, you place it at your entrance, pushing in delicately. Your slickness aids the small sex toy, and you gently guide it in and let out a soft, breathy moan.

“Jungkook, it- it’s in.”

As you walk out of the bathroom, your eyes fall on Jungkook, who is leaning against the opposite wall. You can feel the love egg inside of you - its presence is not uncomfortable but definitely noticeable, and the thought of it being inside of you has you a little bit on edge.

Jungkook glances up and smiles as you approach, face relaxed as he slings an arm around your shoulder, presses his lips to your cheek. To any onlooker, it would seem like a perfectly normal interaction between a couple, but what they don’t catch is the sentence Jungkook whispers in your ear.

“Just so you know… the thought of you having a toy inside of you right now is so completely, unbearably, fucking hot.”

He straightens, pulls away and smiles at you. You let out a small, shuddery breath, you’re still wet, turned on, and restless - the presence of the love egg inside of you is more a tease than a relief.

The egg, accompanied with the memory of Jungkook’s words, murmured and husky with arousal in your ear, heighten the steady knock between your legs as you walk through the mall. You turn to Jungkook, he has an easygoing smile on his face but you immediately catch the slightest of tension held in his brow, his tongue licking his bottom lip slowly, and you realise that as uncomfortably turned on as you are, Jungkook is as well.

Jungkook meets your gaze and you can tell that he’s reading your face too, reading the arousal written all over you. He smirks.

“I gotta buy some new gym stuff babe, do you mind if we do some shopping before heading off?”

You nod, feeling anticipation clench low in your belly as Jungkook and you walk towards the sports store. His arm is still draped your shoulder, as you walk, he chatters lightly about the new gym gear he needs, stopping every now and then to absently press a kiss to your hair, chuckling as he does so- but you can barely concentrate, too fixated on the egg pushed deep inside of you, and moreover, Jungkook’s other hand, which is deep in his pocket and likely wrapped around the love egg’s wireless remote controller.

You wonder fleetingly what it feels like to have the egg vibrate, biting your lip as you try and clamp down on the sensation of yearning that you are beginning to feel in your core for something. For stimulation, for touch, for anything other than this - you walking around a public shopping mall, your pussy being teased with every step you take.

You sneak a look at Jungkook who is gazing straight ahead, a small smirk playing on his lips, you nibble down on your bottom lip and fight the urge to ask him to turn the love egg on - just quickly, just so you can feel it.

You finally approach the sports store, and you separate as you enter, Jungkook heading straight toward a displayed neatly folded trackpants. You can feel your breath rush in a little sharper as you watch your boyfriend, impatient and restless, while Jungkkook leisurely takes his time browsing through the pants.

You can feel it inching over you, arousal and neediness laced n your bloodstream and thrumming through every part of your body.

“Jungkook-” His name rushes out, a fraction more strained than usual, and Jungkook glances up.

“Mm?”

An employee of the sportswear store brushes past and smiles welcomingly at at the two of you, you wonder if she can see it - the dilation of your pupils, the heaviness of your breathing, if she can somehow feel the knocking between your legs growing even more intense.

“Are you going to be much longer shopp-”

And then the egg starts vibrating.

You can feel it- the heavy buzz inside of you, the suddenness of it, and you can’t help the breathy gasp that escapes your lips, cutting your sentence short.

Jungkook looks up, eyes planted on you.

“Everything alright, babe?”

He is gazing right at you, the slightest of smirks toying on his lips as you nod tightly. The shop is busy today, other shoppers and store employees milling about, and you swallow, trying to hold your composure together. The egg keeps vibrating, right there, nestled in the slickness of your wet cunt.

“I think I like these, what do you think?” Jungkook lifts a pair grey trackpants and you shift in place. Fuck. The movement shifts the toy and you can feel it - the edge of the vibrating egg buzzing teasingly against your clit. You feel the anticipation start to sharpen, heat and arousal beginning to pour over your skin as you struggle to keep your face neutral.

“It looks like every other pair that you already own,” You force out, and Jungkook raises an eyebrow, pouts a little. His eyes are still glued on you, one hand in his pocket. “Really? I dunno, I like them.”

The vibrations click into gear and get faster, deeper. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel your breath start to stutter in desperately, pleasure and desperation beginning to gather into a tangled, red knot in the pit of your belly. The vibrations are rumbly and deep and you can feel it throughout your core, you can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, controlling the remote, while other shoppers mill around you, utterly clueless.

Your hand curls into a fist, nails digging crescent moons in the flesh of your palm as you shift in place again, rub your thighs together, a desperate attempt to subtly try and feel more of it, more of the toy.

The pace of the toy switches suddenly, back to before - the slower, gentler vibration - and you feel a rush of frustration.

You glance at Jungkook, you think about his fingers on the remote, the fact that he is completely in control of this right now. Your boyfriend is completely in charge of the vibrations, the sex toy that you put inside of yourself, that you are having to fight the urge to not moan out in public, and you shudder with lust. It’s so unbelievably hot that it just heightens everything you are already feeling, and you can feel your eyes getting glassier, breathing heavier, you swallow.

You internally fight the urge to reach between your legs and touch your aching clit, desperate to give yourself some form of release from the still buzzing love egg.

Jungkook is watching you closely, you can see the confident smirk dancing over his features. The intensity of Jungkook’s stare just reminds you of last night, it’s the same hungry expression he had when you had begged him to fuck you everywhere and anywhere in your house. You recognise the intent flicker in his eyes, its one that Jungkook gets when he wants to claim you and fuck you.

“Are you sure everything’s okay? You’re breathing a bit funny.” Jungkook cocks his head to one side and gazes down at you, voice lush and teasing. With that you feel the love egg switching to that same fast, relentless speed from before.

A haze of lust settles over your vision and you barely keep yourself together, nodding wordlessly at Jungkook.

You feel it, the throb, the ache, the build, struggling to keep your face composed. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, fighting every urge you have to moan out loud.

Jungkook is still watching you, and the thought turns you on even more - that you’re about to orgasm right here in the middle of a store- and you feel your climax approaching, your breath sharpening, vision beginning to blur-

The vibration stops.

You freeze, your pulse racing violently with arousal and protest. Your eyes snaps up, Jungkook has already stepped closer to you, head dipping down to your ear.

“I think I’m going to try these on in the fitting rooms-” He still has the track pants over one shoulder, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. Your breath hitches in, heat pools in your belly as Jungkook’s eyes meet yours.

“Do you want to join me?”

The traffic in the store has picked up, and Jungkook expertly weaves his way through the crowd toward the changerooms along the back wall. Luckily, the fitting room area is relatively quiet- quiet enough for you to slip into one of the rooms with Jungkook.

The moment the door is locked, you press your body against Jungkook’s, folding into him, face tipped up to his. Your lips are parted, you feel feverish with want after being so close and having the vibrations stop.

“I need you,” You pant out, feeling that familiar rush of exhilaration and desire run through your veins like a deliciously potent cocktail. You don’t know what it is about Jungkook that gets you like this, frenzied and urgent and bold.

Jungkook fills you full of want so searing hot, that you feel like you may just fall apart at the seams if he doesn’t touch you, grab you, own you. You are brimming with it.

“Please baby,” You beg, your voice softening to a whisper, “Please touch me.”

Jungkook lets out a soft moan at your words, his lips colliding with yours in a deep, messy kiss. Jungkook’s hand rakes through your hair before his fingers settle at the nape of your neck, his other hand gripping firm on your hip, his tongue grazing over yours.

A heady rush of excitement dusts over your skin, you moan into his kisses, a sound that is just breaking apart enough to sound like a purr. You hear a sound like a gasp at the back of Jungkook’s throat, he pulls away from you to kiss down your neck. His tongue laps over each nip and kiss he places against your sensitive skin, and you can feel it buzzing through your body like a current. How badly you want it, want him, the excitement from hearing people outside the thin door of the changing room, the egg that is still buried inside of your pussy, and most of all Jungkook, who is letting out soft growls into the shell of your ear.

You can feel your body start to shake in anticipation as Jungkook grabs your hips and flips you over, instinctively your palms splay out against the mirror of the small, narrow fitting room. Your eyes rake over the reflection that greets you - your eyes dilated and heavy lidded, the whimpers from your lips strained as to not make too much noise, they are almost even more erotic sounding that way.

Your gaze trails back to Jungkook standing behind you, tugging your jeans down carefully. You can see under his black tee the jut of his collarbones as he pulls your pants off, the flex of his shoulders. Jungkook’s jaw is clenched, and you can tell that he too, is only moments away from breaking apart with need.

You are aching as Jungkook reaches between your legs and pulls out the small love egg. You let out a whine when it’s out, watching in the mirror as Jungkook looks down at it.

it’s silicone surface is completely slick with your wetness, and you stare as Jungkook, eyes intent on you in the mirror, presses his tongue against the toy and tastes you in one clean lick.

A fresh shudder of lust eases it’s way through your body as you watch, it takes all of your resolve not to beg Jungkook to fuck you, to not moan, or make any sound. You stare, transfixed, as Jungkook grabs the remote from his pocket and turns the toy back on.

Now that it is out of you, you can hear it - the buzz, loud enough that somebody in the next fitting room could possibly hear it, but frankly, you don’t care. The toy, slickened from Jungkook’s tongue and your wetness, presses firmly against your swollen clit.

The sudden pressure makes your hips jerk compulsively, you bite back a cry of pleasure and Jungkook immediately shifts the egg, circling it around your clit in slow, teasing circles. Your thighs are tensed, your body like a coil, desperate for release. Each stroke of the toy against your clit has your body shaking, and just when you think you’re closer, the toy pulls away and you feel the ebbs of pleasure fading.

Jungkook is drawing it out, taking you to a point of even darker need, to the point where you almost feel furious with it.

Jungkook’s body is now crooked on top of yours, you can feel his lips nibbling and kissing around your ear and your neck neck, the tip of his hard cock brushing against your entrance. He is hard, you can feel that the tip of his cock is moist with precum, and you feel a full-body shudder flood through your body.

Your eyes flutter open, you stare at your reflection - you and Jungkook, bodies pressed together, his hand clutching the small egg at your clit, his face buried in the side of your neck. His voice rasps out against your ear, a growl of your name, you whimper in response, a “Please” that is pure unadulterated begging. It is a thready, desperate pleading with for him to fuck you.

Jungkook moans and obliges, pushing himself inside of you.

Heat sears through your entire body, it feels like you are breathing a sigh of contentment as you feel Jungkook stretching you. You are melting against it, the feeling of him pushing deeper until the entirety of his length is buried deep inside of your walls.

You hear him stutter out a groan, mutter out a broken, “Fuck”.

You want him everywhere, filling you whole, you want his hands on every inch of your body, his mouth canvassing your skin. You are so full of a needy heat for him that you arch your back, press yourself deeper against his cock until you hear it, the possessive growl at the back of Jungkook’s throat, and then he starts sliding in and out of you.

Jungkook isn’t slow or gentle, he fucks you hard, full thrusts that have you squeezing your eyes shut, biting down on your forearm as to not let out the screams that you so desperately want to. Your palms are pressed against the cool surface of the mirror, you are soaked in it, a gnawing anticipation, as Jungkook buries his cock deeper and deeper inside of you with every snap of his hips against yours.

You can feel the tremble of his thighs, his voice, throaty and husky and murmuring out your name n your ear like its a mantra.

Then, Jungkook, like he’s just now remembering he still has it clutched in his hand - presses the vibrating love egg directly against the hood of your clit.

It’s like a crack of heat, a whip of lust. You feel your back arch and your hips press back harder to feel more of Jungkook’s cock, to feel more of the vibrating, slick silicone he is pressing against you. It’s an overload to your senses, and you feel pleasure start to crawl over your skin, a whimper falls from your lips, “Jungkook oh my God."

You feel faint almost, it’s so intense - the vibrations deep and rumbly against your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure and a throbbing, rough lust through your body.

You hone your focus onto the rhythmic push of Jungkook’s cock deep inside of you, his hands on your hips. Just when you think you are about to fall to pieces, Jungkook reaches up and winds his fist in your hair.

Jungkook’s thrusts are steady and unwavering even though you can tell in the patchiness of his breathing that he’s close. The feeling of his fingers pulling on your hair, the faint sting in your scalp, has you toppling over the edge.

Your chest tightens, your cunt tightens, and you feel it cresting over you. You’re close now, pleasure on the brink of washing over every inch of your body until you feel nothing but satisfaction.

Jungkook drops the love egg, it clatters to the floor, still vibrating. His fingers catch your chin and he tilts your face up. Your eyes flutter open, you whimper as you see it- Jungkook, one hand in your hair, the other on your chin, eyes intent on your face like you’re the only thing he can see, the only thing he wants to see.

And then you fall apart around the next thrust of his cock.

Heat and intensity prickles over you in waves, and your body shakes as Jungkook’s palm covers your mouth. You bite down on his palm in an attempt to suppress your loud orgasm as you feel pleasure spike over your entire body.

You feel Jungkook tense, he lets out a low "Fuck babe I’m gonna-” and his body jerks. You feel his cock throb as he cums deep inside of you, filling you up with his seed.

Your chest heaves out with each breath you take, your eyes gloss over. The glowing, euphoric, high seeps over you and into every corner of your being,

It is slow and delicious and lingering, like the taste of sweet, addictive honeycomb.

Your breathing slows until it is thick and lazy and happy. Jungkook’s arms are wrapped around your waist and for a moment the two of you stand there, breaths evening out, a soft hazy air of satisfaction settling between the space held between your bodies. You feel blIssed out, every piece of tension inside of you is unravelling, toes uncurling and tenderness floating over your skin.

Jungkook pulls out of you and you wince, pulling up your jeans and zipping them up as Jungkook bends and picks up the still vibrating love egg, switching it off before he pulls up his pants.

You are going to have Jungkook’s cum dripping out of you all day, that is, if he doesn’t fuck it deeper inside of you later - a likely possibility given the fact that even now, sated and warm and glowing, you still want more of your boyfriend, somehow.

jungkook slips the egg into his pocket, steps towards you and wraps you into his arms in one lazy, boyish motion as his lips catch your temple and then the corner of your mouth. Again and again, clumsy, sweet, tender kisses - he pulls back and kisses your eyelids, the tip of your nose, until you are laughing, soft giggles that you try and conceal.

You can hear the commotion outside of the fitting room, voices of shoppers nod workers and your cheeks flush with heat at the possibility of any of them hearing you and Jungkook, or worse, seeing the egg when it had dropped to the floor.

Jungkook, like he’s reading your mind, scoops up the abandoned track pants.

“I should probably buy these,” He say sheepishly.

You bury your face in his neck and laugh.

“I’ll buy them for you. For an anniversary present.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flush pink, “So about that…” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a thick envelope. “The love egg thingo was only part one of your present, actually. This is part two.”

You blink down at it. “Part two?” You look up accusingly, “We said no presents!”

Jungkook just shrugs.

“Jungkook! I didn’t get you anything-”

“Didn’t you say you were gonna get those trackpants?”

Jungkook points to the track pants which once again, have been abandoned on the floor.

“That doesn’t count, it’s hardly a present,” You protest feebly and Jungkook props his hands on his hips, face serious.

“It definitely counts, I love trackpants y’know. They’re my favourite kind of pant."

You suppress a laugh and shake your head, letting out a petulant ”Jungkook,“ as you accept the envelope in Jungkook’s hands, turning it over. It has nothing written on the front and back, and it’s surprisingly thick.

"Open it.”

You open the envelope and pull it open.

Inside are several different folded squares of paper, all different colours - a forest green, muted daisy yellow, terracotta red. You pull one out, a rosy pink slip of paper, to see Jungkook’s handwriting scrawled on the front.

Read this if we get into an argument.

You pull out another, robin egg blue paper, to see written on the front, Read this if you’re having a shit day.

A third piece of paper, cloudy grey, and written on the front - for when Mercury goes into retrograde, whenever that is. I know you’re into that stuff.

“Jungkook…” Your voice trails off questioningly and Jungkook clears his throat.

“They’re all letters I wrote for you. For uh, all kinds of different occasions and moods."

You don’t speak, staring down at the envelope and feeling your throat get a little tighter, your breath rush in a touch sharper, eyes growing wide.

"Is it… Is it okay?” You glance up, Jungkook has a hand at the nape of his neck, a blush tinging his cheeks. “I know, it’s a bit cheesy but I dunno, the idea just came to me. And I’m not that good with words and stuff so they’re not all like full on letters okay, there’s some drawings and stuff like that-”

“Jungkook.”

“-and like, I really wanted to get you a present present but the shipping costs for the love egg were higher than expected. Shipping sucks, what’s a guy gotta do to get a good quality sex egg around here? Although I did earn enough loyalty points to get a free Hello Kitty dildo and I was gonna gift that to you too but then Tae stole it, the bastard-”

“Jungkook.”

“And he took all these dumbass Snapchats with it and by that point it just didn’t seem like a very romantic gift idea-”

“Jungkook."

Finally, your boyfriend looks up at the sound of your voice which is a little sterner, cutting straight into his rambling.

"Yeah?”

You soften, stepping closer into his arms, hearing the soft exhale that escapes from his lips as his arms instinctively tighten around you, holding you close to him.

“I love you.”

Jungkook stills, his eyes widen. He pulls you properly into his arms, encircling you into his body, lips pressing to your forehead.

“I love you so much, you know that?”

His voice is tender and you hum in response, looping your arms around his waist. Jungkook keeps pecking the top of your head, pressing his lips to the crown of your hair in soft, sweet kisses.

You think about him- Jeon Jungkook, your boyfriend of a year, the boy who grants you earth shattering orgasms and brings out a side to you that you never knew existed, the boy who falls asleep mid anime marathons, the boy who is fearless and bright and sweet and surprising. The boy who stuffed an envelope full of love notes just for you, and gifted you a vibrating love egg.

You squeeze Jungkook a little harder, feel your heart thump a little faster and tell yourself not to let him go.

“This would probably be more romantic if it wasn’t in the middle of an sport store fitting room,” Jungkook muses suddenly.

“Somehow, it feels very us for this to be happening here.” You comment wryly, and Jungkook shrugs.

“True. I guess it’s time for us to get out of here, hey? We gotta do it stealth-like, okay? I like this store and I wanna come back. I’ll go first and if the coast is clear, we’ll walk out of here all chill, no big deal. Love egg, whomst? Moi? You? No way. Sound like a plan?"

Jungkook has a very serious look on his face, you stifle a giggle and nod in agreement. Jungkook lifts his fist and you bump yours against it.

"You know, you’re full of surprises, Jeon Jungkook.” You sigh, shaking your head and Jungkook just grins at you.

“The good kind?”

You smile.

“Uh huh.”

The sweetest kind.

amynote: I wrote this in one go on my iPad on the long train ride yesterday, so I’m sorry if it’s a bit rushed or full of typos!! I may be on hiatus but my Jungkook feels are certainly not, let me tell you that much

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader

2K notes · View notes

joonbird · 6 years

Text

Heartbeat | 7

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: gang!au, smut, angst

wordcount: 12k

** warnings: Graphic descriptions of injuries and violence, dark themes, gang activity, explicit drug references, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of death. and bathtub sex **

Sleep feels impossible tonight.

Every muscle in Hoseok’s body is locked in place, his eyes stare listlessly into the darkness of his room. No matter what he does, no matter how many times he swears under his breath and rolls over onto one side, he can’t fall asleep.

His mind is swirling with thoughts, thoughts that are unwanted and painful, thoughts infused with the question mark of what could’ve been, thoughts that start and end with your name on the tip of his tongue.

Hoseok has never been the type of person to reminisce on the past, largely due to his belief that reflection is unnecessary. You can’t turn back time and change the past, so why bother dwelling on it? But now, when the evening is fading into dawn, and the sky is awash with the milky blue of breaking daylight, Hoseok silently confesses that he chooses to ignore the past because it’s easier than confronting it.

The past is painful. Hoseok knows this better than anybody. He’s trained his mind to not think back on particular turning points of his life, he’s sharpened the skill of actively not remembering darker times. But ever since you came into his world, he can’t ignore his past anymore. Everything that he tried so hard to bury deep is rising to the surface.

Hoseok clutches the sheets in his hands and lets out another soft, “Fuck”. It does little to ease his racing thoughts. He thinks about you, how your eyes flash with hurt when he says things to you that are particularly cold and cruel. He thinks about how your voice sound when it whispers his name, the nape of your neck and the curve of your waist, the look of shock that painted over your features when he pressed his lips to yours for the first time.

“Stop it,” Hoseok mutters into the darkness, his voice harsh. Stop thinking about her.

Hoseok curses himself for his total lack of foresight, for his inability to see when something is good before it’s too late. He thinks he’s so cunning, so clever, when in reality he can’t see anything at all. He didn’t see you coming into his life, he didn’t see you changing his life, and he didn’t see you walking out of his life- until of course, it was too late.

Am I a bad person? The thought creeps in, and Hoseok sighs. He doesn’t know anymore. For a long time, he had just accepted that he was a bad person. Hoseok can’t recall all the times he’s done fucked up things, hurt people, received a sick sense of numbing satisfaction from affirming that yes, He had never considered the possibility that he was redeemable, that he may not be an intrinsically bad person. Until you.

Hoseok leans back on his bedframe, slumping forward until his head is in his hands. This hurts. This really, really hurts. It hurts, the way you eased into his heart with killer precision. He doesn’t know how to get you out. He doesn’t want to get you out.

Hoseok lifts his head and absently fumbles on his nightstand table for the pack of cigarettes he keeps there, his fingers catching on the box. He hesitates, before he finally throws the box, hard, across the room. A dramatic gesture perhaps, but Hoseok couldn’t give less of a fuck right now. Cigarettes spill out onto his bedroom floor and he swears again.

He looks at the clock, it reads 5:03AM. It’s 5AM, and he’s here, head in his hands, thinking about a woman who makes him feel a heady kind of hopefulness, a woman who taught him that there may be more to life than living fast and dying young.

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut and weakly tells himself to stop being such a weak motherfucking bitch, that you have left his life and it’s for the better, that you’re just another memory to lock away and forget about.

He lies awake in bed until daylight breaks over the horizon.

Twenty years ago, on a Friday evening in the middle of December, Jung Hoseok fell in love with dancing.

It was a Friday, because Friday was always the day that his Mum liked to go grocery shopping. Every Friday was like clockwork – Hoseok trailing his mother around the store while she slowly, carefully picked out boxes and cans. It was always Friday, because Hoseok’s father stayed out on Friday nights, stumbling in the house late into the evening with the sharp smell of alcohol plumed around him like smoke.

It was during October, because the air was brisk when Hoseok slipped away from his mother and walked out of the store. It had felt like a thin film of ice was going to settle over his skin if he stayed outside for too long.

Hoseok was certain he’d always be able to remember it. The cold that brushed over his skin, the quiet hum of the store doors closing behind him, and there – on the concrete in front of the store, a group of guys.

They had a battered portable radio that was perched on the hood of an equally battered car, the crackly weak bass of a hip hop song filtered into the air. The group of guys were joking around, pushing each other and filling the beats of the song with their light, cloying jabs and insults – and they were dancing.

Hoseok had stared at them with wide eyes. Each movement they made was strong and bold, and they were entirely in control of their bodies. One guy, the one in the middle with a cap jammed over his hair and trackpants about two sizes too big for him, had a smile that he was struggling to contain. He was a man who was in control of each of his movements, a firm grip on the rhythm that coursed through body, controlled over everything except the smile that teased at his features.

Hoseok’s breath was coming out in puffs of cold into the night air and he wondered, right then and there, if he could be like that one day.

It was one of those, right time, right place sort of situations. The kind of scenario where everything pieces together so exactly, that it can only be due to a stroke of luck, a twist of destiny. A red thread of fate.

Hoseok was a few days from turning sixteen when he met Z.

His father had passed away the month prior. Hoseok had stood at his father’s funeral just last weekend, dressed in a rented suit that smelled like sweat and felt starchy on his skin, watching as people he had never met before shuffled through with tears dotted on their cheeks. Hoseok had looked up at the framed photo of his father that people were crying over, and he wondered what exactly they were crying for.

You’re nothing. His father’s voice floated into his thoughts. Hoseok squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about all the times his father had called him a loser, a coward, a ‘fucking pussy’, until finally just landing on the words that Hoseok had grown accustomed to hearing – ‘You’re nothing, Hoseok.’

Hoseok thought back to all the times he had seen his mother crying in the kitchen early in the morning when she thought the house was asleep, her hands bent in front of her, praying. Hoseok had always felt so tiny and powerless every time he heard his mother cry, every time his father’s fist went crunching into his cheek, every time the words You’re nothing echoed through his thoughts.

Hoseok’s eyes had fluttered open and a few funeral-goers stared at him, eyes sympathetic and pitying. His mother, standing beside him, was crying – his baby sister in her arms. Hoseok’s father was gone, but the pressure he put on the family remained. He was gone, but all these people were still crying. Hoseok looked at the tears tracking down everyone’s faces, at the photo of his father perched high in the funeral hall.

He didn’t cry.

It was that memory that lingered in Hoseok’s mind when Sungmin approached him after school and asked him if he was free to talk. He was the same age as Hoseok, they were in the same Geometry class, yet Hoseok had never exchanged more than two words with him.

Sungmin was something of a mystery, no one knew much about him. What Hoseok did know, however, was that Sungmin was always wearing a leather jacket that was two sizes too big for him, Sungmin was part of some newly established gang, and that Sungmin, for some reason, was standing on front of him now wanting to ‘talk’.

Sungmin was the same age as Hoseok but he felt older. He had an air of confidence about him, and he dug into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. He offered it to Hoseok, and even though Hoseok had never so much as touched a cigarette in his life- he took it.

He held it gingerly in his fingers and took a drag, coughing at the feeling of smoke in his lungs. Sungmin just watched on, an amused smile on his face.

“Will you teach me how to breakdance?”

Hoseok had been momentarily surprised. Of all the questions he had been anticipating, it hadn’t been that one. What surprised him the most though, was how quickly he answered back, his response.

“Okay.”

Sungmin was a slow learner. He was a clumsy dancer. He also, surprisingly enough, evolved from classmate to friend.

Hoseok learned a lot about Sungmin when they met up after school. He learned that Sungmin wanted to learn how to dance because his girlfriend, Lorna, had mentioned she liked breakdancers. He learned that Sungmin had a short fuse and a tendency to spew filthy swear words when he couldn’t get a move right.

He learned that Sungmin’s chest puffed out in pride whenever he talked about his friends, the gang that he was currently being initiated into. ‘The Kingsnakes,’ Sungmin would say, struggling to keep a cool expression on his face, ‘That’s our name, by the way.’

Hoseok had learned that Sungmin, when he found something unbearably funny, slapped his hand over his mouth and laughed silently, shoulders shaking up and down.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but it did – somewhere along the way he had become friends with the other boy. It was a realization he had when he was leaning against the wall of the warehouse one school night with Sungmin, smoking cigarettes and discussing whether it was worth staying in school, or dropping out.

“You never smoke them properly.” Sungmin had complained, pointing his cigarette butt at Hoseok accusingly. “You’ve gotta inhale. Yoongi taught me that.”

Hoseok wrinkled his nose, watching as the other boy took a deep drag, exhaling a mouthful of smoke with exaggerated confidence.

“Yoongi?”

Sungmin hummed in response. “Yep. He’s the leader of the Kingsnakes.”

Hoseok’s mouth opened into a small ‘o’. He stared at the cigarette in his hands, the glowing embers falling to the ground.

“Sungmin, will you introduce me to him? Yoongi, I mean.”

“Z,” Sungmin corrected. Hoseok looked up questioningly and Sungmin shrugged.

“Call me Z. It’s a new nickname I’m trying.”

“Loser.” Hoseok rolled his eyes and Sungmin grinned, staring at his friend thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I’ll introduce you. You’ll owe me, though.”

Hoseok nodded, feeling a thrill start in his spine. He didn’t know why he was asking to meet Yoongi, he didn’t know why he was here with Sungmin, all he did know was that he felt good. He felt like he belonged, like he wasn’t a kid anymore, like he was taking charge of his life.

He picked up the cigarette and inhaled properly. It burned in his lungs and it made his head spin, he fought the urge to cough as he exhaled all the smoke. It cloaked his vision and somewhere through the haze, he heard the almost silent strains of Sungmin’s laughter.

Min Yoongi was not what Hoseok had expected. He had hair that was dyed an unnatural shade of ice blue, and eyes that gazed him up and down suspiciously upon first glance.

“Who’s this?”

Yoongi didn’t direct the question to him, glancing over instead at Z who was standing by Hoseok’s side.

“My friend. Wanted to meet you.”

And just like that, Yoongi’s eyes were back on him. Hoseok squirmed uncomfortably.

“Why did you want to meet me?”

Hoseok’s voice was pitchy, it gave away his nerves as he spoke.

“I was wondering if I could hang around with you guys.”

Yoongi just raised an eyebrow.

“…You guys?”

Hoseok’s face flushed and he nodded. “The… the Kingsnakes.”

For a long moment, Yoongi just stared at Hoseok, a perplexed expression on his face before he sighed.

“Yeah, whatever. You can hang round with us if you want.” Yoongi’s voice was bored, and Hoseok nodded eagerly.

“But if you’re going to do that, you need to understand that there’s nothing more important to me than loyalty. Whether you’re going to hang round for a little bit or longer, at the end of the day, all I ask for, and all I expect, is loyalty. Whatever you see, whatever goes down – it’s between us and us only. Understood?” He spoke slowly, still with that bored tone- but Hoseok didn’t miss the steeliness in his words.

“Yeah, I… I understand.”

He must have passed whatever test Yoongi was giving because the older boy relaxed, but kept eyeing him curiously.

“So, why do you want in with the Kingsnakes, kid? You want money, drugs, friends? What is it?”

Hoseok sensed Sungmin’s eyes on him too, and he shrugged.

“I just don’t want to feel like I’m nothing.” He said honestly, to which Yoongi just let out a soft hum in response.

After that, Hoseok’s life became something like a whirlwind of firsts.

The first kiss, exchanged at a Kingsnake party with some girl from another school who had crawled into his lap and kissed him.

The first time he had done drugs, a tiny bump of cocaine that he snorted while wedged between Yoongi and a few of the other members at a party.

The first time he skipped class, spending the day hanging around with some of the guys and getting high, enjoying it so much that he eventually stopped going to class altogether.

The first time he fucked a girl, thrusting into her, his body using hers, feeling invincible.

The first time Yoongi asked him to help out, to keep watch for a drug deal. That had also been the first time Yoongi had slapped his shoulder and grinned at him, telling him he was alright.

The first time Hoseok was handed an envelope stuffed with bills, feeling a rush of excitement because that money was his, he had earned it. It was the first time Hoseok felt secure, powerful, like maybe he had someplace where he belonged.

The first time a needle touched his skin, inking a snake onto his wrist. The first time his mother saw the tattoo and teared up, asking Hoseok if he was safe.

The first time he and a few of the guys beat up another guy for ratting on them. The first time he punched someone’s jaw. The first time he saw Z’s eyes flash with simmering lust, punching until Yoongi told him in a sharp tone, Enough.

The first time Hoseok felt uncertainty about his decision to join the Kingsnakes. The first time he questioned whether he had made the right choices, whether his past was doomed to repeat itself.

“Yoongi likes you.” Z muttered to him on the night of his eighteenth birthday. “He’s always picking you to be his backup him in deals and shit.”

The two had slipped outside for a cigarette, standing shoulder by shoulder in the brisk air. Lorna, Z’s girlfriend, had joined them at first before she too slipped back inside, complaining about the cold weather.

“Yoongi?” Hoseok echoed. Z just grunted. Hoseok cocked his head to the side, considered those words.

“You’re probably next in line to run the group, at this point.” Z added.

Hoseok had turned to his friend, whose face was lit only by the red embers. Ash fell to the ground and Hoseok shrugged in response. He felt good, his body was buzzed, he felt like something, like he was something. He thought back on the tiny, frightened kid he used to be and a wry smile tugged on his lips.

“Nah. That’s all you, Sungmin.”

Z let out a loud scoff, reaching over and giving Hoseok a feeble punch. “You loser.” He laughed. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing.”

A few weeks later, Hoseok stood outside Yoongi’s house, shivering and muttering complaints under his breath.

“Stupid motherfucking Min Yoongi asks me to drop something off and then doesn’t even answer the door,” Hoseok mumbled, walking down the driveway. “Fuck, it’s cold.” He paused once he got to his bike, sighing in annoyance as he turned around, walking directly past the front door and weaving his way through the gate.

He had been to Yoongi’s house several times, and when he got to the back door, it was, as expected, unlocked. He stepped into the house, holding the package under his arms. The house was quiet, his footsteps heavy on the floor.

“Hoseok?”

Yoongi padded out, dressed just in a pair of black jocks. “What are you- just, get out of here, I’m busy today.”

His voice was harsh and Hoseok cringed, throwing the package down on the kitchen table. “Yeah sorry, it’s all there, the delivery, the guy-”

“Yoongi?” A female voice cut faintly through Hoseok’s words. Hoseok froze.

He recognized that voice.

He glanced over at Yoongi questioningly and the stricken look on the other man’s face said it all.

“Yoongi…. Is that…” Hoseok breathed.

“Fuck,” Yoongi swore.

Hoseok closed and opened his mouth.

“Don’t say anything,” Yoongi asked in a low voice, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You won’t say anything, Hoseok?” He looked up and for the first time Hoseok saw Yoongi not as the strong, invincible leader of the group but as he was – vulnerable and broken.

“Okay.” Hoseok muttered dumbly. Yoongi nodded and the two men stared at each other tensely before Hoseok turned and walked out of the back door.

He half expected Yoongi to come barreling behind him, but he was met with nothing but silence. He got to his motorcycle, still perched by the driveway.

Hoseok recognized that voice, husky and distinctive. Hoseok saw it in the panic that crossed over Yoongi’s face, the pleading tone of his voice.

It was Lorna. Z’s girlfriend.

“Fuck,” Hoseok muttered. “Fuck!”

Anger, fear, hot and uncomfortable emotion swelled in his chest as Hoseok kicked his bike.

The resounding pain that went through his leg just intensified the frustration, but there was nothing he could do about the pain. It was too late, and what had been done, was done.

Months later, it was summer. The days were long and hot, and the air felt still. It was the calm before the storm.

Hoseok spent the majority of his days in a sticky, clouded haze. He was stretched out on the couch, his mind comfortably blurry when he heard his front door slam open.

He didn’t bother locking it half the time, today was one of those days, and he glanced up blearily. It was Z, and Hoseok sat up, yawning.

“What’s up dude? Haven’t seen you round last few days.”

Z was agitated, Hoseok could sense it from the moment that he walked in the room. Z didn’t respond immediately, pacing back and forth before he finally flopped down on the chair opposite Hoseok.

“Found out that Min fucking Yoongi was screwing my girlfriend behind my back.”

Hoseok’s blood turned to ice.

Z let out an emphatic, “Fuck” before he sighed, leaning back on the chair.

“I… how?” Hoseok asked, his voice sounding faint to his own ears.

Z didn’t answer, his eyes closed. “Does it matter?”

“Where…. Where is Yoongi now? Have you talked to him?”

Z opened one eye. A smile spread across his face, and he shrugged.

“That’s just the thing. I was going to talk to him about it, but you’ll never believe it. Turns out there was an oxygen bubble in his bloodstream. He’s dead.”

Dead?

Hoseok could hear the blood in his ears. Z closed his eyes again and shrugged.

“Freak accident. Crazy, right?”

Hoseok’s throat was dry. He sunk back down onto the couch, his head spinning.

And there it was. The sound of Z’s silent, dry laughter. Hoseok could recognize it anywhere. Hoseok felt dread start to pool in the pit of his stomach as Z spoke, his words low and dangerous like the rattle of a snake.

“There’s nothing more important than loyalty, right?”

Hoseok didn’t answer, pushing off of the couch.

“Need a cigarette.” He mumbled. He knew it was a stupid excuse, for God’s sake he smoked in his house, but he needed fresh air. He needed to clear his stupid, clouded, jumbled thoughts, because Yoongi was dead. Yoongi was dead. Hoseok’s mind was racing with thoughts as he pushed open his front door and walked down the driveway.

An oxygen bubble? In his bloodstream?

Hoseok’s hands were trembling as he walked down his street, he furtively glanced behind his shoulder to ensure no one was tailing him. He pulled out his phone, holding it to his ear. The moment it clicked, he spoke.

“Lorna, Yoongi’s dead.”

There was a shocked silence on the end of the line. Hoseok didn’t let it linger, speaking rapidly.

“Get out of here, okay?”

He heard a choked sound on the other line, an almost animal like cry. He didn’t dwell on it, he squeezed the phone tighter, feeling his heart thump in his chest.

“Lorna, do you understand me? Get the fuck out of here, alright?”

She was crying, and Hoseok hung up, his hands trembling.

He had no idea why he had done that, he didn’t owe Lorna anything. He didn’t owe anyone anything. Except Z.

Z. Hoseok stood, frozen, as he looked behind his shoulder again. The street was empty, but he felt a hum of paranoia and fear race through his veins as he turned off his phone, trying to settle his shaking hands as he turned and walked back into the house.

He walked back inside his living room, feeling his muscles tense up. Z was still sitting in that same chair, he didn’t look up as Hoseok returned to the couch.

“So, we’ve got the Deckard deal next week. You’ll help?” Z began, and Hoseok glanced up. Their eyes met and Hoseok swallowed.

You can still run, Hoseok.

He nodded.

I can’t run.

“Good.” Z glanced back at the TV and Hoseok stared at him. He and Z were friends. He owed Z, it was Z who had pulled him into the web of the Kingsnakes, it was that web that had given him power, money, helped him pull himself and his family out of debt.

Hoseok negotiated in his head that really, nothing had changed. The Kingsnakes would remain the same, even with Z at the helm. That Yoongi’s death really was a freak accident. Things wouldn’t worsen, they couldn’t.

I won’t run.

“Hoseok, you didn’t know about Yoongi and Lorna, did you?”

Hoseok felt his heart stutter. His stomach twisted, as he looked up, meeting Z’s gaze.

“No, I didn’t.”

I can’t run.

Z smiled, satisfied, and nodded. “Good.”

I can’t fucking run.

Hoseok sat still, feeling utterly paralyzed. For the first time in years, he felt that insidious, horrible feeling inside of his chest, that voice, telling him that he was nothing. And the red thread of fate that tied him as a ten year old kid to dancing had been cut.

It was replaced by the black threads of the Kingsnakes, woven tightly around him until he could no longer breathe.

The moment you enter Taehyung’s hospital room, you gasp.

A sharp, involuntary intake of breath that draws everyone’s attention on you. Your eyes scan over the room – at Ara, who gazes at you with an expression that is saturated with disappointment and hurt, at the police officers who eye you with suspicion, at a nurse who hones in on you as soon as you enter.

“I’m sorry, but you’re outside of visiting hours.” Her clipboard is tucked under her arm, her hair slicked back into a low bun. “Only direct family are permitted here, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“She is family.”

The voice interrupts before you can respond. It’s Taehyung. Your eyes meet his and he smiles tiredly at you.

Your heart gives out in your chest when you see him, at the faded bruised rings that mar his face, at the way his chest heaves delicately with each breath.

“She’s not-” Ara begins, but Taehyung just continues to speak.

“She’s family. Nurse,” Taehyung glances away to smile politely at the nurse. “Could I have five minutes with her?”

The nurse grumbles, you hear the soft strains of her voice and Ara’s but eventually, she nods. The police officers stand up and leave first, their eyes beady and intent on you as they shuffle out of the room, before the others follow. You try to meet Ara’s gaze but she stares away from you pointedly, and you feel a twist in your chest.

Finally, the room is empty. You glance at Taehyung, he smiles at you and nods to the chair that is perched beside his bed. “Sit down.”

Your legs feel wooden as you walk over, lowering yourself into the plastic chair.

The room elapses into silence, a silence that is broken only by the quiet electronic beat of Taehyung’s heart monitor.

“Tae-”

“Are you-”

You both start speaking at once, faltering when your voices overlap. Taehyung chuckles, shifts in bed. “You go first.”

You glance up, meeting Taehyung’s eyes. He looks so frail like this, mottled splashes of purple fading beneath his skin, pale lips, a smile on his face. Your eyes linger on the IV drip that threads into his skin and you swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

You whisper the words like they’re a secret.

Taehyung clicks his tongue softly. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I… what happened to you, I-”

“What happened is just a case of wrong time, wrong place. Nothing more than that. Just some thugs who were high on drugs and wanted some quick cash.”

Taehyung speaks quickly, his voice low and calm and you shake your head, tears beginning to strain at the back of your throat. Taehyung’s voice rises a little, speeds up a touch, “Really, it was just bad luck. Thank God for insurance, right? The doctors said I’ll heal up in no time too so-“

”Tae.” You say his name and Taehyung falls silent. “It was the Kingsnakes. They-”

“I know it was them.”

A silence settles between the two of you and Taehyung’s fingers, trembling, run over the IV drip in the centre of his hand. For the first time since it was just the two of you in this room, Taehyung looks away. You keep your eyes on him, seeing the rapid blink of his eyes, the way his lips move as if he’s talking silently. He’s trying not to cry, trying to hold himself together even now when his body is on the brink of falling apart. Your chest aches and the raw ache at the back of your throat intensifies.

“I’m not going to tell the police anything about them. I haven’t. And I won’t.”

“Taehyung, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse. “I did. I’m not saying a word. I’m not putting you in danger. There’s no evidence. It’s better to not say anything.”

“Taehyung this is serious.” The words come out harsher than intended and Taehyung finally looks up again, his eyes uncharacteristically steely.

“I know it’s not a game. It’s your life, and…” His eyes are wet with tears and he looks so young that your heart twists and tears finally start threatening to spill in your eyes, because this is Taehyung, the Taehyung you have known since you were a kid, the Taehyung who was always older and cooler and never afraid of anything, “…the thought of your life being at risk... I can’t, I just can’t.”

He swallows hard and stares determinedly at the grey hospital blanket draped over his lap. You feel a twist right in your gut, a pain like a knife slicing through butter.

Taehyung, staring down at the ground, his eyes wavering with tears that he is fighting to hold back, the steady beep of his heart-rate monitor, the sterile smell of the hospital filling your nostrils and locking around you hard and fast.

It feels like your mind is going a million miles a minute, different emotions tugging you into different places. You think about Taehyung, who is protecting you even now, who is doing the wrong thing for you. Guilt in the sharpest sense needles at you.

You think about the fists that crunched with a ferocity you’ll never know right into the small of Taehyung’s face, of the half burned down gallery that now sits in your city, of X’s flat eyes staring into you. It’s a world you don’t understand, that you don’t belong in, a world that has grasped onto you and no matter how hard you want to, you can’t seem to shake off yourself. You feel fear, a rendering of fear so awful and deep-settled that you can’t shake it away.

The sound of Taehyung shifting in place has you breaking out of your reverie.

Taehyung sighs. He reaches up and then stops, he is unable to run his fingers through his shaggy fringe. He stares at the thick, alabaster plaster wrapped around his hand.

“I just...” His voice is raspy, he swallows hard. “Do you love him?”

You gaze at Taehyung and you can see it etched right there in the slightest quiver of his lips. All of the ways a soul can hurt, scatterd there like kisses or bruises.

Taehyung is composed of light and clarity. Hoseok is the utter opposite - he is the tiniest of moans that escapes your lips when he presses his mouth to the shell of your ear, he is a heady and wickedly uncontrollable tempo, he is a dark place where you can unravel new threads, pieces of you that you had alwys been too afraid to confront in the past.

While everyone else is safety, Hoseok is freedom.

Taehyung smiles at you. Barely - the slightest twinge of his lips, a crease of his eyes. You are sure it hurts, that reassuring smile painted on a face as sore and bruised as his. But he smiles anyway, because he is Taehyung. And for a moment your heart aches, because it occurs to you how easy it would be to love somebody as safe and sweet as Kim Taehyung.

“Yes.” You keep your eyes steady on Taehyung. You feel your heart constrict, because is it a cop out, to rattle out the words ‘you can’t choose who you love?’ if you could choose to love Hoseok, would you? You think about him, Hoseok and his dark, desperate eyes when you had turned away from him just hours ago. If you could choose who you love, would you still choose him?

Your chest is tight, and you think to yourself that if someone could crack open your body, they would likely find a kingsnake coiled in between your ribs, its body wrapped firmly around your heart.

"Yes,” You murmur. “I love him.”

You glance up to see Taehyung’s reaction. He looks up, stares at you. His face is carefully passive, his eyes searching yours for a split second before he speaks.

“Does he love you?”

It’s a question that catches you offguard. You stay still for a moment, your mouth closes and opens.

“I… I don’t know,” You answer honestly. A corner of your heart peels backwards, sings out silently that he does, I hope he does.

“Do you trust him?”

Taehyung keeps his eyes on yours and you nod.

“I do.” Your voice breaks off into a small, sad laugh. “I don’t know if I can trust myself, though.”

Taehyung doesn’t speak immediately, the beep of his monitor feels the space.

“Trust your instincts,” He says finally. You think to yourself that you can’t, that you can’t trust yourself, your heart, even your mind.

“I’m scared to.” The words come out as the barest of whispers as tears prick your eyes. Taehyung leans forward and his bandaged hand brushes against your wrist.

“Don’t be scared of trusting yourself.” He says softly. “I know a lot of people in my position wouldn’t tell you this. Usually, when a guy loves a girl, the last thing they want is to see her with somebody else.” His eyes flicker, he glances at you and you understand what he’s trying to tell you. His eyes search yours for a split second, looking for something, before his face breaks into a small, sad smile.

“Look… if there’s something there, a spark, a feeling, a flame… don’t throw it away because of fear. The only person who truly knows your heart is you. The only person who truly owns your heart is you. So… trust yourself, okay?”

Tears drip down your cheeks. You nod, your bottom lip wobbles, you tell yourself not to cry but the tears only drip faster and fatter down your cheeks.

“Okay.”

Your voice is strained and thick with tears, and you glance up at Taehyung. His eyes are wet too, and you stand up, leaning forward to wrap your arms around your friend.

Taehyung’s hair brushes your cheek and you can tell he’s crying from the wet tears that drip onto your shoulder. You can feel it when you are standing this close to him, how much pain he’s holding inside, how much fear and loss.

You are full of blame, guilt and confusion, but you stay close to Tae, holding him in a hug. Telling him, in a way that only you can with somebody you’ve known as long as you’ve known Kim Taehyung, that you’re sorry.

You pull away and Taehyung’s tears have subsided, as have your own.

“I just... This s a whole other league, and I… just be careful. Of them. Of all of it. Be careful. You know that, right?“

You don’t miss the worry that infuses Taehyung’s tone. You reach out and hold his hand. The plaster is rough under your palm and you nod, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I know.”

Once you are outside of the hospital, you cradle your phone in your hands.

Logically, you know that the smart thing to do is to put your phone back in your pocket and to go home. The right thing to do on paper is to write off Hoseok as just a fleeting mistake, to turn away from him for good.

But you can’t. You don’t want to.

You think about Taehyung’s words, about the spark, and the flame, and you think about Jung Hoseok. You don’t know what is it about him, but you don’t want to let go of it. You don’t want to let go of him. And it is that thought that you have in mind as you press dial and lift the phone to your ear.

The phone rings out and you feel your mouth go slack with nerves.

“Hey.” Hoseok’s voice is cautious as he answers, you swallow.

“Can I see you?”

There’s a silence across the line and then Hoseok clears his throat.

“Uh… okay. I’m at my place, do you want to come over? Or I can meet you-”

“Your place is fine. Can you text me the address?”

You hear Hoseok swallow, mumble out a soft “Sure”. You tell him you’ll see him soon, as you hang up and hail a taxi, wondering if the decision you’re making is the right one.

The drive isn’t long, you are wrapped up in your thoughts about Hoseok and the gravity of the situation. You pull up to Hoseok’s house, and see him sitting on his front step. He’s dressed casually, a black tee and black jeans, and he stands up when you approach.

“Why are you here?”

His question is careful and you stop in front of him.

“You said you don’t lose me.” You say quietly, and Hoseok nods. “I don’t want to lose you either. I just… feel scared when I think about what exactly I’m losing. Is it the real you, or the you I want you to be?”

Hoseok stares at you and then glances away, his eyes downcast.

“The real me isn’t great.” He says in a short voice. “But with you I was… I was always the real me. If that’s what you’re asking.”

The two of you just stare at one another and Hoseok sighs.

“Is your friend okay?”

“He’s not going to say anything to the police if that’s what-”

“Hey. I wasn’t going to ask that. I was asking because I actually want to know.”

Hoseok has one eyebrow raised and you falter.

“You actually care about him?”

You can’t help but sound bitter.

“I care about you, so, yeah. I guess I do care about him.”

Hoseok’s words has your resolve crumpling, and the composed expression slips from Hoseok’s face as he steps forward.

“Hey, I…” Hoseok bites his lip. “Fuck, I’m the worst with this kind of thing. I…” His voice raises with each word and then he pulls you into his arms in an uncertain hug. You inhale him, feel his arms encircle you, crying into the crook of his shoulder. Hoseok just runs a hand along the centre of your back in circles, until finally, the tears subside.

You pull away from him and Hoseok peers down at you. “You look exhausted.” Hoseok says brusquely, “Have you slept? Showered?”

You shake your head, and Hoseok nods. “Look. Come in, do all of that stuff, and then we can talk about whatever… okay?”

“Okay.”

Hoseok whirls around and walks up the stairs to his house, and you follow.

“Bathroom’s down that way, kitchen’s through the hall if you want something to eat. Alright?” Hoseok looks uncertain for a moment and you nod, heading to the bathroom.

You close the door behind you and stare at your reflection, feeling your frayed nerves start to settle. You turn the tap on for the bathtub, letting the small bathroom fill up with steam, your thoughts slowing and your breathing evening out as you pull off your clothes and turn off the tap, lowering yourself into the tub. The water is hot, soothing, and it pulls away at the tension gathered inside of your chest.

“You alright?” Hoseok’s voice calls out from the hallway, and you glance at the closed door.

“Can you come in for a second?” You call out, and the door opens. You hug your legs to your chest, covering yourself as Hoseok walks in.

“What did you think when I walked up to you the first time we met?”

“Honest answer?”

You nod. Hoseok tilts his head to one side, staring at you before he lets out a sigh.

“I thought you were trying really hard to prove something to yourself.” He murmurs. “I thought you were hot too.” He adds, smiling faintly for a second.

“But you didn’t care about me then, right? At the start?”

Hoseok bites his lip. You rush to fill in the spaces.

“Honest answer again, please.”

Hoseok gazes at you and nods slowly. “At the start, yeah. I didn’t.”

“So what changed from then to now? What makes how you felt about me then, different to how you felt about me now?”

Hoseok leans against the bathroom wall, swallows. “I don’t really know what it is.” He says eventually. “But the more I got to know you, the more things changed. I like how being with you makes me feel. I care about you and I want you to be safe and happy. I miss you when you’re not with me. I don’t want to just fuck you, I… dunno, wanna spend time with you.”

You don’t answer, staring at Hoseok.

“I’m scared.” You whisper. You don’t explain what you are scared of. You don’t put into words that you’re scared of loving him, that you’re scared of trusting him, of being vulnerable. That even though you’re scared, you still want him.

“I’m scared too.” Hoseok responds. “Of a lot of things, actually. But I feel less scared when I’m with you.”

His voice breaks and he shakes his head. “Sorry, that was cheesy as fuck.” He mutters, but a smile slips across his face.

The honesty in his words takes you by surprise and you hug your knees to your chest. He tilts his head back, and you stare at him and try to remember how to breathe. Because like this, when he’s standing in front of you, eyes creased in the corners, a smile soaked in an effortless, easy kind of happiness, arms folded and those clavicles peeking out from the neck of his black tee… you haven’t taken a breath, you can’t take a breath.

“I…” Your voice speaks of its own accord, his eyes hone in on yours and you let out a shaky mouthful of air, the words tumble out before you can quite stop them, “Join me.”

Hoseok pauses and his eyes flicker over to the tub that you are perched in. You have slept with him what feels like countless of times, you have the imprint of Hoseok’s bare body stamped in your mind, but there is something about this moment right now that has the breath seeping out of you and a tremble deep in your bones.

Hoseok doesn’t speak, he just clears his voice.

“Really?”

You nod, draw your knees in to your chest. Hoseok gazes at you for a prolonged moment, and then reaches behind his body, his fingers grasping at the back of his tee to pull it off of his head in one clean motion.

You see it- the flex of his torso, his taut, lean stomach, the dip of his collarbones and his fingers as they tug off his black jeans. You’ve seen it, you know it, but still your heart hammers hard and fast in your chest.

Hoseok pulls off his pants, revealing his thighs, strong and muscled. His hips, they twist as he throws his clothes carelessly in the corner of the bathroom, he steps towards the bathtub and steps in until he is seated opposite you.

You immediately close the space, inch closer to him until your knees are touching, and he lets out a soft sigh. You watch as he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, the water keeps his hair slicked back and off his forehead.

He cocks his head down at you.

“You’re an idiot.” He murmurs, but there is no malice in his words. Instead, he sounds oddly breathless, his voice so husky and soft that you can only just make out the words.

“I’m an idiot?” You repeat, your features wrinkling into a delicately affronted expression.

Hoseok nods, his face is a mixture of emotions that you place for split seconds, like rolling waves, one replacing the other – intensity, vulnerability, tenderness, affection.

He cards his fingers through his hair, shakes his fringe out of his eyes, the snake on his wrist disappears under the water’s surface.

You feel your breath catch in your throat, a tremble working its way up your thighs and locking tight around your stomach like a band. He hovers in front of you, oozing a dark and dangerous charisma. Your eyes linger over his shoulders, the curve of his collarbones, his taut stomach.

Neither of you speak. You just stare at one another. Here, seated opposite one other in an old, cracked bathtub, it feels as if time is still.

He reaches out and presses his palms gently, carefully, around your face. His fingers skim over your jaw, until he is holding you in his hands and his eyes are searching yours. He is looking for protest that you don’t give, before he finally leans in.

Hoseok kisses you slowly. It’s something you aren’t used to with him – you are accustomed to hurried, hungered kisses. This is slow, languid almost- his lips careful and a bit clumsy against yours, his palms still cupping your face. Right there into the curve of your lips he lets out a sigh and his body relaxes.

At the sound of it- the throaty sigh of release deep from within his belly, you lean in closer, chasing into the feel of his lips. Hoseok responds, his hands sliding from your cheeks to rake into your hair.

It occurs to you in a fleeting thought just how well he can read you now, how your body responds almost instinctively to his.

The water splashes quietly against the side of the tub as his hands comb through your hair down to the centre of your back. He tugs you closer to him so that your body folds on top of his, he stretches his legs out along the expanse of the tub.

His skin glides against yours underneath the water, you begin to feel a slow knock between your legs as his hands massage intently against the small of your back. You let out a tiny groan and pull away for a moment to glance at him – Hoseok, his hair wet and slicked off of his face, droplets of water on his skin.

His hands are still tight against the slip of your waist, he kneads his fingers harder into the curve right above your ass and you let out a tiny, stuttered moan. Your face is only inches away from Hoseok’s and he keeps his eyes locked on yours, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“Do you want me?”

It’s a simple question, his voice low and tilting, but for once there is no teasing note at the end of his words, the smirk gone from his lips. Your breath shudders out, you can feel your lust knocking between your legs as you stare into his dark eyes. His face is utterly serious, his eyes dark with desire and intensity.

“Yes,” You breathe out, and Hoseok’s eyes flicker, his tongue licks over his lips.

“Yes,” You repeat, watching as a muscle in his jaw twitches. He lets out a tiny groan and captures your lips in another kiss.

You kiss him back hungrily, letting out moans in between kisses as Hoseok pulls your body even closer to his, growls against your lips as his hands curve around to cup your ass.

Hoseok breaks away from your mouth, he doesn’t stop, his mouth trailing down and stamping hot kisses along the curve of your jaw, down the slope of your neck. You are trembling, the thud between your legs dangerous and familiar as you adjust your hips.

Letting out a soft whine, you rock your hips, feeling the smooth friction of his thigh against your cunt.

A loud moan spills out of your mouth at the feeling of contact against your sensitive core, at the barest thread of pleasure and relief it offers. You grind against him harder, it only makes the ache worsen, and Hoseok lets out a growl right into the base of your ear.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” He says in a low voice. “Hmm? Rubbing that pretty cunt all over me?”

You breathe in sharp and quick at the sound of his voice, raspy in your ear, the grip of his fingers on your ass. He smirks when he hears the ragged whine that escapes your lips as you swallow hard.

He reaches between your bodies and his hand slides over your inner thigh. You let out a begging sound, the ache growing more intense between your legs.

“I want you, Hoseok,” You choke out and Hoseok lets out a low hum, pressing his body closer to yours.

The water laps at the sides of the tub as he nears closer to you, his mouth inches from yours, his palm still flat on the inside of your thigh.

The sides of his knuckles graze at your sensitive core and your breath pitches in, lust pooling in your body. You tilt your hips upwards, desperate to feel more of his touch against you.

Hoseok’s dark eyes stare into yours, his hair wet, drops of water slowly sliding down his face. Your heart is hammering your chest, your thighs tensed, your core aching and throbbing for him. Hoseok leans in and presses his lips to yours carefully, as his fingers inch closer.

The tip of his pinky carefully caresses over your slit and you fall apart into his kiss.

“Sit up.”

He murmurs it into your lips and you hesitate, pausing before he says it again, more forcefully.

“Sit up would you?”

“W-why?”

“Just… just sit on the edge of the tub. That end, princess.” His voice is impatient, but softens as he uses the nickname. You push yourself off of him reluctantly and stand, sitting down on the edge of the tub with your back against the wall.

As your back touches the cold tile, Hoseok heads towards you.

His hands brush over your ankles in the water, his palms smoothing over your calves. Your breath rushes in as he slowly moves up your legs, until his palms are canvassing your inner thighs, his fingertips grazing carefully over your pussy.

Your back is stiff, desperately arched, as Hoseok glides his hands back down your legs. It feels as if your entire body is on edge, wanting him to touch you, the gnawing ache between your legs wicked and intense.

His fingers journey up over your inner calves, your thighs, resting by your knees before he pushes.

You glance down, taking in the visual of your legs spread, Hoseok between your thighs.

You swallow hard, a new punch of lust searing through your body.

“H-Hoseok,” You stammer out his name and Hoseok gazes right at you, his lips quirked into that same slow smirk, his eyes intent on yours.

“Yes?” He murmurs, leaning down and pressing his lips teasingly to your knee.

“I…” Your voice thins as he inches forward, presses his lips against the soft skin of your hip. You tremble as Hoseok places his hands on the inside of both of your thighs, spreading your legs apart wider.

You can’t think of words, your thoughts fading out into an incorrigible mess of emotions as Hoseok leans in, his words come out softly against your spread cunt.

“Is there something you’re trying to say?” He gazes up at you from between your legs.

Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, the knock between your legs intense and all consuming. Hoseok gazes right at you, dark eyes tracked on your face, his mouth only centimetres away from your pussy. Fuck.

You press your head against the back of the wall, clench your thighs, let out a shaky breath. The word breezes out between your lips.

“Please…”

Hoseok lets out a moan and glances down, staring at your core.

“God,” He mutters softly, “I love hearing you beg.” He swallows before he leans in even closer.

His tongue wetly traces up your slit. The sensation of his tongue against you has you twitching your hips, your hands grip the edge of the porcelain tub. Hoseok’s tongue, tasting all up of your wetness, ends by your clit, you cry out as he hums, pulling himself away.

“Feel good?”

His voice barely registers as his tongue finds your pussy yet again. He presses the flat of his tongue against your clit, tracing down your inner thigh. His tongue is coaxing, flicking slow patterns around your clit. You throb from how good it feels, his mouth on you, Hoseok between your legs letting out soft moans, his shoulders flexing as he reaches up and slides his finger into your walls.

You feel your belly start to coil tightly as Hoseok pushes the entirety of his finger slick into you. His tongue continues to work needy circles around your pussy as he pushes his finger in and out of you.

The rhythm is slow at first, teasing, the rock of his finger fucking you out and the lapping of his tongue against your folds. The sensation of him pushing his finger inside of you has you gasping, your legs stiffening, while the softness of his tongue has your deep-seated urgency unravelling at the seams.

You tip your head back hard against the wall as Hoseok slips another finger inside of you. His thumb darts in to massage teasingly around your clit, his touch is hard and punishing, almost making you cry at the sensitivity before his tongue is there to gloss over the ache.

“I’m going to cum,” You pant out, turning your head to the side so that your cheek is pressed flat against the cool ceramic tile of the bathroom wall.

Hoseok doesn’t stop, he rubs his thumb against your clit harder, works his tongue deeper into you.

The back and forth has your back stiffening desperately, the throb causing your mouth to fall open as the high rides over your body, breaking in euphoric waves as you moan out his name.

“Fuck!” Your voice shakes as Hoseok tilts his head back, his eyes on yours as he sits up, still between your legs.

You let out a strangled, wanton moan, your orgasm washing over your skin as Hoseok chases into you, his lips close to yours when he whispers, “You look so hot when you cum…” He lets out a possessive moan as he kisses you, deep and long before he groans out, “I want to fuck you.”

His words make you moan. Your eyes flutter open as you gaze at him. The glow of your orgasm, and him, hair wet, mouth glossy with your wetness, the lust hungry in his eyes, has something snapping inside of you.

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, “I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.”

Hoseok’s hands grip around your thighs at your words as he tugs you down until you are back in the tub, the water splashing as he kisses you deep and rough, his tongue domineering as his hands squeeze your hips so hard that you can’t help but gasp breathlessly into the kiss.

He breaks away and kisses down your jaw hard, peppering his mouth against your neck and against your pulsepoint. You whine as his lips clamp down at your neck, sucking at the skin there before he jerks his head up, his lips by your ear.

“Turn around.” His demand is spoken lowly and you feel a shaky spin of lust and excitement grip you as you turn around, no longer facing him.

Hoseok immediately crooks his body behind yours, his hands roaming your front, grabbing at your breasts and squeezing hard. His fingers find your nipple and he skims over your hard nipple with his fingertips, teasing out a choked moan for you as he pinches down, his lips at your ear again.

“You missed me fucking you like this?”

He reaches up between your breasts, one hand on your neck, the other shifting to your left breast, stroking your nipple as you nod desperately, breathing out a shaky, fevered yes.

He pulls away, his palm is on your back and you move, shifting until you are bent forward. The tile is hard against your knees and Hoseok lets out a growl, moving so that he is directly behind you.

You feel as if you are unraveling, your body tensed and desperate for him to fuck you. The tip of his cock is right at your slit, and you shake.

“Please,” You moan out, your lean forward, propping your ass up higher in the air, wanting, needing him to fuck you.

“Fuck, I love hearing you beg for it,” Hoseok murmurs in a throaty voice and the words spill out desperate and heavy as you arch your back even more.

“Please fuck me, God, I’ll do anything, please-”

He pushes himself inside of you mid-sentence and you break off into a loud moan, feeling his cock stretch you out, his hips snapping into you hard and fast.

You can hear him groaning in your ear at the feeling of your walls around him, and the fullness of him inside of you as you mewling out in pleasure.

Hoseok doesn’t give you time to fully settle into the feeling of his cock as he slams his hips against yours, snapping his hips upward so that you feel all of him inside of you, you whine at the pain of it, the satisfying hum of pleasure as he groans, right into the shell of your ear.

“You feel so fucking good, God.” He thrusts harder, deeper, and you feel your breath hitch in.

“And you tasted so fucking good.” His voice is rough, hoarse as he keeps fucking into you. He thrusts hard, making your body sway, and the sensation of it has your walls clenching. The waves of pleasure are still faintly ebbing through your body from your earlier orgasm, but the pleasure builds in a new, duller, deeper anticipation at each punishing snap of his hips.

“Hoseok, harder,” You moan out his name, each heavy breath seems louder in the bathroom, the water splashes as he stutters out a moan, thrusting inside of you even deeper.

It feels so good, him crooked around your body, fucking you so hard and so deep that it feels like all you can think about is him. You pant out his name, your voice husky and breathless from the intensity of his cock slamming into you so deep and filling you whole.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make-”

“Cum inside of me, please.” Your breath rushes over his, the feeling tightening in your stomach as Hoseok lets out a groan at your words. He leans forward, tilts his hips and fucks into you harder, ruthlessly, before his body staggers forward as he cums inside of you.

You feel a wave of satisfaction wash over you as Hoseok’s body shakes from the force of his orgasm, his thrusts slowing.

It feels as if the space between the two of you is electric, everything is magnified – the water against your skin, the sounds of Hoseok’s ragged pants, the soft, pleased hum that is fighting it’s way from the back of your throat.

You feel light, like you’re floating, as Hoseok’s body starts forward, his muscles relaxing as he moans into your hair.

“Fuck,” He mutters, he presses his lips against the back of your head. “Wow. I thought I was gonna black out for a second there.”

He pushes himself backwards and you turn until you’re sitting and facing him. Hoseok has a blissed out, relaxed smile on his face as he leans forward.

“Your knees,” He tuts, the porcelain of the tub has left your kneecaps pink and his fingers brush over them in a surprisingly tender gesture.

You both sit like that for a moment, facing one another, your ragged breathing slowing and evening out. You feel thoroughly fucked out and so satisfied that it crackles over your skin.

Hoseok is the first to move, he stirs, pushing off of the tub until he is standing. He reaches above his head and stretches, before he steps out of the tub.

“C’mere,” He glances over at you and outstretches a hand.

You gaze at him, the softness that has settled properly into his face. You feel it bubbling up in your throat, thumping through your veins. You gaze at Hoseok’s outstretched hand, at the snake’s tail that curls around his wrist, and you think about everything that you have tried so hard to fight, to run away from.

You grasp Hoseok’s hand and stand up.

“Remember the time you tried to run away from my place by escaping through the bathroom?” You ask suddenly as you step out of the tub. Hoseok just lets out a wry laugh in response, as you step over until you are facing him.

“Shh,” He mumbles, reaching up and pulling you in until you are in his arms. A tiny gasp escapes your lips and Hoseok leans in closer, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Do I really have that effect on you?” He asks, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he mimics your gasp. He dips his head closer, and you feel the jackhammer drum beat of your heart from being so close to him, from the intensity of his gaze.

“No,” You lie, and Hoseok’s face opens into a proper smile, as bright and golden and warm as the sun.

“Uh huh,” He responds in a dry tone, as he opens the cabinet behind your head. He pulls out a fluffy white towel and wraps it tightly around your shoulders.

He runs a hand through his wet hair as he stands in front of you, his eyes crinkling in the corner as his smile fades.

He stares at you, his face serious, his eyes locked on yours like he is memorizing every single inch of your face, travelling it like a map.

He reaches forward, his hands loop around the small of your back as he pulls you into his arms.

His lips find yours with that same rushed assurance that you’ve come to recognize as Hoseok’s signature. He rushes into it, his mouth chasing into yours hungrily, and you let out an involuntary sigh into his lips. His palms press flat against the curve of your waist, you can feel the heat of his body, the towel still wrapped tightly around your body.

You reach up and cup his face with one palm. You slow the kiss down, right down, until you are kissing him at a pace that is languid and slow. You feel your heart beat louder and faster in your chest, relinquishing in it – the feel of his strong body holding onto you, his lips, the way he matches your rhythm.

His hands flutter up to gently, carefully cup your face in his hands. The kiss deepens, enough to have you sighing and feeling as if your entire world is spinning.

You aren’t thinking anything, you aren’t feeling anything, all you are aware of his him, the boy kissing you sweetly and tenderly, drops of water form his hand sliding down your shoulders, the soft towel wrapped around your skin.

Finally, Hoseok steps away, but he keeps his hands on your cheeks. He gazes down at you, and you feel it - a flutter in your chest that is more akin to a knock than a flutter, a swoon so deep and intense that you can feel it not only weakening your knees, but your shoulders, every muscle in your body.

You expect Hoseok to break away, to run, because that’s what he always has done in the past. Your lips part but Hoseok doesn’t move away this time, instead, he stays close. You can hear it, his breathing, heavy, before he speaks.

“I think I’m…” He swallows, fingers relaxing. “…I....” His voice trails off uncertainly and you lean into him closer, press your lips against his in the softest, lightest of kisses.

Hoseok makes a small sound right at the back of his throat and when you pull away, he keeps you close, his face inches from yours.

“I’ll leave the Kingsnakes.”

For a moment, you don’t speak. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth but Hoseok hurries to speak.

“I… I’ve been thinking about it for a while and it’s time to move on. I don’t want that to be my life anymore.”

You breathe in, lean back on your heels. Hoseok’s face is serious, more serious than you’ve seen it before. You fight to keep your face calm, composed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok responds softly. “I’m sure. I want to be with you.”

Something leaps vibrant and bold in your chest, a glimmer of hope. Hoseok is still staring at you intently, a flash of worry crosses over his face.

“That’s um, that’s not the only reason by the way, there’s a lot of reasons why I want to leave. Just so you know.”

It feels like there is an egg being cracked in your chest, the golden yolk sliding down your belly and seeping into your bones.

“There’s a lot of reasons?”

“Not a lot but a few reasons, yeah.”

“And I’m one of the reasons?”

You are pushing it now, just because you want to hear it one more time, make sure you weren’t imagining it, imagining this-

“Yeah, maybe.”

You smile. Purse your lips teasingly. Step closer, tilting your head up to his.

“Maybe?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften, he softens, his shoulders sink and he reaches up so his fingers grasp the towel draped around your shoulders.

“Uh-huh.”

A burst of butterflies right there in your ribcage where your heart is.

“You’re one of my reasons too.” You whisper. Your lips curve into a smile and Hoseok lets out a tiny sigh, like he’d been holding his breath.

“Cool,” He mumbles, and feel your heart rate start to pick up. You are so close to him that you could lean forward and your lips would brush against his. Words and sentences race through your mind, things that you want to say to him, things you have been holding in.

“Hoseok, I-”

A loud, sharp ring slices through your words. Involuntarily you start a little, jolted out of your stream of thought.

Hoseok glances over at the corner of his bathroom, at his jeans which are crumpled in a small pile.

“One sec.” He murmurs, he steps away from you and picks up his phone. The ring seems even louder in the echo of the bathroom, and you watch as Hoseok glances at the screen. His face crumples a touch, the barest amount before he covers over it neatly.

“I’ve gotta take this.” He murmurs, before he opens the door and is out.

You wrap the towel tighter around your shoulders as you stand in the bathroom and wait. Just when you are about to walk outside, see if he’s okay, the door opens again and Hoseok is standing there. He has a pair of jeans on and a black sweater, his hair damp. You swallow, standing up.

“Is everything okay?”

“I…” His voice trails off and he shakes his head, a disoriented look on his face before his features frost over. The softness from before has dissipated.

“I’ve…” He clears his throat. “I’ve gotta go. Z wants to see me.”

“Z?” You repeat, Hoseok just nods tersely.

“What does he want?”

“I owe him a favour from a long time ago.” Hoseok stares at his hands. “He’s calling in the favour now, apparently.”

“Will-will you be okay?”

Hoseok nods briskly, he seems distracted as he steps towards you.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, no one knows Z better than me. I’ll just go help him and then when that’s done, I’ll tell him that I’m out of the Kingsnakes.”

The worry doesn’t ease and he steps towards you, his voice lowering. “I promise it’ll be okay. Stay here, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

He sweeps you up and presses his lips to the corner of your mouth in an absentminded kiss.

“See you soon.” He murmurs into your hair before he turns and strides away, leaving you alone in his bathroom.

You shiver and draw the towel around you closer, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread unfurling in the pit of your stomach.

Hoseok’s house is silent after he leaves. What felt so cosy before, now feels empty.

You stay up for three hours, perched on his old tattered couch, trying to distract yourself. When the clock strikes two AM, you pull yourself upwards and go to Hoseok’s bedroom. It smells like him – a bed with messy, unmade sheets, sneakers with the laces tangled on the ground. There, in the bin, are several unlit cigarettes. You feel a funny ache in your chest as you crawl into his bed, under the sheets, and will yourself to fall asleep.

You tell yourself to sleep and that when you wake up, Hoseok will be there beside you. But as time passes, you can’t fall asleep, and Hoseok doesn’t return.

Sleep feels impossible tonight.

amynote: ahhh it’s nearly the end...! thank you for reading ♡

#hoseok smut #hoseok angst #bts smut #bts angst #hoseok gang au #bts gang au

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joonbird · 6 years

Text

one year!

Ahhh today is one year since I created this blog and started posting my fanfics/babbling on about bts etc.. what a ride it’s been! I just wanted to say that I have had a really fun year on here and im Grateful. Thank you to the angels who I have developed friendships with, to the gorgeous people who interact with me and send messages/feedback, to those who read my fics. It means a lot, and I love you all very much!!! I’m sending you all trillions of forehead kisses and clinking cyber champagne glasses w you all ♡

(I’ll be making a separate post tomorrow in regards to doing a Muse Asks type of thing sometime next week!)

#lov you allllllll #:) :)#keep ya eyes peeled for the post tomorrow!!!!#(im too sleepy to do it now so this mediocre gif shall have to do!!!!)

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joonbird · 6 years

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Tigerboy

➭ “You, a docile rabbit hybrid, have been waiting a long time to meet the mysterious tiger hybrid, Kim Namjoon.”

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: hybrid AU, smut

wordcount: 9.3k

✾ Zodiac Hybrids Masterlist ✾

❀ 5 / 8 of my oneshot requests ❀

*warnings* : hybrid sex, rough sex, orgasm control, derogatory language during sex, possessive!Namjoon, dom!Namjoon, use of a collar, lovebites/marking, breathplay, hair pulling, mentions of knotting, this is basically porn

You stare with wide eyes and a slackened jaw at your computer screen.

A heady thrill of excitement eases its way through your body, starting from your toes snaking up, up, until you feel a simmering heat everywhere. You are holding your breath in, consumed by a steady, droning staccato- your heartbeat, drumming a fast and desperate rhythm in your veins. You are acutely aware of the shift of your limbs, the tightening of your muscles, the quickening of your breath, the anticipation starting to clamour hot and thick between your legs.

And all of this from an email.

Your bedroom is calm, the lamp you keep on your bedside table casting slopes of light against your alabaster walls. The stillness of the evening dulls everything around you. The only decipherable noise is the quiet hum of your computer, and the hitch as you release your breath, try and relax your clenched thighs.

Once you feel a touch more composed, your lift your eyes and scan through the email again.

Your composure unravels, your breath comes spilling out in a desperate pant.

Your shoulders fold forwards as you squeeze your thighs together involuntarily, letting out a tiny, distinctly animal whimper. Your hands ball up into tight fists, you knead them against your heat in an effort to relieve some of the ache.

Your teeth nibble down hard onto your bottom lip until you draw blood. The coppery taste lingers on your tongue as you unfurl your fingers, hovering over the keyboard to concoct a response that is the perfect blend of polite and suggestive.

Your head is swimming, yes, but it is your body that is utterly submerged in a viscous, inescapable kind of heat.

Finally, finally, you are going to meet the Tiger.

-Two Years Ago-

You lift the porcelain cup, pressing it against your mouth. It is cool on your swollen lips, you wince a little as the aroma fills your nose. The tea in front of you is fragrant, ancient five spice, infused with black pepper and cardamom. It is bitter and intense, and your stomach curls into a knot.

“Drink up, would you?”

Your head snaps up, you roll your eyes. A habitual response, of sorts.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Laelia.”

Your friend just beams at you, unbothered as she flops down in front of you. She is a mess of tangled limbs, strands of hair falling out of its precarious updo. Laelia shrugs, fingernails scratching at a spot on her neck.

“The tea will help with the aftermath, no need to be such a bitch.”

She peppers her words with a sunny smile and you just grumble in response. Reluctantly, you draw the cup closer to you and a take a long sip of the hot liquid. It burns, but it does ease the dull ache in your lower body and the rawness emanating between your legs.

“So,” She begins, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial tone. “How was he?”

You tilt your head to one side, thinking back to the events of the night prior.

Lips trailing down your skin, a rough tongue lapping fervently at your heat. A man who was all eager eyes and needy whines, one for each thrust and snap of his hips into yours.

A flash of warmth travels through your body at the memory.

“It was good,” You mumble, “The knotting really fucking hurt though.”

Laelia cackles loudly in response, reaching over to poke at your ribs.

“I’m so proud of my girl finally getting laid,” She sighs affectionately, “Your first time.” She clasps her hands together and for a moment you swear there are God actual tears misting in her eyes. Her face wrinkles into the slightest of frowns. “Even if it was with the Dog, of all of them…”

You suppress a smile at her dismissive tone.

“Hey, he was… he was good.”

He was. He was as good as you could ask for- especially given it was your first time. He was messy with how he handled you, sloppy with his thrusts and needy with how he had pawed at your breasts and your waist…. and, you muse to yourself, it had been good. Really fucking good.

“Zodiac sex,” Laelia sighs wistfully, stroking the air in front of her chin like she’s caressing an imaginary beard, “To be honest with you, ‘good’ is an understatement. Zodiac sex almost makes for permanently giving up human dick.”

You let out a noncommittal huff in response.

“Alas, such is the life of a Zodiac animal,” Laelia chirps, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Yep.” You mutter.

You happen to be one of Twelve people in the world infused with the spirit and soul of a different Zodiac animal. Due to this, you aren’t entirely human – while you look like any other mortal to the human eye, you have physical differences. All of your senses are finely sharpened, far beyond the capacity of a human’s. Your strength and endurance is that of an animal’s. Your pulse races at double speed, your internal organs are larger and stronger.

Different members of the Zodiac have heightened skills that align to their respective Zodiac animals - for you, it’s your nearly photographic memory- like that of a rabbit’s. All different side effects of having Zodiac animal blood run through your veins.

You aren’t entirely sure why you were chosen to inhabit the soul of a Zodiac animal. Myth says that it is in your blood because it was always fated to be, written in the stars and spoken aloud by the moon.

Whatever the reason, at the end of the day- your soul is split in two fragments. One half yours, the other half your ancestor’s – the Rabbit.

Twelve Zodiac animals, twelve humans. Even though you and the other eleven are scattered across the world, you are destined to one day come together. You are intuitively connected, as if there are thousands of intricate and unbreakable ties that bind the Twelve together.

It is an odd sense of comfort, knowing that even in your moments of loneliness and isolation – there are eleven other souls in the world who feel the same way you do. That your bizarre gene map isn’t a single anomaly, but one split into twelve.

The Zodiac animal that dwelled within you is both a blood blessing and a blood curse.

A blood blessing because you have experienced first hand the intensity and depth of the Zodiac hybrid connection. After all, it was how you and Laelia had met, years ago – crossed paths, the Rabbit and the Monkey frozen in place as they felt something inside of them click, like cogs shifting into gear. That harmonious click was a feeling that humans couldn’t feel, would never feel.

However, it was also a blood curse. You are not able to have sex with a human being, and if you are to do so – you will revert into your animal form. It is a glass wall of cruelty, designed to keep the Zodiac members and humankind apart, constructed to keep the Twelve together.

You take another sip of your tea, eyeing your friend thoughtfully.

“So… who did you have your first time with, Laelia?”

It’s a topic she has carefully dodged for the last few years, and the question catches her off guard. Her eyes widen a fraction, she uncrosses and crosses her legs. Finally, she lets out a soft sigh.

“My first time?”

“Uh huh.”

“I… well… my first time was with the Tiger.”

The moment she says the words, something shifts in the air between you. Laelia’s lips curve carefully around the word, his name. Her pupils dilate, she swallows hard. She is aroused, you can smell it in the air. Her body twitches, and you can feel curiosity tug deep and dark in your belly.

“The tiger?”

The word is foreign on your tongue, and she just nods slowly.

“He’s…” Her eyes flash, you watch her bottom lip quiver, her tongue darting out to lick it. Your close scrutiny doesn’t miss any detail and you wonder who exactly the Tiger is, for her to be reacting so strongly from the mention of his name alone.

“He’s like no one else in the Zodiac.” She says finally. “Trust me.”

Her eyes bore into yours and for once there is no trace of laughter on her lips, a lustful sigh left in its place. You stare at her and wonder how it feels, to have lips parted, eyes glossy, just from the mere mention of a creature’s name.

“How so?” You ask curiously, and Laelia gives you a hard stare. You must pass whatever assessment she’s giving you, because she relents with a sigh.

“Every Zodiac animal I’ve met,” She begins, “All are trying so hard to channel their human side, you know? Blend in with the rest of the world. The Ox, for example, is always trying to look for a way to change who he is so he can be with the human he loves.” Laelia rolls her eyes at that, you keep your gaze on her.

You know that your friend, ever the nomadic traveller, has met most members of the Zodiac. You, on the other hand, have met two - the lively and reckless Monkey, who is sitting in front of you now, and the sweet and naive Dog, who had you wrapped around him yesterday.

“...They’re all trying to figure it out. Figure themselves out. But not the Tiger. The Tiger knows who he is. The Tiger understands who he is.” Her voice quivers, “He’s more animal than human.”

You feel a tingle in between your legs, it weaves in through the soreness of last night’s activity and you wince. Laelia doesn’t notice, letting out a barely audible sigh.

“The motherfucking Tiger,” She murmurs, shaking her head hard and letting out a high pitched laugh. The conversation is over, evident by the finality in her tone and the return of her signature giggle.

However, you can hear what she’s really thinking – the way her pulse has picked up even more, the thrum over her skin, the tinged pink in her cheeks.

“The Tiger,” You echo, as you gaze down at your tea, the peppery scent filling your nostrils as you feel an intrigued shiver work its way up your spine.

-Today-

You bite your lip nervously, lacing your fingers together and wringing your hands out. You stare down at the half full cup of black tea in front of you, trying to settle your frayed nerves.

You are seated in a small coffee shop, nice and dimly lit with soft jazzy hiphop playing in the background. It was the Tiger’s recommendation, a name and location dropped in an email sent two days ago.

Your senses, more finely tuned than a human’s, can pick up on even the most miniscule of sounds – the scrape of chair legs against the floor, the sound of someone opening the trashcan at the back of the store, snippets of conversation around you. It feels like all of your sense are on alert, each new person that walks through the door your eyes are locked on, trying to figure out if it is him.

Where is he? You are impatient. You try and reason with yourself that you know nothing about the elusive Tiger, that what you think you want from him may just all be a concoction of your imagination. You tell yourself to relax, but no matter what, you can’t. You are on edge, as if your body knows something your mind doesn’t.

Then, you freeze.

The muscles in your body lock, the scent wrapping around you. It is like smoke, enveloping you in a dark huskiness as you glance up towards the door.

He’s here.

Your eyes meet his. His are like amber, flecks of gold and tangerine orange. They don’t give anything away as he strolls towards you, hands in pockets. He is wearing a black sweater, thick cashmere that gently hugs his long frame. He is taller than you expected, long legs and a set jaw and there, nestled around his neck is a black choker. It is leather, and right in the centre is a silver ring that glints where it sits nestled in between his collarbones.

You feel something inside of you simmer, like a flame licking at driftwood, as he approaches.

He keeps his eyes on yours the entire time, you are locked in his stare until he is right in front of you.

He stands above you, your head tilted up as finally he smiles, a flicker of his lips.

“The Rabbit, I take it?”

His voice is smooth, deep, it caresses you. He doesn’t wait for a response, pulling out the chair opposite you to sit down.

Closer, you can smell him – and there it is, that pull, that white hot and icy cold feeling consuming you whole, the feeling you only get with other Zodiac spirits.

“I’m Kim Namjoon,” He continues, and his eyes fall onto your lips. You feel your throat go dry because he is giving you an appraising stare, his eyes making no attempt to hide how he is gazing over your entire body. Like you are prey in front of him, waiting to be eaten.

“…The Tiger.”

He reaches out a hand and you grasp it, his thumb caresses the back of your hand. On his fingers are several silver rings. Your eyes fall on his hands – long slender fingers and the sudden thought of those fingers being knuckle deep inside your heat flits through your mind.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

His voice cuts through your thoughts and you snap backwards, plucked out of your thoughts. Your body flushes with heat.

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you too,” You respond, and you clear your throat.

A slight silence falls between the pair of you, Namjoon’s eyes are on yours, assessing you carefully. He is controlled, you realize – reading the situation and reading you, his eyes tracking every movement like a predator stalking his prey. His eyes rake from your waist up to your breasts, then to your lips. You see a muscle in his jaw twitch, you notice the curl of his fingers into a fist, hear him swallow.

“So why did you email me?” You ask, your voice a touch breathless. He smirks a little at your words, leans back on his chair. The silver ring around his neck swings with his movement.

“Because I wanted to get to know you. The Tiger wanted to get to know the Rabbit,” He says simply, lightly, before his gaze darkens a touch. “And I like getting what I want.”

His tone is thickened with honey and you squeeze your thighs together.

“Oh,” You respond, and Namjoon’s smile widens, you feel a flutter deep in your belly, a prickle work its way over your skin. Animal instinct, telling you both to run but also to go closer, danger and lust entwining into a fine skin over your body.

“Oh,” He echoes lightly, before he leans closer. You can feel it, the excruciating thud between your thighs, you squeeze your core in an attempt to relieve the ache but it only worsens.

Namjoon’s eyes flash and you wonder if he can sense it, how tensely your thighs are clamped together, if he can smell the sloppy wetness of your cunt.

“Are you going to give me what I want?”

His fingers reach up, skim over the strap of leather around his neck, then over his jaw to his lips.

Your eyes hone in on them, full lips and you feel a shuddery exhale escape your lungs. You are locked in place, a rabbit caught in headlights, so to speak.

Paralyzed by Kim Namjoon and the tenseness in your body, the thud deep in your pussy, the way the leather choker shifts with the bob of his Adams apple.

“Yes.”

Namjoon lives in a spacious apartment across the road from the coffee shop. His apartment is unexpectedly charming, filled with intriactely carved furniture pieces, and modern abstract paintings. Most of all though, you notice the piles of books messily scattered on various surfaces.

You barely know anything about Namjoon, what he does or who he is. You know nothing beyond the feline blood that flows in his veins. In fact, nobody in the Zodiac really knows anything about the elusive Tiger, he had always been known for staying hidden in the shadows.

You gaze over at him now; he is standing on the opposite end of his living room. His fingers are deftly taking off the heavy wrist that adorns his wrist. His eyes flicker up as soon as you focus your attention on him, he meets your stare directly with one of his own.

You can pick out in each of his movements exactly how poised he is. Even as he stands lazily awry in the comfort of his own home, he is ready to strike at any moment, always alert, constantly aware.

A product of the Tiger dwelling in him, you suppose.

“Your home is really nice.” You stammer out. Namjoon’s lips quirk upwards in response, places his watch down on a nearby table.

“Thank you,” He murmurs, walking towards you. Each step he takes is purposeful, his eyes tracking the way you shift your weight from hip to hip.

His gaze is heavy and you bask in it, feeling a slow throb beginning to ebb inside of you. There is a familiar tug deep in your stomach, a stirring so deeply embedded that it feels as if it is bouncing through your bones. A gravitational pull that you only ever get when you are in the presence of another Zodiac member. However, mingled in with that feeling is something else – a buzz of longing, a wave of intensity, and you know that is due to Namjoon and Namjoon alone.

He is nearly in front of you, and you are hyperaware of each miniscule twitch of his lips, the way he swallows thickly. You can hear the grind of his sharp teeth, the hum of tension he lets out. You can smell the arousal in the air, taste the pure, animalistic want coursing between the two of you.

Your body aches, and suddenly you are thinking about how badly you want his body crooked around yours, his strong hands gripping at the flesh of your waist. You want nothing more than to feel the waves of intent rolling off of him right now. You are dying to be touched, after so many years of not being touched at all, save for a few encounters with different members of the Zodiac.

The thought of it, finally receiving release, of having him inside of you, his hands possessively gliding over your skin, voice growling in your ear… your body shudders in lust.

Namjoon is in front of you now. He leans in, tilts his head towards yours and tips your chin up so that you are facing him. Your lips are parted, each breath ragged with your want.

“Little Rabbit,” He murmurs, his voice is low and soft but you can hear the greediness in his words. “I want to claim you as mine.”

Your breath hooks in your throat, the sound of your needy agreement has Namjoon letting out a snarl.

He spins you around so that your stomach is pressed against the wall of his living room, he grasps your cotton shirtdress in his hands and tears it from collar to hem, muscles flexing as he tears the fabric as if it were a piece of tissue paper. The destroyed fabric flutters to the floor and you let out a soft gasp.

The Zodiac members are strong, stronger than the average human, but Namjoon is a different beast entirely.

He lets out a primal hum, two of his fingers pressing flat at the top of your spine. He slowly brushes the hair away, exposing the nape of your neck, you shiver at the sensation of his skin on yours.

“No panties,” He comments in a voice that is like molten velvet, the only giveaway is the layer of strain that only your ears can pick up on.

“And why is that?” Namjoon’s fingers continue canvassing down your back, he keeps his other palm splayed on the wall beside your head, pinning you in place. You let out a tiny whimper, shifting your hips desperately. The dull throb between your legs is getting harder, filling you with a feverish urgency.

“Because I was meeting you,” You whisper out. Namjoon just clicks his tongue, his fingers are now working slow, teasing patterns into your lower back.

“So, because you were meeting me, you thought it would be a good idea to wear no panties?” His voice dips lower, his fingers reach the top of the curve of your ass.

You stiffen in anticipation as his fingers trail down until they hover right above your pussy. You are all too aware of how wet you are, and you let out a whine at his words.

“Y-yes-”

“Hasn’t anyone ever taught you about the virtue of patience?” He asks sweetly, his fingers are so close that you can hardly think straight. “Or are you always in a rush, little rabbit?”

You can barely form a response, his fingers are now tracing slow, light strokes around your wet slit, dancing around the inner apex of your thighs. The throb between your legs is more like a heavy knock, you feel like you are drunk off of the raging lust burning through your entire body.

“It’s because you want me to put my fingers straight inside of you, isn’t it? You want to get my rings all covered in your wetness? I saw you looking at them earlier.”

His voice is hypnotic and teasing and you just nod, rolling your hips upward in an attempt to be closer to the tease of his fingers.

“Yes, Namjoon I-”

“Don’t move.” Namjoon snarls suddenly, you freeze in place at his command. Your body protests, you want to shift your hips until they collide with his fingers, but the authority in his voice stops you. Your legs tremble. Your pussy aches.

“Tell me,” Namjoon asks, “What exactly were you thinking when you were staring at my hands earlier?”

You let out a shuddery exhale. “I… I was thinking about how much I wanted your fingers inside of me.”

“Mm.” Namjoon’s voice is husky, he moves his palm from the wall to your collarbones. He runs his fingers over them, then down to your sides. He cups your waist, before he glides up to find your breast.

This time, he doesn’t tease – his fingers immediately find your hard nipple and he flicks over it with his fingers.

Then again, this time rolling it between his fingertips and letting go after a hard pinch.

You moan loudly in response, your body is spilling over with fever.

“It’s so easy to get you worked up,” Namjoon chuckles, “Tell me more about what you were thinking.”

“I… I was thinking about how I want you to fuck me out with your fingers, and how I want you to mount me and fill me up with, um, with-”

“With?”

Namjoon’s voice darkens, he moves closer so that his mouth is by your ear. His fingers are still toying with your nipple, in long, drawn out strokes.

You want to desperately to move, his other hand still stroking lazy circles around your soaking wet slit.

You ache from head to toe.

“…Fill me up with your cum.” The words spill out of your lips breathlessly, and Namjoon hums against your ear. Your knees weaken at the feeling of his breath against your neck.

“Such a good, needy bitch.” He sighs. “Such a pretty, tight little bunny slut.”

“Yes,” You cry out in response, the ache between your legs is so deep that you are clenching and relaxing your pussy in an attempt to relieve the pressure. You are impatient, desperate, and Namjoon is relishing it, enjoying the wriggle of your hips and the soft whines that escape you.

His lips suck against your earlobe, tracing down to the dip of your neck. You can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, the gnawing ache between your legs is almost unbearable.

And then, with a growl against the nape of your neck, Namjoon slips two fingers inside of you.

You are wet enough for him to slide in knuckle deep without any resistance. The sudden sensation of him stretching out your tight pussy has your hips bucking backwards, desperate to feel more, your ass pressing against him in desperation.

You can feel his crotch behind you, his hard cock straining against his pants. You rut against him desperately.

Namjoon lets out a low rumble, he reaches up and laces his fingers through your hair, tugging your head, hard, so that your cheek is pressed against the wall.

It is cool beneath your skin and you feel a thrill jolt up hard and fast through your spine as he tugs again at your hair. Your scalp stings and your eyes flicker sideways to see Namjoon staring at you with a hungry, lustful smile.

“Did I say you could move?”

You feel something heavy stir in your belly, anchored deep inside of you as he pushes his two fingers inside of you even deeper.

You can feel it, the edges of the rings on his fingers inside of you, the obscene sounds of your wetness, the feeling of him wrapping your hair nice and tightly around his fist.

You are full of it, a tightly stitched together yearning. A hunger that can only be satisfied by him, and him alone. A primal desperation fills you whole as he begins to slide his fingers in and out of you.

You are so turned on that you can feel it in every cell of your body. Your hyperaware senses feel everything tenfold, your skin is more sensitive, your clit feels everything more intensely.

Namjoon reaches up with his thumb and massages it deeper against your clit, and you wince at the sharpness of pleasure his touch induces.

You force yourself not to move even though all you want to do is fuck yourself against his hand, you deny the animalistic desire coursing through your veins. You are being undone by the fucking of Namjoon’s silver ridged fingers in and out of you, and his thumb, roughly massaging against your clit and causing you to gasp out cries of pleasure, only unravels you faster.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Namjoon brings his face closer to you, your cheek is still pressed against one wall, hair entangled in his free hand.

“I like doing this,” He continues, “Having a beautiful woman’s cunt wrapped around my fingers, hearing her beg out my name.” He lets out a soft growl, “Of course, I can’t fuck the humans. But I can make them beg for me until their voices are dry.”

He leans even closer, his lips are by your ear and he crooks his fingers while they are inside of you. Your insides curl, your body tenses as it begins to climb.

You let out a loud whine, a pant of his name, as the pleasure begins to build and unfurl inside of you. All you can feel is a clamouring, hungry anticipation because you are so close.

“I can’t fuck the humans but I can fuck you, can’t i? I can fill you up to the brim with my cum and make sure every human and every animal can smell me and only me inside of you. Make it so that you are all mine, and I’m all yours… does that sound like something you want?”

You cry out in affirmation, Namjoon tugs harder against your hair and presses his thumb against your clit again, it elicits a cry from your lips. You want to grind against him so badly, he is taking you to the edge so fucking slowly that your head spins, every muscle is locks in eagerness.

“Are you going to cum around my fingers?”

“Yes, I… I’m c-close-”

“You’re not to cum until I tell you to. If you do, then I won’t give you any more. Is that understood?” Namjoon’s voice slices through yours, and you feel your thighs tremble at the command in his words. It turns you on more than you care to admit, your pussy throbs at the realization that you aren’t going to have your release quite yet.

“Y-yes, but I want it Namjoon, I want it so badly, please-”

“You are only allowed to cum when you show me what an obedient, good girl you are.”

You let out a guttural whine at his words, your pussy tightens and clenches and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I want to cum Namjoon, please, God, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll-“

The messy pleas fall from your lips and Namjoon hisses in, tugs harder against your hair and pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Namjoon please-” He pulls his fingers out of you, and you let out a desperate mewl at the absence of his fingers.

“What did I say earlier?”

You let out a shaky breath, “That I’m yours-”

“And have I said you can cum yet?”

“N-n-no-”

His thumb suddenly strokes a confident swipe up your slit, pressing hard and fast repeatedly against your clit before his movements slow into long, sensuous strokes. You let out a suppressed cry of pleasure, feeling the orgasm climbing yet again, your jaw clenched as you try to resist it.

The ecstasy of your orgasm is so fucking close that you can taste it in the air.

Namjoon murmurs against your neck, pulls his fingers out and you almost collapse forward, so full of want that you wonder if you are going to explode.

“Turn around.” He lets go of your hair and steps away from you, you are trembling as you turn and rest your back against the wall.

You are naked, and Namjoon stands in front of you, he is still dressed in his cashmere sweater and black jeans. He reaches behind his head, tugs off the sweater and t-shirt in one smooth motion to reveal his chest.

He is lean, his muscles taut and sloping under his smooth skin. You swallow hard, and Namjoon keeps his eyes intent on your face.

“So, you must touch yourself a lot,” Namjoon begins, his voice undeniably akin to a purr, a tiger’s purr. “Us Zodiac animals have a very high sex drive, don’t we?”

You nod, your eyes locked on Namjoon as he unzips his jeans. You can see the strain of his hard cock underneath the black denim, you swallow hard. Your cunt is still aching, desperate to reach climax after being so close.

“I do, I touch myself a lot.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow quirks upwards, “With those pretty fingers of yours?”

“Yes, or a vibrator.”

“Ah.” His eyes light up, his voice lowers in a deeper, darker purr. “And what do you usually think about when you’re fucking yourself with a vibrator?”

He pulls off his jeans, exposing his thighs – taut muscle, hips that have two lines that disappear underneath the band of his underwear.

He pulls down his underwear too, his eyes challengingly on yours. He is a big cock, expected from an animal of a Zodiac, but this is something else entirely – he is so thick that you wonder what it will feel like, stuffing you full. A fresh tremor of animal arousal races over your skin.

“I think about getting fucked by the Zodiac,” You admit.

“About getting fucked by me?” Namjoon asks.

“Yes,” You confess. Your eyes fall on Namjoon’s cock, it sits up straight, erect, the tip moist with precum. Your mouth waters, you feel the knock throb deeper and harder between your legs.

“From now on, are you going to think about me and only me when you fuck that pretty cunt against a vibrator?” He asks, a slight edge to his voice. A dangerous lilt to his purr.

“Y-yes,” You whine almost unintelligibly, a satisfied smile melts over Namjoon’s features. You think to yourself that like this, muscles tensed and a possessive glint in his eyes, Namjoon truly is the embodiment of a tiger.

“Can I put this on you?” He asks suddenly, his fingers fluttering up to brush against the leather choker around his neck.

You nod, feeling a flurry of excitement in your belly. He deftly undoes the strap of his leather choker, stepping towards you as he carefully fastens it around your neck.

It is heavier than you expected, the leather supple against your skin, the silver ring resting between your collarbones. Namjoon stays close to you, his eyes latched on the leather around your neck. His lips are parted, and his eyes flash with arousal.

“So pretty,” He murmurs, his fingers trailing up from the collar to your parted lips. His thumb caresses your bottom lip, he places a finger in between your lips and you suck down on its length obediently. “Such a good slut for me.” He groans, and a fresh rush of lust races through your veins.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asks softly.

You nod frantically, you tilt your head up to him. “Please, please-”

“How badly?”

“So badly, more than anything, please Namjoon-”

“Turn around,” He demands suddenly, his command harsh and unrelenting.

You immediately turn, as soon as your back is facing him, his fingers grasp at your hips. They dig in hard, you let out a cry at the feeling of it as his hand reaches in between your bodies, his thumb roughly teasing at your clit.

You let out a shaky moan, pressing against him. You are acutely aware of the throb between your legs as he positions the tip of his cock against your wet entrance.

Your breath sucks in desperately as his pants grow louder, his fingers clawing into your skin. He moves with such strength and speed that it only turns you on more, heightens your arousal.

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk straight.” He snarls, reaching up wrapping his hand around your hair, tugging until your head tilts back with a gasp. “I’m going to claim you and make you mine.”

You let out a wanton moan as he closes the space between your upper bodies, his lips latching onto your neck.

He bites down hard onto the sensitive skin there, the mixture of pleasure and pain flows through your body as he sucks down hard on your skin. He is marking you, and raw, instinctual pleasure causes you to moan even louder. His cock is still teasing at your entrance, so close to being inside of you that you moan louder.

“Do you know how fucking hot this looks on you?” He murmurs, tugging on the choker around your neck. He hums as his fingers skim over your neck, under your jaw, where he has given you mottled lovebites.

“Please Namjoon,” You pant out, flinching as he pulls his mouth away from your neck, “Please fuck me.”

Whatever resolve Namjoon had earlier crumbles. His hips snap, and with a sloppy, intense thrust, he is inside of you.

You let out a cry at the sensation of him stretching your walls – you need a moment to adjust to his thickness and length, a moment Namjoon doesn’t lend you.

He immediately starts thrusting into you, his hands locking tight around your wrist so that you are pinned in place. Your cry dissolves into a moan of pleasure as you adjust to the feeling of him fucking you.

Your moans interweave with his and for a moment you are utterly lost in the sounds of his groans and whines, the hard, domineering thrusts of his cock deep into you, the slaps of skin and the burn around your wrists.

You haven’t been entered in such a long time, and the feeling of being filled up by Namjoon has you almost falling apart. You can feel every inch of him, feel the ruthless impact of each one of his ministrations, and the sheer power behind each of his thrusts has you an absolute mess.

You are soaking wet, and the obscene sounds of your cunt fill the space surrounding you. It’s as if the sounds spur Namjoon on as he growls louder, letting go of one wrist to wrap his fingers around the base of your neck.

You feel your core coil in arousal at the presence of his hand, weighty, at the base of your neck, his fingers locking around the metal ring on the collar.

“Such a good needy slut for me,” Namjoon murmurs, and you let out a moan, the vibrations of your voice against his palm as he tightens his grip. You let out a choked sound of pleasure as he fucks into you harder, slowing the pace enough to roll his hips up and ensure every inch of him is buried deep within you.

The heady sensation of his fingers locked around your neck, his other hand around your wrist, his hips snapping at a rhythmic pace into you… it has you letting out filthy sounds and pleading cries of his name.

“More,” You beg out, and Namjoon lets out a groan, thrusting into you harder. It makes you wince, you are getting closer, excitement and anticipation coiling in your belly.

“Your cunt is so fucking wet for me,” Namjoon grunts, “It feels so fucking good.” He keeps his fingers around your throat and you moan louder.

You are frantic, desperate, feeling your orgasm climb. It is rolling over you in waves, you can feel a heavy throb deep in your pussy and your entire body is hot and cold.

You are writhing under Namjoon’s body now, he doesn’t tire – if anything, it’s as if you losing control beneath him only turns him on more, he thrusts deeper and harder, your eyes sting and you feel yourself on the brink of climax.

His hand tightens, your vision blurs, his cock hits that spot inside of you and you let out a desperate cry.

“I’m going to-”

He stops suddenly, his hands carding down to your hips, completely still. The absence has you panting urgently for air, a touch bewildered as his lips touch your ear.

“You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

His voice, husky and fevered and possessive, has something dark and fiery igniting inside of you. You are so aroused that you can feel it crackling over your skin, desperate for him to be inside of you again.

“Yes!” You cry out brokenly.

“Yes what?” He demands in a low tone and you blush with desperation, buck your hips against his, to no avail.

“Yes Master,” The words comes rushing out and with that, Namjoon thrusts again and you fucking collapse.

Pleasure is rolling off of you in waves, you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to withhold how damn good it feels.

Namjoon slows his thrusts enough, grinding back into you with thrusts that match each wave and throb of your orgasm. He can sense the pace of each orgasm that rides through your body, and with each careful thrust he prolongs the last, until you have cum multiple times.

Your entire body is tingling, and you lean your head back, blissed out as a thoroughly fucked moan escapes your throat.

“Such a good girl,” Namjoon praises, and you shiver. “Can you take more for me?”

You glance behind you to see Namjoon gazing at you, sweaty and wild-eyed, a hungry look on his face as he drinks you in, having basked in watching you cum around him.

“Y-yes,” You stammer faintly, you are absolutely wrecked with bliss and Namjoon hums in approval as he reaches down in front of you, his fingers finding your clit.

You let out a strangled cry as he begins to rub against your swollen, sensitive clit in circular motions.

“You still want more, don’t you?” He cooes in your ear, his voice husky and sweet, a contrast to the filthy praises that are coming forth from his lips. “SUch a needy fucking slut for my cock. What, little Rabbit hasn’t been fucked in a while?”

You splutter out in response, the feeling of him against your clit immense. He starts to slowly slide in and out of you, his hands digging into your hips, fingernails clawing at your thighs.

“Who was the last person who got to fuck into your sweet little cunt?”

You bite back a whimper as he starts to thrust into you harder.

“Th-the Ox-”

“The Ox? Did you like that? Or do you like this?”

He emphasizes his words with a hard, punishing snap of his hips and you fold forwards with a whine of pleasure. He angles his thrusts to hit your spot and your insides coil up tightly with a white hot sear of pleasure.

“This, this, I like this, oh my God, I’m yours Namjoon, fuck-”

Namjoon hums in satisfaction, tilting his hips upwards and fucking into you so hard and fast that you can feel it ricocheting through your body. You are still trembling from your orgasms, but somehow he pulls something even deeper out of you and you feel your back arch, stiffening as he picks up the pace even more.

Each push of his cock enters you deeper, harder, sending a satisfying ache reverberating through your core. He is growling in earnest now, deep, low pitched sounds of arousal, mingled with the occasional “Fucking hell”, and “Take it like a good girl.” You feel your breath start to pitch inwards, as yet another orgasm rides over you, this one softer and sweeter and dulled around the edges.

Still, your pussy tightens and the feeling of it has Namjoon letting out a particularly loud grunt as he thrusts hard and deep inside of you.

“Fuck,” He bites the word out, his body shakes, he punches the wall with a loud growl as he reaches climax, filling you with his cum.

You stay crooked in his body, as he rides out his orgasm and slowly pulls out of you.

His cum drips out, you are so full of it, full of him.

Your thighs ache and you feel so thoroughly used, so completely fucked out, that all you can do is moan.

Your body slumps forward as you let out a staggered sigh. It feels as if pleasure and relief are washing over your body in waves.

Namjoon is tired too, you can hear his pants for breath as he holds himself up with two palms flat against the wall, his legs trembling in exertion. After a beat of quiet, he stands up straight, turning and scooping you up in his arms.

He heads straight to a room that you assume is his bedroom, placing you delicately on top of the sheets.

You let out a soft moan at the softness of the mattress beneath you, and Namjoon carefully brushes the sweaty hair away from your face.

“How do you feel?”

His voice is soothing, and a delirious smile melts across your face.

“Amazing.”

“Good. I feel amazing too.”

Your eyes are closed, but you can sense Namjoon’s smile as he relaxes beside you. You don’t touch, instead, you both lie there, breathing in deeply.

“Rest here for a few hours.” He murmurs, “It’s important to recover.”

You nod, knowing that your body is going to be sore tomorrow. Namjoon hadn’t knotted inside of you, but still, you know that you are going to find it difficult to walk come morning. The thought alone has a faint tremour of arousal flitting through your belly.

Namjoon reaches over, his fingers nestle into your hair and comb through your scalp carefully. The feeling sends soft shivers of comfort down your back, you smile at the sensations of it. His movements aren’t like before, harsh and dominant – instead, he is surprisingly tender.

“You felt very good,” Namjoon says suddenly. “Your… your body. It felt…” Your eyes flutter open, you crane your head to the side. He is lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other still stroking your hair. His eyes are closed, and he looks serene, eyelashes fluttering with each contented breath.

He doesn’t finish his sentence and you can’t help the small burst of pride that sings through your chest.

“It did?”

He nods. “If Seokjin knew about how good you felt, he’d want you in an instant.”

“…Seokjin?”

“The Horse.”

Namjoon opens his eyes and smiles at you. “Although to be quite honest, I don’t want to share you with him. Although it would be fun.” He lets out a soft, throaty chuckle. “Still… I’d rather keep you all to myself.”

You let out a tired laugh and after a moment, Namjoon joins in. Your laughter fades, and you breathe in deeply.

Your body feels warm and elastic, content. Sore, yes – but you feel a glow and a warmth that you have never felt before.

Namjoon suddenly shifts in place, hoisting himself upwards so that he is hovering above you. You blink up at him, he has a soft expression on his face as he leans in and nuzzles against your cheek, pressing his lips to your ear once, and then again, this time against your cheek. You let out a sigh, your body filling with warmth at the affectionate, instinctive gesture.

“Thank you.” He murmurs against your ear before he hoists himself up again, returning to his place beside you on the bed.

He lets out a loud yawn and you find yourself joining in, suddenly fatigued. You drift to sleep feeling content, Namjoon’s hand still curved intimately around your head, fingers laced in your hair.

The wind is brisk against your skin as you step out of Namjoon’s apartment block a few hours later, still a touch dazed from both your consecutive orgasms and the two hour nap.

The cool kiss of the breeze pulls you out of your pleasure induced haze. The slight buzz humming through your body and the cum still dripping from your swollen cunt are constant reminders of the evening you shared with Namjoon.

He’s like no one else in the Zodiac.

The words float back into your thoughts. You wonder idly as you walk down the street if you are going to see him again, Kim Namjoon, with golden eyes and the blood of the Tiger.

Your phone beeps, dragging you out of your thoughts. Your ears prick as you fish it out of your clutch, checking the screen.

“One new email?” Your murmur aloud, unlocking your phone.

You stop in place, twisting your body sideways so that you are facing one of the building windows opposite you.

You catch sight of your reflection – widened, fucked out eyes and glossy, swollen lips. Your gaze lands on your neck, which is mottled with bites and bruises… and adorned with Namjoon’s leather choker.

Your fingers brush over the silver ring.

Even now, aching and sore from how hard Namjoon had fucked into you, the thought of meeting the Tiger again has your blood racing.

A slight smile fights at the corner of your lips as you pull out your phone and type out a response.

I look forward to meeting you again too.

amynote: i borrowed inspiration for the the zodiac hybrid ‘turning into the animal after a specific action from the opposite sex of a non-zodiac member’ from the manga Fruits Basket. (Also!! In this universe all of BTS are part of the Zodiac Twelve. I’ll leave you to guess who is who!) + Thank you to those who voted for the request. I had a lot of fun writing this lil piece! ♡

#namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon hybrid au #bts hybrid au #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon scenarios

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joonbird · 6 years

Text

Fire & Desire | 3

➭ “Kim Seokjin is everything you don’t want in a man. Cocky, full of himself and oh so annoying. And that’s what makes him the perfect fuck buddy. Because it’s not like you could ever see him as anything more than a heartless player… right?”

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre: smut, fuckboy!jin

wordcount: 8k

part one | two | three

*warnings: dom!jin, hair pulling, lovebites, derogatory dirty talk, sex in a semi-public place, voyeurism, light edging

“This… is your son?” You turn to your boss, William Hong.

Your mouth dries up, your heart quickens in your chest. You glance over at Seokjin, whose usual cocky expression has slipped under his father’s steely gaze.

William Hong doesn’t miss the perceptible shift between the three of you, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He raises one steely grey eyebrow and nods, a curt, brisk nod.

“Yes, it is. This is Seokjin. My son…” He begins, and your eyes flicker back up to meet Jin’s. You are half expecting to see him staring at you with that signature overconfident smirk dancing on his lips, an eyebrow quirked. But instead, he is staring down at the ground, an unreadable expression marring his handsome features.

“…And the one who will be stepping up as CEO in my place.”

Your eyes widen, you cough on your champagne, spluttering out for breath. A few of your other colleagues around you pipe in, asking William Hong questions about when he plans to retire, what his plans are in terms of advancement and progression in the next five years but you barely notice, your eyes zeroing in on Seokjin. He just stares at you, then gazes at your champagne glass and your flushed face.

“Smooth,” He mouths and your eyes narrow.

“Sorry, will you please excuse me?” You cut in to the conversation and paste a polite smile on your face, William Hong nods, already disinterested in you and focused on one of the men in the small group instead. You shoot Seokjin a pointed glare and a jerk of your head as you step away from the group.

Within moments, Seokjin is by your side, his hands in his suit pant pockets.

“Well well, fancy seeing you here-”

“What the hell Seokjin?” You hiss, whirling around so that you are facing him. “You’re William Hong’s son?”

Seokjin just raises an eyebrow at you, a bemused expression on his face.

“Yeah, and you’re one of the lawyers on his case.” He sighs. “Which speaking of. You poor soul.”

You ignore him, your voice presses on, rising upwards in urgency.

“Did you know that I was working on his case?”

Seokjin’s eyes crease in confusion. “No, how could I have known-”

“This is just fucking great then,” You interrupt, your voice harsh. “I mean, fuck, we’ve… we’ve slept together-”

“So?” Seokjin interrupts, the amused expression slipping away from his face.

He turns, puts his glass of champagne down on a nearby table and faces you. “What does that have to do with anyth-”

“It’s a conflict of interest!” Your voice pitches up in irritation and Seokjin just stares at you, bewildered.

“A conflict of interest?” He repeats in a tone that drips with disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking. We’re fuck buddies, I wouldn’t exactly call that grounds for a conflict of interest. Relax Y/N. Take a chill pill, do some bikram yoga or something, Jesus H Christ.”

You glare at him, a scowl twisting on your lips. “We were explicitly told that if any of the lawyers hired to represent Mr Hong – your father – had any personal connections to him or the case we’d be taken off, and I need this case, I need to make partner in the firm-”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Are you always this serious? It’s not that deep Y/N, God.”

��Well I wouldn’t expect you to get serious about anything or understand that some people have to work for their careers and don’t get everything handed to them by their fathers, but newsflash Kim Seokjin, some people actually have to work in life and don’t get fed with a huge fucking silver spoon every morning.”

Your words come out harsher than expected and a slightly stunned expression flits over Seokjin’s face before he narrows his eyes, steps closer to you.

“What is your problem?”

You open your mouth, a thousand things ready to come out – that this is just your luck, that this is his fault, that this is the world’s fault. That you’re on the case to defend his father but you are certain without a doubt that he’s guilty. That your entire career is hinging on this one case. That you never pictured yourself being involved with someone like the son of William Hong, let alone fucking that same someone, being in a casual sex arrangement with them… that this entire arrangement was supposed to be no stirings attached, easy, effortless.

Your spine prickles but before you can speak, Seokjin glides in cleanly, his stare steely.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem last week when you were on your knees for me in your fancy ass shower.”

Your eyes widen as two corporate people behind Seokjin’s eyes widen and they back off.

“Seokjin!” You hiss, lowering your voice, “People heard-”

Seokjin rolls his eyes dismissively. “So what? They’re like a hundred years old, I’m sure they know about the birds and the bees for fuck’s sake-”

You whack him on the shoulder. “Why are you immature?”

“Why are you so uptight?”

You both stand there glowering at each other. You force yourself to calm down, lowering your tone and trying to ignore the urge to punch him right in his pretty face. You look around you, at the event hall - it is bustling with corporate people, some faces you don’t recognize and some you do - amongst those your company coworkers, including Namjoon and Minho.

“Is there somewhere we can go to… talk about this? Somewhere that isn’t in the middle of the gala?”

Seokjin stares at you defiantly, rolls his eyes.

“Yeah.” He mutters and turns, walking away. He glances behind his shoulder, glaring at you. “Are you coming or not?”

You seethe as you follow him as he weaves his way through the crowd and down a corridor nearby. He reaches a set of swinging doors and pushes through, revealing an industrial kitchen.

“So what do you want to discuss then?” Seokjin asks as you walk through the doors, he turns and props his hands on his hips, glowering at you. “If you ask me, you’re completely overreacting-”

“I’m not overreacting,” You interrupt in an even tone. “If I had known that you were related to William Hong in any way, let alone that you were his son, I wouldn’t have agreed to any of this-”

“What?” Jin’s words are sharp at the edges as he takes a step closer to you. His eyes are flashing, his eyebrows pinched in a glare.

“Are you really trying to tell me that you never would’ve slept with me if you’d known?” He lets out a derisive snort and your shoulders go rigid, a whip of irritation snaps up your spine.

“I wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot pole,” You say in an icy tone, your eyes narrowed as you lean in closer.

Much to further your irritation, Seokjin doesn’t look remotely offended – instead, he just lets out a deliberate, disdainful scoff. Takes another step closer to you, smugness etched in the stare he directs at you.

“I find that hard to believe when you were the one begging for me to fuck you. That is how it all went down, no?”

Your lips twist into a scowl, you reach up and push against his chest with your palms. His chest, broad and solid beneath your hands, doesn’t even move and inch and all it does is clutch at the knot of frustration balling up inside of you.

“I fucking hate you,” You say as venomously as possible, “You are the most selfish, conceited person I have ever met in my life.”

He is breathing heavily, you realize – the only break in his composure is the ragged rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms. His eyes are darkened and glossy, his lips parted with each thin breath.

You realize suddenly that Seokjin is standing close to you – so close to you. Your face tilts up to his, only inches apart, enough so that you can see the flutter of his lashes as he blinks rapidly, the muscles in his jaw clenching. So close that you can smell him, and moreso, you can feel the flash of heat that crawls up your thighs when you inhale in his scent – masculine and woody and with a hint of sage, so utterly Seokjin that you can’t help but tremble.

Your palms are still flat on his chest, frozen this entire time, but now they slowly trail down until they rest right on his stomach. You can still feel each of his breaths from underneath your hands, and through the thin cotton of his business shirt you can feel his taut muscles.

Your breaths are growing more shallow too, with the air between the two of you feeling thick, time oozing into a subspace that seems to last both forever and nothing at all… and all you can think about is how warm and solid his body feels beneath your fingers, dwell on how good he smells, locked in intensity seared through the glare he is directing at you.

You feel it – a stirring deep in your belly, the slow and intentful thud that begins to ache between your legs. The barest of whimpers escapes from your lips and Seokjin’s eyes flicker.

“You fucking hate me?” Seokjin murmurs. His voice is hoarse, his words thickened, and it’s so far from the usual composed, annoyingly self-assured Seokjin that you are so used to, that you pause.

He stares straight at you, his eyes are still stormy, his jaw still tight – but his gaze is intent and focused. You swallow as his eyes trace down to your lips. The way he stares at you makes you fucking ache. You watch as his tongue darts over his bottom lip, at the bob of his Adams apple in his throat.

Your mind is empty of everything but an acute awareness of the prickle over your skin, the anger still surging through your bones, that desperation that is beginning to knock heavy deep between your legs.

You don’t have any thoughts that you can coherently pinpoint, except for one: you need him, and you need him now.

“Yep,” You manage to say, inching forward another centimeter. You can feel his breath on your face and you want to press yourself against Seokjin, to close the space. “I do.”

Seokjin doesn’t react, he just arches an eyebrow. “And how do you suppose I feel about you?”

The moment the words spill out of his lips something consuming and almost desperately animalistic snaps inside of you. You aren’t sure who is first- you or him, but somehow your lips collide against his.

There is nothing slow or careful about this, you are kissing him hard, messy intense kisses that have you both breaking apart for split seconds of air and then connecting again. He presses hard against you with nips and licks, his tongue seeking entrance into your mouth. You melt into him, you moan soft utterances of his name and ‘fuck’ into his kisses.

You nibble against his bottom lip and relish the strained mutters that escape from his throat, your bodies slam against each other, his hips angling against yours.

You break apart from your kisses to breathe, but Seokjin doesn’t stop – he mouths hungrily against the slope of your neck and you tilt your head back and feel a shudder of heat through your body from the friction of his lips against your skin.

His lips catch around the most sensitive spot on your neck, his fingers locking around your jaw and hoisting upward so that the entirety of your neck is exposed for him. You are desperate, you crane your neck upwards and whine at the feeling of Seokjin pressing hard, slow kisses against you, his teeth grazing teasingly over your skin before he latches down and sucks hard.

You moan beneath him, at the heady feeling of it – his hand against your jaw, his lips sucking a neat bruise on your neck. You feel the vibrations of your voice against his mouth, and your thighs squeeze together in an attempt to relieve the throb in your core.

“You’re so needy already,” Seokjin grunts, you can hear the smirk in his words and then you feel his lips against your neck again, his other hand rests on your inner thigh.

It’s so intense and so damn good that everything hones in to the feeling of the pressure on your neck and you can’t breathe, you just want, want, want.

You are faintly aware of the labored whimpers that are falling out of your mouth and you try to rein them in, Seokjin just chuckles. He moves up until his lips are right there in the dip of your neck underneath your jaw, and he mouths at the skin there- nipping delicately at your pulse point before his lips fall by your ear.

“I love hearing you,” He breathes, his fingers uncurl and your head falls forward.

“Please,” You whimper out and Seokjin chuckles again, growls out your name. His voice is low and like liquid velvet- so self assured, so smooth, and you are melting around them like butter.

Seokjin’s lips linger by your ear, his hand is still resting on your inner thigh and you are so fucking wet that you can feel it, damp and uncomfortable.

“Just like I said… you’re already begging for my dick.”

You wriggle in place, something right in the centre of frustration and arousal is dancing over your skin as Seokjin’s hand clamps around your upper thigh, he squeezes hard. You gasp, bite down on your lower lip, squeeze your eyes shut.

“Shut up,” You mutter, but your words come out breathless and desperate. It’s taking all of your concentration not to beg for him, to not relent to the wet throb between your thighs. “Shut the fuck up,” You repeat for emphasis, your tongue curls around the word fuck and then Seokjin’s fingers are by your neck.

You can feel it- his fingertips grazing right by your collarbones, his fingers curling so light and loose around the base of your neck that your eyelids flutter open.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Seokjin clicks his tongue, you feel his thumb ghosting over your neck and you wonder what the lovebites look like. It sends a ribbon of lust through you, the thought of Seokjin’s lips sucking against your neck, the heart shaped mottled kiss against your skin.

“Like you can talk,” You pant out and Seokjin just hums in response.

He is staring right at you and the look in his eyes one of pure want, his fingers are still gripped around your thigh, hard, and you can feel the weight of his hand there so close to your slit. Seokjin’s eyes are narrowing in the corners in a hungry kind of way that has something intense and desperate racing through you as his fingers tighten just a touch around your neck- enough to have you tilting your hips urgently in an attempt to be closer to his fingers.

“So needy,” Seokjin murmurs into your ear and his words are like molten silk.

He moves swiftly, you can his breath fanning over your skin as he moves downward, following his fingers as he pulls the straps down of your dress over your shoulders.

You wriggle out of the top half of your dress and let out a small shuddery sigh when the fabric gathers around your ribs, revealing just your lacy black bra.

Seokjin’s eyes fall unabashedly on your breasts, he is unapologetically staring at you, and you watch with a concoction of pride and lust as he licks his lips, stiffens his shoulders, and your eyes flicker down to see there, in his neatly pressed suit pants – the tent of his thick, hard cock.

He’s so fucking hot.

You hadn’t realized the words have slipped out of your thoughts until Seokin’s eyes keen up to meet yours, dangerously, wickedly confident as he reaches behind you and unfastens your bra. It falls to the floor, and you try to press your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the knocking between your thighs but the hand on your thigh stops you in place.

Seokjin lets out a soft, barely audible groan and you can feel his breathing against your breasts, your nipples hard and stiff as Seokjin gazes right at you and kisses down on the curve of you- mere centimetres away from your nipple.

You let out a pitchy cry at how close he is. Je finishes his kiss with a swirl of his tongue against your skin, so close to your nipple that you try again to press your thighs together – but once again his fingers keep your thighs separated.

Your heart is beginning to slam erratically in your chest, your blood feels hot and heavy and you want him so badly that you feel drenched in it.

Seokjin’s gaze is lidded and his eyes are dilated as he kisses you again, lapping up his kiss with another swirl of his tongue that has you moaning.

“So needy,” He sighs, and you can feel his words ghosting over your nipple and you let out a whine, nodding desperately.

“I am,” You moan out, Seokjin doesn’t respond, he just kisses your skin again and licks, slowly, his tongue tracing around your nipple.

“You are,” Seokjin repeats, “Such a good needy slut for me.”

Your entire body locks up, twitches in arousal… and then he presses his tongue wetly against your nipple.

The sudden pressure has you stiffening, he flickers over your nipple with the tip of his tongue and you moan hard before he pulls away to survey your face experimentally. His hair is in his eyes, his cheeks slightly flushed, his shoulders straining against his white dress shirt. He looks frustratingly good, his face by your breasts gazing up at you.

Before you can react he leans in and his tongue is presses flat against your nipple again.

This time, he isn’t slow, he doesn’t tease – his hand flits up from where it’s been locked around your thigh and he grabs at your breast, squeezing you hard as he sucks hard on your nipple.

“Fuck,” Your voice is shaky, desperate and Seokjin moans into you, his other hand reaches up and squeezes your other breast, his thumb massaging over your hard nipple and offering you some relief.

You press your thighs together, letting out a shaky moan as your hands move forward to skim over his broad shoulders. You can feel the ripple of his muscles as he moves, sucking your right nipple with swirls of his tongue and squeezes of his hands.

There is no gentleness in his touch, he grabs at you and the pressure of his tongue and lips on your sensitive nipples is so hard that it almost hurts. It feels good, so good that you keen against him, cries strangling into moans.

“Can’t forget this one,” He murmurs, his voice is husky as he flicks his tongue over your left nipple and your hands move up from his shoulders to his hair.

Your fingers entangle in his roots and you pull hard, hard enough to elicit a delicious kind of moan from Seokjin’s throat and hard enough for you to subconsciously squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to ease the hard and painful ache in your wetness.

“Fuck me,” You beg out, “Fuck me, please, I need you Seokjin, God, please fuck me…” You are begging for it, the thought occurs to you that you are needy, you are begging for his cock. But you need him inside of you so badly that you want to beg for it, to plead.

Seokjin keeps his lips latched around your nipple as he reaches down and tugs your dress hard- gathering it roughly in his hands and shoving it until it gathers around your knees. You step out of your dress, he stands and grabs at your waist, pulling you in close.

He kisses you slowly– and you kiss back, his tongue prying into your mouth and kissing into you sweet and long. You bite down into his bottom lip desperately because you don’t want slow, you want hard and fast, and his teasing is winding you up when you are already so tightly wound.

Seokjin smirks into your mouth, and you feel his palms grab at your ass and squeeze, the slap he lands there, him holding your body so tight to his that you feel like you are going to burst, so crammed full with want.

You pull back breathlessly from him, your lips already forming around the shape of his name. But before you can speak his hands spin you around, hard.

You gasp as your palms catch your weight against the kitchen counter in front of you. Seokjin is behind you, his lips at your ear, his body pressed against yours.

“Such a good girl,” he croons, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your ass and you moan, tilting your head back as he reaches in front of you. His hands grab at your breasts and his fingers wrap around the base of your throat. You moan louder, enjoying the feeling of the vibrations of your voice against the palm of his hand, you push back so that your ass grinds against his cock, working into his lap and enjoying the throaty groan that escapes his lips.

“So fucking hot,” He moans desperately, his composure slipping a touch. “Grinding your ass into me like such a naughty fucking slut, mm…” His hand flutters down, grabs your hips and he grits into your ear, “You want me to fuck you from behind don’t you baby? Such a good view of your ass like this, God…” He lets out a grunt and you moan in affirmation.

“I do, please Seokjin, please, fuck me like this, bend me over…” You press harder into his hard cock with your words and he laughs, a dark, low sound.

“You’re such a tease…” his voice trails off as his fingers hook round your underwear and he shoves them down, not even bothering to pull them off all the way – they restrict around your thighs. The bare air against your wet pussy has you trembling at the anticipation of how close you are to getting what you want.

“Hurry up and fuck me, please Jin. Please.” You beg out, and you hear it, the zip of his pants, the sound of the fabric falling to his ankles. You hear the rip of a condom wrapper and a few seconds of him focusing, rolling it over his length and then tossing the empty packet on the counter.

The mental image of it- Seokjin with his dress shirt and strong thighs, black underwear and pants by his ankles as his hands grab at your hips has you letting out a loud whimper.

Seokjin reaches down and swipes one finger cleanly down your slit, he and you both hiss in for breath. “So soaking wet…” he moans, and you hear it, him sucking his finger clean, tasting you.

“Your cunt tastes so sweet, baby…” He leans in and his voice is right by your ear. “Do you want me?”

You nod urgently, you arch your head back and feel Seokjin’s lips at your ear, his hands digging into your hips.

“How badly?”

“So badly,” You pant out.

“Really?” Seokjin tuts, pulls out teasingly and you gasp at the absence of him, your thighs clench, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” You grit out, your breathing quickening in desperation, “I want you, I’ll do anything Seokjin, please, please fuck me-”

“How hard do you want me to fuck you then?” Seokjin asks, and you can feel it- the tip of his cock grazing at your entrance. You are clenched, tensed, and your breath is desperate. You ache from head to toe. Seokjin kisses at your temple, your shoulder, humming against your skin.

“So hard,” You mutter out, your tone complaining, “I want you to fuck me so hard, please…”

“I love hearing you beg for me,” He hums. “I play it back in my head all day.” You tremble. “You know, I could fuck you so hard baby,” He says softly, slowly. “So hard that I’ll have you screaming out my name, so deep and so good that you’ll be thinking about it all week…”

You shiver at the words and nod, pant out a “Yes,” because that is all you can muster. You need it, you are so fucking close that you might explode, you need it you fucking need it and¬-

Seokjin slides his cock into you. Your thoughts slam to a violent stop. Seokjin is inside of you, so hard and so deep that you gasp.

He doesn’t wait, you feel the stretch of your pussy and you groan, he pauses for a moment as you adjust to the feeling, his arms holding you, his lips stamped on your shoulder… and then he starts to thrust.

“Fuck!” you cry out, loud, any resolve you had to be quiet has flown out of your head because Seokjin is fucking you, hard. It feels so good, so full and he draws deeper into you with each heavy snap of his hips against yours. Hard and at a pace that is fast but not too fast- at a pace that has you feeling breathless and giddy in the best possible way, the ache subsiding with each long, intense sloppy thrust of his cock, hard and deep inside of you.

You can hear it, the slap of skin against skin, the groans that are falling out of his mouth, him kissing hungrily against your neck and ear and your shoulder.

You are bent over the counter at this point, not strong enough to keep yourself up as Seokin crooks his body over yours. Seokjin moves so that he is holding you upward with one arm as he continues fucking into you, he insistent and domineering and you feel like you are going to be swallowed up in it, with how good it feels.

“Jin, fuck, Jin, fuck, Jin oh my fucking God…” You are chanting out his name and choruses of ‘fuck’ and ‘fuck me’ without any control. Seokjin growls into your ear and slams into you again, edging upwards as you both let out moans that synchronize into one loud, sinfully dirty sound.

“I’m close…” You whine, and Seokjin laughs, he pushes down on your back unti your breasts touch the cool kitchen counter and his fingers entangle into your hair.

“Good girl…” He grunts out, and then he pulls you up again carefully so that you are upright. His fingers grip at the roots of your hair and then he pulls.

“Do you have any idea how hot you look bent over this kitchen counter for me, screaming out my name nice and loud so that everyone in that boring party can hear?” His voice is low and silken and you whimper. You whimper, from the sting on your scalp and the feeling of his cock pushing into your pussy with intense thrusts singing through you.

You are riled up, desperate, so dizzy and so aroused and so full that you need a release, you’re so close to a release…

Seokjin tugs hard against your hair again and kisses the nape of your neck, pain and pleasure entwining as you feel your climax start to build, fast and sharp and intense. Seokjin arches his hips so that he fucks into you at a different angle, you stiffen, something inside of you curls, so close to snapping, and you let out a fevered, desperate, “Yes, right there, please don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

Seokjin obliges, keeping his angle and pushing into you deeper with an intense thrust of his cock, and your breath rushes in. He pulls harder on your hair, wrapping more of it around his fist, murmurs out a “Come around my cock baby girl, that’s right, be loud for me you know it gets me so fucking hard, you get so me so damn hard…” right into the shell of your ear and you let out a shuddery cry. Your body collapses forward as you cum hard and desperate against his dick.

You are loud, so loud and the moans that are coming out of your mouth are obscene almost. But you don’t care- the release is gratifying and warm and electric all at once and it’s all you can focus on.

The orgasm is still shuddering through you, Seokjin slows for a beat before his arm wraps around your shoulders and he carefully hoists you up.

“How do you feel?” He asks, and you just let out a blissful murmur in response.

“Fucking amazing,” You breathe out. Seokjin hums delightedly at that, kisses against your shoulder blade smooths out your knotted hair.

“Can you take more?” He murmurs in your ear and you nod, your orgasm still rippling through you as he chuckles in your ear, “I’ll go easy on you.”

He keeps smoothening over your hair with his hands as he positions his cock at your entrance again, enters you. You let out a strangled moan at the feeling of it, Jin lets out a soft sigh as well.

“You felt so good, cumming around my cock like that,” He murmurs in a satisfied tone, his thrusts are slow. He is grinding his cock upwards and you feel a tingle of a deeper seated arousal from his careful push of his cock deeper into your walls.

“You tasted good earlier,” He adds, you clench involuntarily, feel another fresh ripple of want chase through your body. “I want to taste you properly when we have more time, have you sit that pretty cunt on my face so I can eat you out until you can’t see straight…”

You let out a whine in earnest and realize that you are pressing against him again, arching your back into him, wanting more, asking for more.

Seokjin chuckles into your neck. “You want more?” His voice is confident, and your take a deep breath, whisper out a “yes,” because you do.

You don’t know what it is about each touch of Seokjin’s fingers against your skin, each press of his lips to your hot skin, that has you a wreck with want each time.

“You’re such a sexy little-” Seokjin starts, but stops as the door swings open loudly.

“I heard sounds, is everything okay- oh!”

The two of you freeze for a second and gaze upward, you register a faint flicker of shock as you take in ther interruption– Namjoon stands there, his jaw falling open in shock as he takes in the sight in front of him.

Seokjin clears his throat before you can react. He doesn’t stop, instead he moves. His hips return to their usual pace, thrusting into you. He tilts his hips upwards calmly and hits that spot again and you let out an involuntary whimper, you are suddenly aware of the obscene sounds of him pushing into your wet pussy, at how your bodies must look – hot and sweaty and entangled.

Namjoon looks shocked, his mouth closing and falling and stuttering out half formed words, and something hot and desperate flickers through you like fire. You should tell Seokjin to stop, say something but... you don’t.

Seokjin speaks up, his voice throaty but clear.

“Do you mind…? We’re busy.”

His words are icy, and Namjoon lets out a choked sound and turns, the door closing behind him with a soft sound.

Seokjin leans in close, keeps his thrusts tilted upwards, slow and purposeful.

“I’m on the top of the god damn world, getting to fuck into this pretty cunt…” Seokjin murmurs in your ear, he is close, you can hear it threaded through his words. His voice is deep and delicious in your ear.

“…You know he’ll be thinking about this all night baby girl, he’ll be thinking about how he wishes he were me, how he wishes he was the one buried inside of you… and you’re all mine, how I’m the one who gets to fuck into you until you’re screaming out my name…” His words push you over the edge, and odd sense of arousal and satisfaction spilling through your entire system as Seokjin fucks into your heat.

Your body doubles over. Your orgasm this time is brief, quick and crackly and a tick-tick-tick of pleasure that washes over you. The clench of your pussy walls is enough to have Seokjin grunting as well, a long throaty moan as his body trembles behind yours, twitching as he cums long and hard into you.

You stay like that for a moment, breathing heavily, bodies entwined. “Fuck,”

Seokjin murmurs, his voice muffled, his arms trembling from where they are still wrapped around you. You both stay still, basking in the afterglow of your respective orgasms until finally, Seokjin straightens, eases out of you.

He rolls off the condom, tossing it into the bin, pulls up his pants and zips. You stay still, body still shaky, awash with the glow from your orgasms.

You hear footsteps behind you, feel Seokjin’s fingers carding down your legs and then carefully, slowly pulling your underwear and your dress on, zipping up and pulling the straps over your shoulder.

You hum out a wordless thank you, turn so that you are facing him. He is flushed, his cheeks a translucent shade of rose and his hair messy, lips full and swollen from your fervent kisses. He tilts his head to one side, smirks at you.

His signature, cocky as all hell Seokjin smirk. And like syrup, it melts away, softens at the edges until it becomes something different. He reaches up, his fingers brushing at a tendril of your sweaty hair.

There is something unrecognizable in his eyes in the moment he tucks your hair behind your ear, a stray emotion you cant pinpoint - a moment of tension so palpable and so unfamiliar that it hangs heavy and thick for a moment between the two of you.

Seokjin steps away and the moment broken. He shoots you another smile, this time it’s that same signature smirk.

“Not bad.”

You roll your eyes, bite back. “Not bad? Please. You wouldn’t shut up about how hot it was, how hot I was, my ‘hot ass’…”

Seokjin just shrugs, unaffected. “You do have a hot ass. The hottest. That thing is the answer to achieving world peace, truly.”

You roll your eyes but a smile flickers over your lips, betraying the expression of annoyance that you have pointedly painted over your features.

“I don’t know how we went from fighting to… to…”

“To fucking over the industrial kitchen counter at one of my father’s buildings?”

“…Yeah.”

Seokjin grins at you, shrugs. “Like I said,” He says airily, his broad shoulders rising in falling in a casual movement, “You cannot resist me and my Zeus-like dic-”

Before he can finish, you reach forward, slap his shoulder lightly, playfully.

“Ew.”

Seokjin grins, his face splitting open into a laugh.

“You’re so-”

“Annoying.” You both finish, but there’s no malice in your words. Instead you both just eye each other with the faintest smiles tugging on lips.

You stare at each other for a moment before you see it in his features, a flash in his eyes and a purse of his lips, a crease in his brow.

“About before,” He begins hesitantly. “I… I don’t tell anyone about my father, it’s not personal I just.” He finishes with a sigh. His hand cards through his sweaty hair, his fingers flutter up to button his shirt back up, straighten his tie. “I… it’s not…” He breaks off, sighs. “It’s not something that I want people to know. I take my mother’s surname for a reason, you know.”

You bite your lip. “What, you don’t want to take over his company?” You ask curiously, remembering the conviction in his father’s words, ‘the one who will be stepping up in my place’.

Seokjin leans back on the counter, folds his arms across his chest. Lets out a heavy sigh and grimaces.

“I mean, it’d be easy, right? Job sorted, life sorted. Dad’s told me that all I have to do is be the face of the company – that I won’t even have to work. He doesn’t even want me to work, he doesn’t trust me. He just wants me to… to put up the front. To be the dutiful son who keeps the company in the family.” His face twists, he sighs, shrugs. “And it’s not… it’s not what I want to do.”

He doesn’t look directly at you when he speaks, a clouded look on his face. It’s so different to the Seokjin that you know, the Seokjin that is glossy and together and ridiculous and exuberant …that you hesitate.

“What… what do you want to do then?”

Seokjin glances up, stares at you, his eyes narrowed. Pauses, evaluates.

“I…” He clears his throat, reaches up and rubs his eyes. It’s quiet, you can hear the party going on faintly, the sound of voices and refined classical music.

“I want to be in business, don’t get me wrong.” Seokjin explains, his shoulders lift and drop and he sighs. “But nothing… corporate. Nothing like Avidite. I… want something that is my own, that I’ve built. I’ve been working on an idea for a company with a friend. He’s got a really good head for business but doesn’t have money and my father thinks his family is unimpressive so…” Seokjin shrugs. “It’s a side project while I work at Avidite with my father.”

You gaze at him, quirk an eyebrow. “A side project?”

Seokjin nods. “I told you I had two jobs, right?” He shoots you a wry smile. “I’m working to make my side project a main project. I don’t know, I’ve always… I’ve always wanted to do something that can support start ups and young entrepeneurs, something that’ll make a difference and that’ll-” His eyes are lit up, and he has such an earnest look on his face that something dangerous flutters inside of your chest.

Seokjin suddenly stops mid sentence and then shrugs. “Still business,” He says instead, and he grins at you, confident and assured as usual. “Just not that kind of business. Which you know. Is unacceptable according to my father. What my father says goes, in case you haven’t realized. It must be a real fuckin’ hoot, working for him.”

His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes and you gaze at him.

“You could’ve told me,” You say, your voice quieting. “I would’ve understood. I mean, I know you don’t have to tell me, we’re… I mean… I’m just saying, I, I would’ve understood. My family…” Your voice trails off and your mind flashes to your mother, the critical squint of her eyes, the questions peppered your way with each phone call. The always lingering sense of disappointment.

You glance up, meet Seokjin’s eyes. “I would’ve understood.”

Seokjin just nods and you stare at one another, before he straightens properly, shoves his hands in his pocket.

“Do you want to go back into the party?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you smile sheepishly, shake your head.

“Not really.”

Seokjin smiles. “Me neither. Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

Seokjin is more relaxed as he drives, one hand resting out of the window, his knee bouncing up and down in time to the song that is playing on the radio. You have been talking while waiting in traffic, arguing more accurately – a heated discussion about the merits of dogs vs cats, an argument that has culiminated to Seokjin tilting his head to you with a lazy smile on his face, and saying in that effortlessly annoying, charming way of his, “let’s just agree to disagree.”

You roll your eyes, lean your head back and watch the road in front of you. “No thank you.”

“Okay, if you want, we can agree to agree that I’m right-”

“No chance. Never. No way. Nope.”

Seokjin just grins and reaches over, squeezes your knee. “Me doth think you protest too much.”

You roll your eyes again and scoff and fight the smile that is tugging at the corner of your lips because there is something about these stupid conversations with Seokjin and his hand squeezing your knee, that has you fighting a smile in the darkness of his car.

Seokjin withdraws his arm, and a brief quiet lapses between the two of you as he drives. Seokjin clears his throat and you glance over at him. He looks handsome as always, the kind of handsome that would annoy you in any other circumstance. His hair ruffled in the wind and the carefree smirk on his face, way too much for a guy dressed in formal suit attire.

“So,” Seokjin begins, pulls his arm out of the window and on the steering wheel, the window gliding up as the car is suddenly quiet – except for the 90s girl band R&B playing in the background (Seokjin’s guilty pleasure, you’ve quickly realized, despite his insistence that it’s just ‘Spotify shuffle’.)

“…About the whole work conflict of interest thing.”

His voice is carefully casual, his words imbued with just the right degree of lightness. You stare ahead, at the road.

“That pesky thing,” You echo. “I…” Your words trail off.

You know that the responsible thing to do would be to tell Seokjin it’d be best to not sleep together, until the case is over, at least. That it’d be best to cut things off cleanly because the last thing you want is to be threading together work and whatever this arrangement is with him.

“… I don’t want… this arrangement interfering with my work. Or vice versa.” You say finally and Seokjin just nods his head, hums in agreement.

“It won’t interfere anything for me. I’m pretty good at keeping things apart if I want to.” He responds. “It’s just sex anyway,” He adds quickly -and you breathe in sharper than expected- “Worst comes to worse we’ll just… stop if it starts getting too complicated with the case, yeah?”

You meet his eyes and you nod. “Yeah,” You agree. “I’ll add it as a clause to the contract. If work gets in the way then we’ll stop-”

“A clause? You still have the contract?” Seokjin laughs but then nods agreeably when you flash him a withering, icy look. “Okay sure, add whatever you want to the contract, Ms. Law and Order.”

You have arrived at your place, he pulls up and turns to face you.

“So it’s a deal? Because I’ll be honest…” He contorts his face into a pout. “I don’t wanna stop this arrangement. It is fucking good, don’t you think?”

His voice is low and something skips in your chest. You swallow hard, you nod back.

This – in the darkness in his car, the closeness of the space between you two, has you short for breath. You stare at him, at the shadows sloping over his features and accentuating everything- the fullness of his lips, the arch of his cheekbones, his fringed lashes… you swallow hard and you nod again.

“It is…” Your voice trails off and Seokjin stares at you, his gaze lidded and intense. “Really fucking good.”

Seokjin leans in.

For one prolonged moment, you think Seokjin is going to kiss you. Your breath catches in your throat, your mouth goes dry, your heart thumping so hard and loud and fast in your chest that you can hear it in your ears.

You are staring at him, and you don’t know what it is – whether it’s the cheesy ballad playing softly in the background, or the hum of his car engine, or maybe even the dusky light that spills over from the nearby street lamp. Whatever it is, it gives pause for you to linger, your eyes drawn on the curve of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips.

He is close to you but not close enough – not close enough so that you can smell him, not close enough to close the distance. Suddenly, all you want to do is move closer.

You inch forward, a tiny bit – a centimeter, nothing more – and he eases forward too. A tiny bit.

And then you feel it, an electric shudder that dances up your spine and through your body.

Seokjin blinks, and then shifts, his hand opening the car door behind you. It springs open and cool air spills into the car.

You feel like you’ve been drenched in cold water and before you can react, Seokjin is moving back to settle into his seat, clearing his throat.

“Well. I’ll see you around, princess.”

You mutter something out, it’s barely a goodbye and more of a mishmash of syllables, before you undo your seatbelt and spring out of his car. You don’t turn around to wave goodbye, your cheeks flaming and your head is spinning as you walk up to your front door.

You hear the slow creak of brakes being released, the sound of his car driving down your road. And you stand in front of your door and cringe.

What the fuck was that?

You continue to agonize internally as you step into your hallway, kicking off your heels. Your place is dark, you head straight to the kitchen and as you flick on the lights, you spot Kale sitting on your kitchen counter, meowing contentedly. He isn’t really supposed to be on your kitchen counter in the first place, but instead of telling him off you walk up to him.

You level with your cat, who just stares at you with a disinterested expression on his face.

“Even you’re judging me,” You groan, dropping your face into your hands. “I’m acting like an idiot. It’s just sex. I can have no feelings attached sex, especially with someone like Seokjin.” You roll your eyes as you toss out his name, but the upwards slant of your words give yourself away.

“Plus,” You add as an afterthought, your voice sobering, “He’s William Hong’s son… fuck, It’s complicated as is. I shouldn’t be sleeping with him full stop. It’s a conflict of interest. Oh my God, why am I like this?” You shoot Kale a baleful stare and your cat just meows again.

You spin around so your back is leaning against your kitchen counter and you zero in on the contract on your fridge. You walk up to it, grabbing a pen and scribbling on the bottom of the contract.

Clause 1: Work will not interfere- and if it does, this arrangement is over.

You stare at your words, at the words you’d written previously – ‘they will net get involved with each other more than the act of sex’.

“There is no way I could ever be anything more than sex with Seokjin,” You say aloud, “Right?”

You swallow, biting the inside of your cheek and ignoring the swell that is cresting in your chest.

“No feelings,” You say softly. You try not to think about how his fingers felt pulling the straps of your dress over your shoulders in the kitchen, or the look on his face when he had leaned in so close to you just then in the car.

You try not to think about him at all. You tell yourself not to care, to detach, to fold neatly into yourself like a piece of origami.

“No feelings,” You whisper, as you walk away from the contract and scoop Kale up in your arms, walking to your bedroom.

“No feelings,” You repeat again, louder, even thought you can hear the threads of doubt woven through your words as you repeat them.

“No feelings. Just sex.”

amynote: thank you for reading (and catch this fic entering angst territory woops ...) love you all ♡

#seokjin smut #jin smut #bts smut #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #bts fanfic #seokjin x reader

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joonbird · 6 years

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me @ namjoon as each day passes

#honestly though #he's the best #he's such a good leader #and he has such a big heart #and he's always self reflecting and thinking about the world around him #ok thats all i wanted to say; good night everyone!!!!#namjoon

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joonbird · 6 years

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Lonely Hearts Club

➭ “In this world, currency is not money but life, and those who cannot repay their debts have no choice but to submit for the Separation - a procedure in which the soul and mind are extracted from their bodies, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell. Jeon Jungkook is an underground tattoo artist hiding from the outside world. She has been waiting her whole life to be Separated. They were never supposed to meet - let alone fall in love.”

- or -

“Two lonely hearts collide.”

pairing: jungkook x OC, (+ some yoongi x OC)

genre: tattoo artist au, angst, smut, dystopian/sci-fi AU

wordcount: 18k

❀ 4 / 8 of my oneshot requests ❀

** warnings: this is v angsty and dark!, named OC, thigh riding, tattooed!jungkook, violence, character death, heavy themes

It’s almost funny, she thinks, how much words can fucking hurt.

Her body is pressed in a tiny concrete space, pressed against a wall. It is dark in here, the air thick and damp. Her muscles are cramped and aching for relief… but it doesn’t hurt.

Not as much as what they’re saying, anyway.

“She’s a freak,” A voice floats down. “Did you hear that her own mother left her? I would too, if that was my kid.”

A chorus of sniggers, a few chirps of agreement that crop up, and a slash of pain raw and visceral in her chest.

“Where the hell did she go?” The voice is exasperated, she hears the sound of a small foot being stomped on the ground.

“She’s probably hiding in the bathroom,” Another voice responds impatiently. “She went there last time to hide from us. Let’s go get her.”

“Rina,” She hears a small voice speak up, hesitation lacing her words. “Are you sure... are you sure doing all of this is okay?”

A beat of silence.

She doesn’t breathe, she doesn’t dare to. She starts to pray, to beg, that maybe just maybe they’ll stop, reconsider, think things through, see her as a human and not as a-

“She’s getting Separated,” The voice says bluntly, disdain twisted around that word like it is the ugliest collection of letters on the planet. “It’s not like she’s going to remember any of this anyway.”

Her heart sinks.

The voices fade off, her classmates walking away, their attention spans spent.

She stays curled up in the furnace space, tears pricking in her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to be weak. She wants to be fierce, untouchable, strong… but she just can’t. Not like this, not when her body aches, when her head is stuffed to the brim with those words, when her heart is clattering around painfully in her ribcage.

Maybe they’re right, she thinks, as she hugs her knees tighter to her chest, folding into herself even more. Maybe it hurts so much because it’s the truth.

It all started when she turned ten and everybody her age had fresh, raised tattoos on their wrists. While they had rosy pink barcodes, protected in a film of clear cling wrap, her wrist stayed untouched.

No one really noticed at first. It had only been a fleeting observation of hers – that she hadn’t received one of those stamps on her wrist like everyone else – but soon, other people started to notice. It all began as questions, fired at her incessantly. They were questions to which she didn’t have answers. Where is your barcode? I don’t know. Are you going to get one? I don’t know. How come you don’t have one? I don’t know.

The questions became harsher, angrier, louder. She ignored them, because that was what she was good at, pretending they didn’t matter and that nothing mattered. She detached and disassociated until the questions were so loud that she couldn’t block them out anymore.

She had always been a bit different. It that had never been a problem, until she was too different. Soon, her differences were the only things people noticed- doubt and whispers escalating into full blown isolation, like she had a disease and no cure.

She had left school early one day, her throat raw from holding back tears and her palms littered with tiny red crescent moons from how hard she had dug her nails into the clam of her palm. She had been stopped by a correctional officer – a POD – (Police Operations Droid) an artificial life form that had the consciousness of a human implanted in. She recalls with clarity how the government agent had eyes that gleamed a little too sharply and movements that were a touch too erratic. He wasn’t human but he wasn’t unhuman... he was something unnatural in the middle of the two. He didn’t have a barcode either, but he wasn’t the same as her. He had scanned her blank wrist as per procedure and then reported in a metallic tone, “Seperation pending.”

She doesn’t remember a lot of her childhood, because time never slowed down for her no matter how many times she wished that it would. But she does remember falling to her knees, a tiny figure with knees marred with carpet burn. She remembers begging her parents please, I want a barcode. Please take me to get one. Please.

Two days after that, her mother left.

“… I suggest you all take plenty of notes today, because this course material will definitely be in the final examinations.”

The class groans, a collective sound. She glances up, her teacher Corvus stands there with a smile pasted on his face, pointedly ignoring the classroom’s complaints.

“I’m so fuckin’ sick of studying,” One of the boys sitting near her grumbles. “I already know I want to be a POD, so what’s the point anyways?”

The boy beside him murmurs in agreement. “It’s bullshit.”

“Complete bullshit. What are we even studying anyway?”

She looks up, stares at the holographic board, which now reads History of the Separation. She compresses the feeling of discomfort that is beginning to work its way up her spine after she reads those words, she tries to ignore everyone craning their heads over to look at her, curious for a reaction. She’s used to it, after all.

At fourteen, all she wanted was for it to stop – the words, the casual jab of fingers against her ribs and ragdoll pushes of her body. Now, at eighteen, it’s so much worse. It’s like she doesn’t exist – no one cares, no one sees her as a real person. No point in getting close to someone who isn’t going to exist in a few years, right? She soaks it in, the ache in her chest and a craving so deep that it leaves her shaky, a craving for a different life.

“So as we all know, in 2021, scientists and engineers found a way to harvest life from human bodies, and that this life energy could be transmitted between agents. After this discovery, human life expectancy was increased tenfold, and a new currency was formed – Life. As we all well aware, Life is measured usually in hours and in specific rare occasions, years. Life was then decreed to be the universally accepted form of currency as opposed to what was being used before- something called money.” Corvus taps expertly at a button on the holographic screen and an old photo of money pops up, papery notes and small strange silver and gold metallic circles. “Back then, currency in the form of money was either physical – you could quite literally carry it in your hands-” the classroom titters in amusement at that idea “- Or you could transfer it and access it electronically.”

He waves a pointer finger in the corner of the screen, and it clicks over. “Our currently today isn’t exactly like that. You can’t hold it in your hands, or access it via the Internet. How much life someone has left can’t exactly be searched up on Google.” The class laughs again. “So of course, the barcode system was set up.” He smiles, lifts a wrist. There, stamped on his skin is a small barcode, uniform strips of black ink. “A barcode system so that I can pay with my life currency if I need to. So that I am paid by this very institution. So that the authorities can check my life balance, if need be. My barcode is unique to me of course, and is with me for life… unless of course I choose to be Separated. Which brings us to the most important part of this unit. The Separation.”

He clears his throat, claps his hand, the room dims a little further until it is plunged into darkness. She rolls her eyes at the theatrics of it all. Tries to disassociate, detach from the feeling stirring inside of her belly. Hides her wrist in between her knees as she reads over those words again, The Separation.

“Of course, with his new currency in place, it wasn’t long until scientists realized that just as you can take a surplus of life away from one agent and add it to another… you can completely drain an agent of human life and replace it with the life essence of another. More or less, put your life into another body. In that way, you can have a second chance of living, enjoy a better quality life. Developers called this process the Separation,” A small smile twists at his lips, “And it was an innovation. Most people save up their entire lives to be able to transport their selves into a new body. It’s a fantastic thing, a real feat of humankind. Before the Separation, before the extraction of life was even possible… our lifespans ranged between the sixties and the on rare cases, hundreds. It seems barbaric almost, doesn’t it?” The room is filled with murmurs of agreement.

“It’s amazing,” He concludes, rocking back on his heels with a self assured smile. “I have a retirement plan set up to save for a Separated body when I am in my two-hundreds. And most of you kids, well, you can start saving now, and who knows… potentially live through several Separated bodies. The possibilities are endless! It’s really quite amazing.”

He claps his hands and the room is filled with artifical light. “Right, so your assessment today for the Separation is to write a-”

“But what about those who are Separated? Do they have endless possibilities? Is it really quite amazing for them too?”

The voice, dripping with sarcasm, cuts through Corvus’ words. The room lapses into silence. She turns in her seat, her back twisting to see the owner of the voice.

It is Min Yoongi, a new transfer at her academy, having only been here a week from a smaller country town north of this city. He has platinum blonde hair, and dark eyes that are flat and unimpressed. His mouth is turned downwards in disdain, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He doesn’t notice everyone staring at him with stunned eyes, either that or he doesn’t care.

“And excuse me if I’m mistaken, but shouldn’t we question whether having life as a form of currency is ethical to begin with?”

He is speaking calmly, his words imbued with just the slightest tinge of condescension. His frame is lean, he is draped in his seat, his eyebrow quirked, and there is something bold and imposing and defiant about him. The chatter has died into silence. Yoongi raises an eyebrow and smirks. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. And it’s enough to have Corvus’ face quietly seething with barely masked irritation.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating… but there are panels held every annum to assess the system and to assure it’s all legal and safe-”

“I didn’t ask whether it was legal and safe, I asked whether it’s ethical. Whether it’s right.” Yoongi interrupts bluntly.

The teacher bristles. “Well yes, people who opt to be Separated at twenty five as per procedure, or even a later age have that decision entirely up to them. Having the option to be Separated is a win win for everyone involved, those who choose to be Separated receive a generous payout-”

“What about those who can’t consent to Separation?”

Suddenly, the air is thick with a tense silence.

“Excuse me?” Corvus asks in a quiet, dangerous voice.

She feels like she can’t breathe, her chest locked. Her eyes flicker over to Yoongi, who is completely undeterred.

“Anyone under the age of 18 can have their life sold and be legally bound to a Separation without giving their explicit consent, right?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation, he just continues on. “So if they can force this procedure onto a specific group of people, what’s stopping them from doing it to others as a punishment? As a weapon? Onto any of us if we don’t do exactly what they want?”

The room falls into silence. An uncomfortable, static silence. Then the lights flicker off, for a moment the room is elapsed in pitch black and then the room is alight, back to being filled with that artificial glow.

“That’s preposterous.” Corvus says in an icy voice. “We are living in an ideal society, this is the most harmonious time in human history.” His eyes hone in on Yoongi’s. Yoongi stares back defiantly.

“Harmonious for some people, sure.” He murmurs stonily. “But if you ask me, this world is a lot more fucked up then we realize.”

She can’t breathe.

“A word of advice... Yoongi, was it?” Corvus’ words is sharp, his voice a butcher’s knife. “Focus on your future. Not on those who don’t have a future.”

There is a millisecond of tension and then the teacher’s face smooths over, he straightens. “Class dismissed.”

She sits there, her wrist still pressed between her knees. She stares down at her lap and the words are bouncing around in her head at an erratic pace she can’t control.

If you ask me, this world is a lot more fucked up then we realize.

Her heart is pounding in her chest for a reason she doesn’t quite understand, a hollow hammering in her lungs and it’s that same awful feeling she had when she was just a kid with reddened knees, sinking into the floor with tears streaming down her face, pleading for-

“Hey,” She hears a voice and she turns to see Yoongi there.

He is a bit taller than her, he cranes his neck down to look at her, a hand reaching up to brush some hair away from his eyes. “You alright?”

She blinks up at him, jumps a little. Some of his hair falls in his eyes again and he doesn’t smile at her, but his eyes soften. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that um, everyone’s left.”

She glances up, sees the empty classroom. Oh.

“Oh um, thanks. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, sure.” He responds in a tone that indicates he doesn’t fully believe her but he’s going to accept her answer as it is. “Jesus fuck did you see that guy’s face? I had him, he couldn’t even come up with an answer.” He drawls, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. He smiles at her, a grin that shows his gums and he looks younger like that, softer somehow. He reaches up and brushes some of the hair out of his eyes. It falls back over his forehead again.

“I’m Yoongi, by the way.”

Her heart is still pounding in her chest.

“Oh. I’m…” Her name, her real name, is there on the corner of her lips. She swallows it down. She looks at him, the boy with the fire in his eyes, the boy who is overflowing with confidence and a steady self assurance. She thinks about her own life, about who she is. Who she wants to be.

“I’m… I’m Wren.”

Yoongi is a contradiction in the best possible way.

He is quiet, utterly unreadable except for a sardonic twitch of his lips and a tilt of his head… until suddenly something inside of him clicks his eyes are flickering embers, his words cutting and his chest trembling. He is distant and unreachable, close to no one by choice, his eyes as cool as ice to everybody who meets them… until his eyes meet hers and they melt like liquid amber.

Wren isn’t sure what exactly drew Yoongi to her side that day, or the days that followed after. They started talking, spending pockets of time together. She quickly learned that Min Yoongi had a knack of being a patronizing, know it all asshole when he wanted to be, but that he was also dry and sarcastic, and sometimes so uncharacteristically sweet that it caught her off guard. She never knew what to expect with him. He had everything - a family inheritance of life hours, a stable home. He had everything yet he wanted her.

The first time he kissed her – her first kiss – he had completely taken her by surprise. It was night time, late enough so that only a skeleton crew of PODs were nightwatching the streets, allowing Yoongi and Wren to seamlessly slip in the shadows. They would stay up until dusk the cloak of night allowing them to be the self labeled ‘prince and princess of the city’ (Yoongi always intercepted with ‘royalty is a totally fucked up concept, I’m against any unfair system of hierarchy. But I’ll make an exception just this once’).

There was one place in particular, an old, abandoned building inside a construction site. So old that there wasn’t technology fused into the walls, there were doors you had to open with doorknobs, and old posters and pictures faded yellow pasted on the walls.

They were sitting there, and they were talking, light and useless conversation when Yoongi leaned forward. He was right there inside her sphere of personal space, so close and so intimate. She didn’t draw away, instead she leaned forward and then they were kissing.

Wren knows what they share is a contradiction too - two unlikely people clinging together, their relationship marked by rushed kisses and hungered touches and the mutual loneliness of being an outsider – Yoongi by choice and her by force. Still, whatever it is that keeps them together, contradictory or not- it is the first time she has ever felt that she might amount to something, that she has something to believe in. That even with the knowledge that she is going to forget about everything, that her mind and her memories are going to be captured like lightning in a bottle… that maybe this and him makes it worth it.

Yoongi is the first person she sleeps with, he fucks her slowly and carefully at first, and then she asks for more of it, more of him. He relents, he fucks her hard and deep until she is shaking with release and it feels like every nerve ending of hers is alive. With Yoongi she is in complete control of her body, her body is hers and hers alone. She loves that about Yoongi, the way his eyes linger on hers and his hand sits on her waist, how it feels with his breath on the back of her neck and his moans stuttered in her ear, just for her. She’s there and she’s real and her body, her heart, her mind are tangible entities... with Yoongi, she isn’t temporary.

Yoongi doesn’t kiss her often, but he does brush his hand along her cheek, her jaw, and his eyes get sad and dewy when his fingers get to the blank skin on her wrist. Often he lays his wrist beside hers, and she can see it right there- his barcode, strips of lacquered black ink against alabaster skin, and then her wrist, bare. No barcode, no identity. She watches, as Yoongi pulls his wrist away and withdraws. He doesn’t speak but she can hear the thoughts flickering through his mind when he looks at her wrist.

One day, when they’re sitting in her tiny apartment, he whispers in her ear.

“I’m scared.” His eyes flicker up to hers. “Twenty five is in four years, but still, I…” His voice trails off and he shakes his head violently. “Fuck, I don’t know… I don’t want you to be Separated. It’s so fucked up, it’s… it’s…” He swallows hard. Runs a hand through his hair and Wren realizes it’s the first time she’s ever seen him look so uncertain, so unsure of himself.

“I know.” She whispers. “God, I wish…” She doesn’t dare let herself finish that sentence.

She runs her fingertips over Yoongi’s fingers, over his knuckles. Bites down hard on her bottom lip until it draws blood, coppery to taste. Looks at the boy in her bed with sheets around his waist and a petrified look on his face.

“I’ve known that I was going to be Separated since I was eight, Yoongi. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

She raises her eyes and meets his stare. He looks so sad – his face is raw, open, and she can see his lips trembling with words that are on the cusp of being said.

And even though he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t say the words aloud, he holds her close and presses his lips to her forehead, as Wren clutches Yoongi close and prays with eyes squeezed shut.

Wren remembers. She thinks she’ll always remember it- like it’ll always be stamped underneath her eyelids, there every time she rests her head and closes her eyes.

The worst part about memories, she thinks, is how dimensional they are. She can remember everything about that night. When her eyes close it isn’t just the events, rolling out and around in her head on an incessant loop... but it’s also what the air tasted like, stale and thick with humidity, it’s the feeling of the threadbare cotton sheets she had clutched in her sweaty palms.

She can remember the way her body curled into itself with knees hugged tight to her chest as if that gesture alone would grant her some semblance of solace. She remembers that feeling deep in her chest unfurling and unraveling, the first time in her life she ever really felt dread, thick and heavy and cloying.

Wren had unfolded like a leaf when she heard it, footsteps racing to her room. The click and the slam of her door, the tiny indentations the doorframe left in the wall. And this – the next few minutes are what she remembers sharper than everything. Seared in her mind in streaks of black and grey.

Her mother, flinging her body at her. Arms that encircled her a little too desperately, and then her head tilting back as a loud, keening sob ripped from her lips.

Wren had been so confused- her head tilted to one side as she stared up at her mother. She placed a palm, a tiny palm on her mother’s cheek and it was like a small starfish and she whispered, “I’m sorry mama,” and she didn’t even know why she was saying sorry. It just seemed like the right thing to say.

Wren’s mother turned and her mouth fell open and one word fell out of her mouth, contorted in anguish. “Please.”

Wren’s father stood in the doorway, and her whole life he had always been so strong and tall, a willow tree with a steady trunk that she flocked to. But in her dreams his head hangs low. He isn’t crying, his face is blank. His body is broken.

Wren will find out later that this was the night her father’s debts rose to the surface. That he had accrued a debt that consisted of years and years of life, years that outweighed even his own. Wren’s father was sentenced to be Separated, and told that his next of kin was going to be Separated too. It was according to the government, the only viable and efficient way to repay his debts. It was the fairest way.

“The fairest way?” Wren’s mother had whispered woodenly. “How is this fair?”

The debt collectors had been lurking like shadows with their fists tightening around her father’s neck, tighter and tighter until his body broke. This was fair, this was policy. This was their way of not only getting what they were owed back, but also sending a message. This society is ruled by order. We are balanced, we are fair, this is the ideal world. Everybody lives longer. Except for you, and except for your daughter.

Wren hadn’t known then. She didn’t have a concept of life, of debt, of what was right and what was wrong. She didn’t understand that during her tenth birthday, she would not be getting a barcode tattooed on her wrist. She didn’t know that on her twelfth birthday, her mother would leave in the middle of the night with no words or goodbyes, her absence leaving behind a gaping hole in Wren’s heart. She didn’t know that on her sixteenth birthday her father would be separated and that she wouldn’t cry, in fact she wouldn’t feel anything but a throbbing ache in her chest and the memories of her mother’s arms tight around her and the cotton sheets bunched up under her body.

She didn’t know any of that then. So, in all of her dreams, and on that night at eight years old, she turned to her mother and repeated those words, “I’m sorry mama.” Her mother who was still crying, her shoulders shaking so hard that it almost looked like she was laughing. Behind them, her father sank to the ground and hung his head so low in his hands that the tips of his hair brushed the floor.

Wren wakes up with a start, her face dotted in sweat. It takes her a moment to adjust, to settle her fraying nerves. I’m here, I’m still me. She sits up in Yoongi’s bed, whispering the words aloud. “I”m here, I’m stll me.”

Still, her heart flutters uncontrollably in her chest like a hummingbird's wings. She gets up, walks out into the hallway. The automatic lights hum on as she sits down on one of the kitchen counter stools, it adjusts its height automatically. She glances up at the clock, it’s nearly midnight.

Four years, sixty two days. Wren closes her eyes and tries not to think about it. Still, the clock ticks on. She opens one eye, looks at the time. 12:02.

Four years, sixty one days.

Wren wonders idly where Yoongi is. She’s shaken, wanting nothing more than his arms around her waist, his lips by her ear. As if on cue, she hears the beep of a scanned barcode outside the door.

“Hey,” Wren sighs, watching as apartment door glides open, Yoongi barreling in and shoving the sleeves down on his sweater. She yawns, begins to gather her hair up in her hands. “Where were you all day?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond, striding over purposefully. “Wren,” He says, and his voice is quick and excited, “Check this out.” She stops, her arms fall to her sides and hair spills back over her shoulders.

Yoongi has on his arm right above his barcode, ink. Wren gasps involuntarily, seeing the puckered skin on Yoongi’s arm, the black lines that runs over his skin. It’s beautiful – a clean geometric pattern that swoops over his arm and disappears around his elbow. It is understated and striking and so utterly Yoongi that it takes a half minute for her to properly register what it is that she is looking at.

“Is that a tattoo?”

Yoongi nods, he’s practically bouncing on his toes. She gapes.

“How the hell did you get a tattoo? They’re illegal for God’s sake!” Her voice lowers into a hiss.

Yoongi shrugs, unfazed. “I did some digging around at work, heard from a guy who heard from another guy about this tattoo artist. His place was a bitch to find, next to some gaudy brothel that was PODs only and no humans allowed, called iPod, how fucking cheesy is that-”

“Yoongi, tattoos are illegal.” Wren interrupts him, “You can get in serious fucking trouble, you know.”

“Trouble?” Yoongi scoffs and for a moment Wren hates him, she hates how reckless he can be, how invincible he thinks he is. For a moment they stand there, staring at one another stubbornly.

Yoongi weakens, he takes a step towards her. “I was careful, Wren. I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”

She gazes at him and sighs. “You’re at least fifty percent idiot.”

His face melts into a smile and it’s one that she hasn’t seen on Yoongi’s face in what feels like weeks. He steps closer to her, his fingers interlacing with hers. And then he kisses her, long and slow and that right there is definitely something that hasn’t happened in weeks. They pull apart but Yoongi stays close, his lips close to hers. They’re still nearly touching and his voice drops to a whisper.

“Wren there’s… there’s people out there who are against what the government does. They’re against the Life currency system, against PODs, against Separation. They want to do something about it, take action. They… they want me to help.”

Wren feels a sharp snap of panic.

“It’s legitimate. Half the reason why I went and got this tattoo today was because I wanted to talk to the guy who did it, some guy a few years older than us. Apparently he knows stuff about it, he didn’t say much, I tried bringing it up with him after the tattoo because he barely spoke a word to me before that… though Jungkook, that’s the name of the guy by the way, he kicked me out pretty quick the minute I mentioned the rebel organization but I mean that’s gotta be confirmation it’s legitimate right-”

“Yoongi, a rebel organization?” Wren’s voice raises a few decibels and she immediately lowers it, her hands trembling. “Are you stupid? That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Yoongi reels backwards. His face flashes with hurt and then he crosses his arms over his chest, inhaling deeply.

“Look, I know it sounds… it’s a lot, but it’s something, you know? It’s better than this, what life is like now-”

“What life is like now? What are you talking about Yoongi? Life is fine now-”

Yoongi interrupts with a dry laugh, she ignores him pointedly, presses on.

“Besides do you have any idea how damn risky all of that shit is? Do you know what they do to people who try and resist? They get punished, Yoongi. Fined all these life hours-”

“Who gives a flying fuck about hours?”

“-or imprisoned, or God knows what else. Yoongi, you could… you could die.”

Her cheeks are flushed and the words are tumbling out in rapid succession,

Yoongi just stares at her and shrugs, a tiny drop and fall of his shoulders.

“And what’s the alternative? Sit around and wait for you to be Separated?”

A heavy silence hangs between the two of them. It’s like a glass wall has been shattered, and Wren stares at him with betrayed eyes.

“I know… I know you hate talking about it but it’s the truth Wren. It’s going to happen and I know you keep saying you’re fine with it-”

“Yoongi, don’t-”

“But I’m not fine with it, I don’t want to lose you, I can’t lose you, not when I, not when I-”

“Yoongi I said fucking don’t-”

“Not when I’m in love with you.”

There it is, the unspoken bombshell.

They stare at each other and Wren feels like she is falling, a lump in her throat because she is so scared, so bone numbingly terrified to admit to herself that she is in love with Yoongi too.

“I’m going.” She stands up shakily, her eyes brimming with tears as she walks towards the door. Yoongi opens and closes his mouth, stands up too.

“Wren, I’m sorry. I-”

She whirls around. “Yoongi I – I can’t right now, please, I’m-” Her words are tumbling out in panic because she has ten thousand things floating around in her mind, about this rebel organization, thoughts wrapped around feelings of fear and panic and most of all, most unfamiliar of all... a twinge of hope.

“Okay.” Yoongi interrupts quietly. “Okay. Just…” He swallows. “What else am I supposed to do?”

He lifts his wrist, scans the screen near the door so that it glides open for her. Wren stays still for a moment, staring into his eyes.

“I don’t know, Yoongi.” She whispers, before she turns and walks out.

The streets are dark outside, there are less PODs on late night watch than usual so she takes a moment to stop still in her tracks. It’s rare for it to be this quiet – no glide of cars, the only sound the eerie hum of the artificial lights and occasional beep from a nearby scanner.

She doesn’t want to be scared. She doesn’t want to be scared of the threat that has been dangling over her head her entire life, the constant fear of getting too close to feeling human when she knows she’ll have that humanity ripped away from her at twenty five. She doesn’t want to be scared to live, to discover who she is when this world has told her she doesn’t have an identity. She doesn’t want to fill herself full with emotions and memories when she is a shell waiting to be given a more permanent host.

She doesn’t want to be afraid of her life. She wants to reclaim it.

She straightens, and she turns sharp on her heel. She almost runs to Yoongi’s apartment, she doesn’t pass a single POD on the way. A twist of fate, a sign. Her heart knocks in her ribcage as she approaches Yoongi’s building.

She runs up all eight flights of stairs because she doesn’t have a barcode to scan at the elevator. The moment she steps into his hallway, something twinges in her chest and she hears a faint ringing in her ears.

It’s like a siren. A warning, a prickle over her skin and a sudden feeling of dread. She doesn’t know why. The hallway is quiet, still. But something feels wrong. Misplaced.

She walks down the hallway and then she sees it. Yoongi’s door – wide open. The scanner that sits outside is smashed, jerky holographics playing on the wall and a robotic voice repeating “Identity - unrecognized. Identity - unrecognized.”

No. It feels like something is broken inside of her, and she is filled with cold waves of shock and fear. She walks towards Yoongi’s home, and then she sees it. Four PODs, there in the entrance of Yoongi’s home. Tucking things into evidence bags – the photographs he took and kept scattered around his house, his favourite black sweater. His coffee mug that he had permanently glued to his hands at any time of the day before 12PM.

But she barely registers any of that. Because there, in the middle of the room is a white sheet covering a body.

Everything cracks, splinters into fragments and she falls to her knees.

Her knees throb from the sudden impact and the PODs continue to do their job, not even looking up at the crunch of her body against the ground.

A police officer, a human one, approaches her. He’s talking about freak accidents and unmotivated murder and looking for his barcode to transfer his life hours to his next of kin, but it all feels wrong.

Wren can’t blink, she can’t breathe. She is staring at the white sheet, at the arm that is peeking out from underneath – the barcode she knows better than any other, and the fresh tattoo sitting above it.

The police officer is asking questions, talking in a tone that is monotonous and calm. But she can’t hear him.

All she can hear is that warning siren, getting louder until it drowns everything out altogether.

The night before Wren’s twenty-fifth birthday is a cold one. Bitterly cold in fact – the air is restrictive and numbingly icy, like a vice of cold has locked around her throat, rendering her constantly breathless. Wren thinks to herself as she walks that this is one thing she definitely won’t miss, the fucking cold.

It is early in the morning, so early that the sky is an eerie shade of translucent blue, a muted contrast to the buildings that tower above her head, each gleaming a different shade of grey.

She is on the opposite side of the city, her city, with not much to go off of but whispers and hearsay about this so-called tattoo artist. A brothel called iPod. A man named Jungkook. She doesn’t exactly know why she is here, slinking in between alleyways looking for a metaphorical needle in a haystack yet here she is.

She turns down her fourth alleyway and sees it. There – the brothel she was told to look for, bright magenta and yellow neon lights. A big ugly sign that says ‘iPOD’ with a retro style photo of some ancient music device similarly named iPod.

‘...iPod, how fucking cheesy is that...’

Dark eyes, platinum blonde hair, him crooking his head and looking down at her in the classroom, asking, ‘You alright?’

Her fist curls into a ball, she feels a searing whip of hurt deep in her stomach. A hurt that has been there for four years and sixty one days. She pushes it down, packs it away. Tries not to think about him, tries not to think at all.

Tucked beside it is a nondescript building, with just a large black chrome door.

She walks up to it, and there, scratched in the metal is a tiny flower. She stares at it, makes up her mind, and her knuckles come down, rapping right on the flower’s two dimensional petals.

There is nothing but silence, the soft patter of rain beginning to fall, a hollow series of laughs from the brothel next door. Wren grabs the door handle and it swings open. Immediately, a device hovers down from where it was nestled in the doorframe and scans her, looking for a barcode or for a POD tag- but of course, it finds nothing.

The door closes behind her, the hallway is dark and dimly lit. Carefully, she works her way down until she sees something blocking her path. It’s just a black curtain, cheap fabric that is fraying where it brushes the floor and gingerly she ducks underneath it.

Her eyes fall first on the black leather chair that sits in the middle of the room. It is cracked in sections, signs of wear in the white plumes of stuffing that are spilling out of the leather. Wren arches an eyebrow as she carefully steps into the space.

Her eyes immediately fall on the walls, they are filled with drawings – illustrations and sketches, grey charcoal on creamy swatches of paper. There doesn’t seem to be a theme that ties the drawings together, and she leans closer, her lips pursing.

There is a sketch of flowers, delicate petals with shading so intricate that it seems as if the plant is about to burst off of the pages. A scorpion ready to strike, drawn with harsh strokes and bleak scribbles. There is a sketch of a woman, older, creased lines in her skin and huge, lonely eyes.

Wren shudders and turns. There is a window, tucked in the corner of the room and for some reason that she can’t quite decipher, her fingers begin to tremble.

A man is standing by the window, crooked over the windowpane. He is dressed in a thick black coat that reaches his ankles, a black turtleneck clings to his body underneath.

He is smoking, and she watches as he brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales, thick plumes of smoke curl around his body and then dissipate. Wren is mesmerized, she hasn’t seen a real cigarette before, and she stares at the crimson red embers flickering to the ground.

And then her eyes fall on him.

He is striking, she thinks, the thought slips in and the moment it does, she can’t get rid of it. Once her eyes fall on him, she can’t look away. He has dark hair and dark eyes, fringed with thick lashes. A strong jaw, which clenches in between drags of the cigarette. Eyes that are wide and sweet, despite the harshness in the grim set of his mouth and the lines of his build.

He seems to sense the stare that Wren is directing at him, he flicks the cigarette out of the window, it disintegrates into ash and falls through the air like flakes of charred snow. He turns, his eyes set on her.

“How did you get in?” He asks in a short, clipped voice.

She ignores the question, dodging around the words like they were never asked.

“Are you Jungkook?”

He folds his arms across his chest, steps away from the window and shrugs off his coat.

“Depends who’s asking. I believe,” He tosses the coat across the leather chair sitting in the center of the room, “I asked you a question. How did you get in? I have special scanners at the entrance.”

He doesn’t look intimidated, just mildly curious. Wren hesitates.

“I’m here to get a tattoo,” She answers instead, “If you have free time. Seems like you do, though.” Jungkook’s lips twitch at that. “And, by the way. Your scanners are broken.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly, he nods, absorbing her words. “Broken?” He repeats softly. “Huh. That’s never happened before.” He cocks his head to one side as if he’s deliberating, assessing her with narrowed eyes.

“Okay then. A small tattoo’ll cost you 800 hours. Barcode please.” He holds out a palm and hesitation flushes red over Wren’s face.

“I…” Wren swallows, her throat is dry. “I don’t… I can’t pay with hours. I have cash though, real cash, it’s a bit old but-”

“Cash?” Jungkook’s voice is full of disbelief. “I don’t take cash. No one takes cash anymore.”

Wren opens her mouth to argue, more negotiations and pleas ready to come spilling out of her mouth, but she sees the steeliness in Jungkook’s eyes and pauses. A moment of hesitation and deliberation, drawing lines in her mind and questioning whether or not she is making a huge mistake… and then her fingers grasp at her sleeve and she pushes up.

She keeps her eyes on Jungkook, watching him intently for a reaction. She spots it- the tiniest flicker of surprise that dances across his face, the way he blinks a few more times than necessary.

Most of all is the realization that cracks loud and clear inside of her like a rubber band snapping in half, that he isn’t shocked by her blank wrist, of her lack of a barcode.

He’s seen it before.

Just as quickly as she catches it, those few fleeting seconds of shock and recognition, he conceals it all – his face smoothening over, his eyes flitting up to meet hers, dark and somber and unreadable.

Wren has a thousand questions, and her eyes lock with his. Something is in the air between them, the lowest of crackling heat, an electric pulse that is just faintly buzzing underneath the surface, like a thin film wrapped around them both.

“Jesus.” The word rushes out of his mouth and his eyebrow creases and he folds his arms tight across his chest, and the look on his face, the pity creased right there, pinched tight between his brows reminds her so much of him that a sharp ache stabs her in her chest, sour and painful and-

“Why… are you here?”

She is jolted out of her reverie and she swallows, hard. She lifts her eyes to meet Jungkook’s.

“I’m here for a tattoo, I already said-”

“You know I can’t tattoo you.”

A silence falls between them, they stand and stare at each other before she straightens.

“Please. Please. I can pay, I just-”

“No.”

“Please. I’m… I’m desperate. I…”

“I said no sweetheart. My answer is final. The exit is-”

“I turn twenty five tomorrow.”

He freezes. She spots it, a window of opportunity. Zeroes in on it, chases it, pins everything on it.

”Please.”

He sighs, clenching his jaw in uncertainty. Stares at her, assesses her closely.

“Okay, I... okay.”

She breathes a sigh of relief.

“So what do you want to get, then?”

He clears his throat, rolling up his sleeves as he speaks. His forearms are taut- honey skin and curves of muscle but what pulls at her attention are the lines of black ink that kiss Jungkook’s skin. His forearms, both of them, are intricately tattooed. She recognizes a few motifs- flowers mainly, thick vines and leaves and roses that curl around his forearms and disappear beneath the black fabric bunched around his elbows.

“I…” Her voice falters, whatever courage she had is draining away and disintegrating with each word. “A bird. A wren bird.”

He raises an eyebrow. “A wren bird?” He repeats, the firm line of his mouth cracks ever so slightly into a laugh. “Cliché.”

Wren cracks a smile. Jungkook’s eyes are on her, she can sense it – almost like they’re circling each other, unsure of how much to say, how much to reveal.

“Where?” Jungkook asks. “Where on your body?”

“Wrist.” She taps the spot where her barcode was supposed to be. Where there will be tomorrow.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, nods. “Sit.” He nods at the black chair in the centre of the room and she sits down on it gingerly, watching him. He turns away, walks over to a black box on one of the benches and picks up a few tools, amongst them a needle, before he settles back down by her side.

“This is how you do it?” She asks, “With a needle?”

He glances up and nods, a wry smile that is softer around the edges.

“Mm. Old school technique called handpoking. I know there are other underground artists who use technology to tattoo, it’s probably faster that way but…” He glances down at his arms with a faint smile. “You can’t get the lines as delicate that way.”

She looks at his forearms, at the intricacy of his tattoos. She’s never seen tattoos like that, except for of course the one that once adorned his arm. While Jungkook’s are intricate, so full of life and movement, his tattoo was clean and flowing, structured swoops of art on skin.

Jungkook picks up a swab of damp cotton and swipes it over her wrist carefully.

“They’re beautiful.” She says. “Your tattoos, that is.”

She realizes that Jungkook’s fingers are still latched around her wrist, black ink petals that arch up the back of his hand to his knuckles a sharp contrast against her untattooed skin. Jungkook’s grip tightens, just a touch. His eyes soften, only a fraction. And just like earlier, so quickly that Wren wonders if she is imagining it or not, Jungkook’s gaze lingers for a beat too long on her lips.

“Let me know if it hurts, alright?” He says quietly, glancing up at her. She nods as his eyes linger on hers and he brings the needle to her skin.

It’s quick – he is fast, expert, so fast. Quick, rapidfire pricks into her skin, she flinches a little at first but quickly adjusts to the feeling. Jungkook stops, his thumb brushes over her wrist.

“All good?”

She just nods and he continues, for a moment the only sound is the sound of him breathing, his eyes narrowed in focus.

“So what does it mean, then?” Jungkook asks gruffly. “The wren bird?”

Wren glances over at him, he isn’t looking at her, and she takes a moment to drink him in. The careful, concentrated crease in his brows. The earrings that dot his earlobes, the broadness of his chest as he carefully, precisely tattoos her. There’s something about him that she trusts.

“It’s my name.” She murmurs. “Wren.”

“Ah, that’s your name?” Jungkook glances up, his eyes meet hers. “It’s pretty.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, keeping her eyes on him.

“You weren’t surprised,” She says quietly. The pain comes in small pricks but it fades quickly, she stares up at the ceiling and breathes in deeply. Jungkook hums softly under his breath.

“About what?”

“The fact that I’m going to get Separated.”

Jungkook’s mouth twists and he sighs. “Mmhm. You’re not the first. I’ve met people like you before. But no barcode at all, that’s rare.” He shifts a little in place. “How old were you then, when you were contracted to be Separated? Must’ve been young, to not have a barcode at all…”

She stays still, perfectly still. A few more pricks to her skin and her eyes almost fill with tears but she grits her teeth.

“Eight.”

A heaviness falls between them. Jungkook’s hand hovers and he lets out a tiny sigh. “I’m sorry.” Jungkook says finally.

“Nothing you can do about it.”

“Nothing any of us can do about it, I suppose.”

They fall quiet, Jungkook’s gaze intent as he continues to press the needle into her skin.

“So. How did you find me then?”

“Someone I… someone I knew mentioned you a few years ago. Said he was looking for you, he got a tattoo from you on his arm.”

Jungkook smiles at this, his lips turning up into a smirk. “Huh, really? Does it still look good?”

Wren wavers, a shuddering breath falls out between her lips before she can stop it.

“It did.”

Jungkook pauses. He doesn’t look at her, but she can see his hands tremble.

“I see.”

“He… he mentioned something about a rebel organization. Something about trying to find you to learn more about it. That was before he, before-”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Jungkook’s voice hardens. His face is perfectly still, dangerously still, and a beat of silence passes between them.

“No,” Wren whispers. “I’m here because…” Her voice trails off. She has so many thoughts, so many emotions, all jumbled and tangled and she doesn’t know how to feel anymore. Why she’s here. “Because I miss him.”

“He’s dead?”

Wren feels an acute, awful twist in her chest and nods.

She misses Yoongi so much.

Jungkook’s eyes meet hers and she can see it dancing over his features, inner conflict about what to say, how much to share of himself. He’s so distrusting, so guarded, and it feels familiar to her. She must pass whatever test he’s running through his mind because he sighs again, a few more pricks to her skin and then he speaks, so quietly that she almost can’t hear the words he’s saying.

“I don’t know who he was,” He says quietly. “But I’m not surprised to hear about that. Anyone who gets caught in association with my brother and his people face consequences.”

Wren glances over at him, his face is carefully masked but she doesn’t miss the flash in his eyes and the way his jaw trembles.

“Your brother?”

“Mm.” Jungkook nods. “Big brother. Leader of the fuckin’ rebel organization. Last I heard, the government was actually trying to hunt them down.” He barks out a humourless laugh. “I have nothing to do with them. Not anymore, anyway.”

Wren feels a pang in her chest, something inside of her wavers.

“Why not?”

“Because my brother…” Jungkook’s voice trails off. “He’s a good guy, he just… he sees the world in black and white. Not too dissimilar to the people who implemented this whole Life system and Separation system in the first place. They see the world one way, that it needs to be perfected, categorized, organized… and my brother thinks that chaos is natural. That there is no such thing as the perfect life.” A muscle in Jungkook’s jaw twitches. “The world isn’t that simple though. Bad people do fucked up things. Good people do fucked up things. You know?”

Wren is quiet, absorbing his words. “Your brother believes in something, at least.”

“Isn’t it better to believe in nothing, if what you’re believing in is doomed to fail?” Jungkook asks, his voice slanting up harshly.

Wren looks over at him. His eyes are pricked with emotion, glassy with tears and then he snaps his head back down, emotions teeming at the surface.

Another beat of quiet passes between them.

“Maybe,” Wren whispers. “But I know what it feels like to believe in nothing. And I can’t imagine there being any better alternative.”

Jungkook is quiet, he picks up the needle again and she feels it pressing into her skin.

“What if the alternative is losing someone you love?”

A flash of Yoongi, of her mother, of the feeling of her body crooked into a furnace that is cold and dusty and dark.

“That’s an alternative I’m pretty familiar with.”

The words come out more bitterly than she had intended. Jungkook sighs.

“You and I both, then.”

Wren’s eyes snap up, to Jungkook who is staring straight at her with a pained expression written on his face. He gazes down at her, keeps rhythmically pressing the ink into her skin.

He lets out a sigh. “I was once by my brother’s side you know. Believed in everything he believed, because he was my brother and whatever he said... that was it, you know? Endgame. I would’ve done anything for him.

When he wanted to rebel, to fight back, I was right there with him. I believed in it. How could I not? I never had a father, it was always me and my brother, protecting our Mum, us against the entire God damn world.”

Jungkook’s voice breaks apart, he swallows.

“We were finding all of this shit out about what the government and their PODs were doing, what they were experimenting on. Using Separation as a weapon, experimenting with other ways to use Life and take Life. How to control and use the minds and souls that had been Separated.” Jungkook’s lips twist up, his face darkens. “No matter how close we got, how dangerous it all was, hyung just kept… he just kept going. He thought he was fucking invincible.”

Wren is quiet, knowing the feeling of standing by someone’s side while they burned fierce and bright and hot, unstoppable to a fault. Ignited by someting powerful, unmovable - belief. She looks at Jungkook’s face, hears the sudden thickness in his words and remembers what Yoongi’s body looked like under the sheet, the filling of fear and powerlessness that had consumed her when she had seen it.

“He died, didn’t he?”

Jungkook is silent.

“No,” He says slowly. “My mother did. She was Separated. Right in front of us. They removed her mind and her soul and took her catatonic body with them. I thought they were going to kill me and my brother too. I wanted them to kill us. But they didn’t. They left us.”

Wren lets out a soft, choked sound. Jungkook doesn’t look at her.

“I always blamed him. Blamed her. Blamed myself.” He shakes his head, looks down at his hands, at the petals fanned out over his fingers. “I haven’t talked to him in years. That part of my life is done. I’m never going back to it. That night, my family died. My mother died, and so did my brother.”

He shrugs, she can see the pain brimming in his eyes, the muscles clenching in his jaw.

“Jungkook.” Jungkook glances over at her, sees her looking at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing you can do about it.” They stare at one another before Jungkook straightens, stretches out his arms. Stands up, sits beside her on the chair.

“Anyway. All done.”

“Really?” Wren glances down to see her wrist. There, on the centre of her wrist – clean black lines are flow across, depicting a small bird taking flight. “Thank you. I’ll pay you, I promise.”

“It’s alright, really. Don’t worry about it.”

She glances up at him, her eyes shining. “No I…” She swallows and a smile flickers across her face. “Thank you. For... for giving me something to believe in.”

Like this, it’s almost as if she is a different person – her bottom lip trembling, her face a foreign blend of sadness and happiness. A smile that is happy but painfully sharp around the edges. She looks at him – he is staring at her so intensely that she is about to ask him what’s on his mind, what is the matter, but something stills inside of her.

Silence passes, logically Wren knows it must only be seconds but they feel like so much longer, time stretched out to infinite quantities while her gaze is locked in Jungkook’s.

He shifts ever so slightly, enough so that his body is closer to hers. Something velvet and dark roars inside of her, like flames are licking at the edges of her insides. It is a sensation she hasn’t felt in so long and she has thousands of thoughts bleeding through her head, thoughts she can’t unpick, thoughts she doesn’t want to - right before Jungkook leans in.

He is close – so close that she can feel the heat prickling off his body and onto hers. Her entire chest is tight, like it is wrapped in the vines inked on Jungkook’s arms, as her reaches up. He brushes his fingers carefully right by her ear, the tips of his fingers grazing her earlobe.

She shudders delicately as a sudden flash of lust scorches white hot inside of her. His hand travels down to brush her hair carefully behind her shoulder. And then – the tips of his fingers at the base of her head, his fingers knotting into her hair, sending another fresh set of waves rippling through her body. Her thighs clench involuntarily, she squeezes her legs together and lets out a tiny whimper.

Jungkook leans in even closer. His lips are only centimetres away from hers, his eyes heavy and lidded. She realizes with a flare of clarity that she wants him to kiss her, to feel the heat of his body on hers, to feel his hand laced in her hair gripping hard and tugging. The moment her mind has wrapped around that image she can’t let go of it.

He’s still close- so close, she is lost in the dark depths of his eyes as they stare into her own.

And then his mouth brushes against hers.

It’s barely a kiss, so tentative, so chaste that it doesn’t feel real. Jungkook pulls away and she sees him swallow thickly, and it’s like something ignites inside of her. Like all the tension is instantly gathered into heavy pulses of need, her focus narrowing down and honing onto him – Jungkook, his hand now resting against the nape of her neck, his fingers brushing slow patterns against her skin, his face inches from hers. She lingers on it, on his dark eyes and the look on his face – the way he has to swallow desperately every few seconds, the way his jaw is trembling as he tries to control himself.

She doesn’t want him to control himself. She doesn’t want to control herself. She just wants.

She chases into him hard and hungry, wanting more. It feels like something desperate and feral and needy has unleashed from inside of her. Her lips crash against his and Jungkook immediately lets out a groan into her mouth, his voice gravelly and his hands winding around her waist and tugging her against him with a muttered “God”. He kisses her, his tongue dominating and intense as she feels her mind go blank. A heavy drum beat has started, a syrupy pulse made up of the most dangerous kind of heat, she can feel it throbbing between her legs, an ache in her breasts from how badly she wants to be touched by him.

He doesn’t stop – he kisses her longer and deeper until she’s gasping for air, ripping away from him as her chest heaves and his lips pluck kisses down her jaw and to her neck.

His teeth catch on her skin, she lets out a loud moan at the feeling of it- his teeth nibbling into that sensitive spot right underneath her jaw, the pressure of his lips sucking against her skin and leaving behind a small purple bruise. The feeling of him, his lips and mouth and each lust drenched moan against her neck as his strong arms grip her tight to his body.

She’s letting out pitchy, desperate sounds – stuttered sounds of urgency and neediness, her legs beginning to tremble because all she can feel is the thud between her legs and the wetness beginning to pool fast and messy between her legs.

It’s like their bodies are synchronized – he is as desperate as she is, as full of need. Wren’s breath hitches raw and fast in her throat as Jungkook’s thumbs gripped her hips, digging hard into the flesh as he pulls her hard against him. Even harder. Harder, so that there is a sound of bodies colliding, his fingers laceingin her hair as he let out a moan and a husky “fuck”. She glances up to see him staring down at her. His face dotted in sweat, his dark eyes blown out and so fucking full of keen unadulterated want that it makes her even more dizzy with it.

“I want to fuck you. All of you, until you don’t even know your own name.”

A thrill eases its way through her body. She tilts her head back and lets out a needy moan, an affirmation, and she feels his eyes track down to the curve of her breasts and he reaches up to touch her. His hands lock around one breast and she lets out a whimper at the roughness of it, his fingers find her hard nipple and he pinches hard, enough to have a higher pitched hiss escape from her lips.

He still has her thigh gripped in his other hand, her body pulled up flush against his. She stares at him, her eyes wide, she is yearning for it.

“Please Jungkook, God, please…” She mouths against his neck, moans into his kisses as his hand massages her breasts and he lets out a choked sound right back into her touches.

“Fucking hell, Wren. Fucking hell.”

She stares and feels her throat go dry as he reaches up behind his head and in one fluid motion, pulls off his black turtleneck. His hair is tousled, his arms flexing as he tosses the sweater to the ground.

His chest is broad, his shoulder muscles defined. He has a taut abdomen and two small slopes that disappear into the hem of his pants. His arms are tattooed – covered in those intricate flowers and vines. And then there – on his ribs, on the left side of his abs is another tattoo, a panther’s body arched upwards, claws outstretched.

She feels struck by it, by him. How effortlessly beautiful he is as his hands move down to his pants, unzipping and pulling them off until he is standing there in black underwear that cling to the length of his cock, his erect length which is hard and stands tall in his pants.

“Jungkook,” She whines faintly. He hums, his eyes boring into hers, raking over her body, chest heaving with each labored breath. He’s strong, and even the way he is standing – a natural dominant stance - has her dizzy.

He steps back to her, wraps her legs around his waist, his fingers locked hard around her upper thigh. He squeezes, hard, and she lets out a desperate whimper. Her eyes flutter up to meet his, and his gaze is dark, intent on hers, before he grasps her chin, his thumb tracing her bottom lip.

She’s shaky with it, how badly she wants him, and she lets out a small cry, a plea, and Jungkook just hums in response as his hand darts between her legs.

Wren is wearing nothing but a pair of thin black cotton pants, it isn’t much, and certainly doesn’t act as a barrier between her wetness and the feeling of Jungkook’s fingers pressing right there against her sensitive, aching slit. His touch is rough, intense – three fingers, pressed flat against her and he’s rubbing hard, intense circles deep into her walls and she can feel the sensations on her clit and she thinks she might fall into the very earth from it.

He has three of his fingers flat and he presses hard against the fabric of her pants, right there on her sensitive, aching slit. She lets out a sharp moan at how good it feels to have that pressure on her when she’s so full of want, throbbing and aching with it.

“I want you inside of me,” She pants out, and Jungkook lets out a moan at her words as he wraps his hands around her waist, tugging her in hard until she spills forward against his body. His lips press hard against her throat and she feels him mouthing kisses down her the slope of her neck, his palms gliding down her front to unbutton her shirt.

He undoes as much as he can, his fingers shaking as he exposes her breasts. He doesn’t tease, he continues kissing down her neck to the dip of her collarbones, his tongue lapping at the skin there. She lets out a hissed mutter and clenches her thighs, pressing as much of her pussy against his waist as possible in desperation to feel something.

Jungkook presses a kiss on the top of her breast. She pushes harder against him, letting out a strangled whimper when she feels the hard bulge in his pants, the friction of it against her soaked panties. It’s torture – how close his mouth is to making contact with her hard nipples, his lips planting slow, intentl kisses right there around it but never quite touching.

“I want all of you,” He murmurs, his words coming out in soft pants of air against her hard nipples. She’s desperate – her hips bucking into him, she lets out tiny mewls at each grind of his hard dick against her wet slit, and just when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, his tongue flickers over her nipple and her body curls.

“Fuck!” The word falls out of her mouth and she tilts her head back as Jungkook latches his lips around her, swirling his tongue over her nipple as his other hand cups her breast. It feels incredible – taking her higher, getting her even more desperate. His tongue, his hands all over her breasts, the feel of his dick against her slit, getting her more and more worked up.

Suddenly he stands, his arms slotting around her waist as he picks her up and settles her on the ground, she sways a little on her feet as he sits down on the chair. He smirks up at her, and she swallows – his tattooed arms tensed, him sitting in just his black jocks and his visible erection, his thick muscular thighs gripping the edge of the seat.

Standing, she realizes just how much she wants it- her whole body is trembling with it, the throbbing between her legs almost painful. And then he pulls her into his lap, over his knee.

This close, straddling his leg, she sucks in voluntarily for breath. He leans his forehead against hers, smirks. He looks so in control of himself – his hands curving around her ass, his muscular chest rising and falling with each breath, his hard cock twitching in his underwear.

“Jungkook,” Her words fall out, her voice loose and husky. “Please…”

She can feel his muscular thigh underneath her wet pussy, and she begins to grind against him. She lets out a tiny whimper at the sensation of it, every rock of her hips creating a new wave of desperate, frenetic pleasure from deep inside of her.

She ruts harder against his leg, clenching, moaning, frustration blooming in her chest.

“Good girl,” He croons in her ear, his voice is harder, rougher, turbulent with lust. “That’s right, make yourself feel good…”

He thrusts his thigh up a centimeter, enough so that she can feel his muscles tensing in his leg, him pushing himself harder against her. Fuck.

She lets out a broken sound as her eyes flutter back into her head. She is so wet – so wet and sensitive that it feels like she is going to fall apart at any moment, she grinds down harder into his thigh and he lets out a loud sigh.

His hand snakes to his thigh and for a moment she feels it, his fingers pressing up into her pants and the feeling of his fingertips right there against her slit, and she lets out a whimper as he pulls away. She’s so close to her release but she knows she can’t reach climax like this, even though she wants it so badly that she is begging for it with whimpers and pleads that come falling uncontrollably out of her mouth.

“You’re so wet,” He mutters, his voice shallow. “Fuck, so wet, you’re soaking with it.” His eyes flicker up to meet hers and a ripple of heat works its way up her belly as she nods, whimpering desperately, bucks harder against him and squeezes her thighs together even harder.

“I want it so badly, please,” Her voice is scratchy as her hands work into his underwear and find his cock, wrapping around his thick length. “Please Jungkook, fuck me. Please.”

Jungkook lets out a soft groan. “God…”

He’s tense, and she begins to glide her hand up his shaft in long strokes. His eyes flash, he moves, picking her up until they are both standing.

“Come here.” She scrambles up onto the chair, and he is on top of her, behind her. He kisses against the back of her neck, she lets out a desperate moan as she feels his fingers at her underwear, grasping at the fabric and pushing it roughly to one side, too rushed and desperate to be slow, to be careful.

“Please Jungkook, God, please,”

She is still pleading for it, and Jungkook doesn’t speak, just groans as his hands tug harder at her ruined underwear and she lets out a pitchy, breathy cry as she feels the tip of his hard cock brush against her entrance.

He thrusts into her, easing into her. She is so soaking wet that he pushes his entire length inside her with ease, until his thick length is all the way inside of her.

“God, you feel so good,” She moans out, she still has her blouse on, halfway unbuttoned and Jungkook reaches up to cup at her breasts, the other hand supporting his body as he begins to snap his hips and thrust into her.

She was so close before this that she feels like she is going to disintegrate into flames just from this, the feeling of him inside her, the tight ache of her pussy and the feeling of him fucking her hard and deep. She basks in it, the friction as he slides out of her and then back into her at a pace that is hungry. She moans louder, possessively, he grips onto her body and pulls her so that her ass is pressed up against him. She can feel him so deep and so full that tears prick in her eyes. She is so close to the edge, so full of pleasure and satisfaction and so close to it, the release.

He is strong, bold, dominating – she can feel it in his fingers grabbing her breasts and his voice against her ear, murmuring how good she feels for him, how much of a good girl she is for taking his entire cock so well. His voice is no longer composed and neatly held together, and he holds onto her body as he fucks into her and rolls his hips up until it hits that spot. She rolls her eyes back into her head, her body beginning to shake.

“I’m going… I’m going to…” The words are breathless and he does it again, thrusts inside her again and his fingers fall from where they were wrapped around her to her clit, which is sore and aching. He begins to massage two fingers against her and that’s all it takes for her body to spill forward, and a release that is sweeter than any high she has ever felt before washes over her entire body.

Her moans fade out into soft honeyed whimpers, as he carefully grasps her shoulders and turns her so she lying on her back. He reaches down and yanks off her underwear properly, she gazes up at him through the haze of her orgasm. He is almost impossibly gorgeous, the ink on his arms dancing under the ripples of his muscles as he pushes himself back inside of her.

This time, he slows, his hands reach up to cup her face, he stares into her eyes and rolls his hips up at a tempo that draws more sensations out of her. It feels so good – she is still soaking wet, her body and mind worn out and so overflowing with feelings of satisfaction, but this is something else entirely.

Him, grinding and riding into her, his jaw clenched as she sees the emotions flicker across his face- lust and want and desire, she reaches up and presses a kiss to his mouth, a long desperate kiss and Jungkook moans into her mouth, thrusts his hips and comes.

It is intense, sinful in the husky moans that fall from his lips as his body stutters forward, filling her pussy up with his cum.

He stays like that for a moment, so does she – they are both tired and blissed out, until finally he pulls out and settles beside her.

They lie on the chair, his arm crooked around her shoulders. She folds under his arm with her breath coming out in jagged puffs against his skin, one hand draped tiredly over his abdomen. For a moment the two of them just breathe it all in, their eyes closed.

Then slowly everything starts to piece back together. The smell of the room, warmth and heat in the air, the smell of Jungkook’s skin and hair and the scent of sex. She opens her eyes and cranes her head up to look at him. He glances down at her and he has no guard up whatsoever on his face. His face, so impossibly soft, so open and so beautiful that she feels everything go silent as he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

They pull apart and the only sound that fills the space is their breathing, slowing and intertwining with each rise and fall of their chests. They don’t speak, they just gaze at each other and even though no words are spoken, she feels like everything on her mind is being said.

“Thank you.” He finally whispers, her voice doesn’t break the silence, shatter it – instead it quietly melts it away.

His mouth crooks in the corner and he reaches up, brushes hair away from her face, pulls it back over her shoulder to expose her bare neck.

“What are you thanking me for?” She asks, shaking her head, a self conscious laugh peeking through her words. “Do you thank everyone you fuck on this chair?”

She reaches out, to poke his shoulder, to detach, to disassociate, but her fingers curl around his collarbone and over the tattoo there, intricate patterns and leaves and stars. Clean and abstract and vibrant all at once.

Jungkook just chuckles, his chest shakes and he holds her to his body a little tighter before relaxing. “No, I just…” His voice fades off in contemplation. “Hm, I don’t know. I was beginning to forget what this felt like.”

She looks at him, he is staring ahead, at the sketches he has pinned up on the walls.

“What, sex?”

He glances down at her, his eyes lock with hers. Her heart quickens, it drops and climbs and she feels like she’s soaring and falling all at the same time.

“No. I feel happy. Worthy. You know?”

Her breathing quietens, they just stare at one another. She can understand that all too well. The feeling that often permeates through her until it feels like it is carved on her bones and written all over her heart, the doubt that creeps in and wraps itself around her… that maybe she isn’t worthy, that she isn’t meant to be happy or fulfilled, that perhaps being Separated really is the best outcome for her.

“When I was a kid me and my brother used to always joke around when our mother was annoying us or telling us off or whatever else, that we were going to get new bodies and run away.” Jungkook murmurs. She is still in his arms, their legs wrapped together. “We used to joke about it when Ria in his academy classes told him she didn’t like him back. We used to joke about it when we didn’t like what was for dinner. We always used to talk about how if our lives weren’t happy enough, that we could trade them in for happier lives one day. I used to dream about it – the perfect, happy life.” His voice is tinged with a blend of sadness. “Some dream, huh?” He sighs. Doesn’t finish his anecdote, holds her a bit closer, tenses slightly.

“I think everyone dreams about the perfect, happy life. I know I did when I was a kid too. Y’know, the whole stupid fucking thing ¬– new body, job as a POD, barcode charged up with all the hours I could ever need, I dunno. Everyone by my side, or even someone by my side.”

“Yeah. Same. Pretty fucking naïve of us, right?”

Jungkook laughs. Wren smiles, and she doesn’t know why she’s smiling when they’re talking about sad, dark, deep heavy shit... but she’s smiling and her eyes meet Jungkook’s and he leans close and kisses her long and sweet.

Jungkook pulls away, stands up, slots his arms underneath Wren’s back, her body folding into his like a piece of origami.

He stands up, staggering a little before he turns. Wren is a bit disoriented, he can tell by the uneven flutter of her lashes, and he pushes open on a small door in the wall and settles her down on the mattress sitting alone in the centre of the room.

She murmurs a little as he lays her down, turning away to twist open a bottle of water. He pours it into a glass, she sits up blearily as he thrusts it in her hands.

“Drink. It’s just water.”

She arches an eyebrow and takes a sip experimentally. “Just water? No superchargers or supplements?” She says in a wry tone, before she drinks more. “It’s good. Thanks.”

Jungkook nods, she sets the empty cup down.

“Where’d you get normal water from?” She begins curiously, wrapping her arms around her legs. “I haven’t seen normal water since – hey, whoa.” She stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she takes in the walls of Jungkook’s room.

The walls are low here in this small nook of the building, it’s less of a room and more of a cupboard really – a space so confined that when Jungkook stands his head almost brushes the ceiling. The defining feature however are the walls – three of which are covered in paint, the last wall a huge window. The walls aren’t of the vivid and artificial colour palette that paints their city – instead they are muted, neutral earthy tones, terracotta reds and seafoam blues and buttercup yellows.

“They’re so beautiful,” Wren breathes out quietly, she sits up straighter and brushes her hair away from her face. “What are they?”

Jungkook is staring at her, his room is dark, illuminated only by the glow from the outside world, the teeming city. Her features are so soft, so delicate – he feels like they are all maginified in this lighting, the way her long lashes blink slowly, her lips falling apart into a perfect ‘o’, the absentminded way her fingers card through her messy hair. She isn’t what this society would deem perfect – a small scar on her cheek by her ear, her features aren’t exactly the traditional definition of pretty, the fresh ink on her wrist… but Jungkook thinks to himself that she’s beautiful. Fucking beautiful.

“Jungkook?” She implores, her eyes meet his and it feels like there is a stutter in Jungkook’s heart.

“They’re… my mother used to tell me about them,” He says finally, tearing his eyes away from her and to the walls. “These places that used to exist before… before all this. I don’t know how accurate they are,” He continues, a touch ruefully, walking towards the nearest mural. His fingers brush along the slopes of blue, grazing against where the dried paint blends into yellow. “I’ve never seen them before. But she used to talk about them a lot. She’d sit in me and my brother’s room and tell us about all the places she grew up around when she was a child. Before she…” His voice trails off and he feels a dull twist in his chest as old memories are dredged up of her.

Creased eyes and worn skin, leathery and old but so familiar, her voice soft and dulcet, telling him stories of a place called the beach, where she used to go swimming. Of sunflower fields, where she talked about flowers with withering yellow petals that faced the sun when it rose, how the landscape was bright and flawed and each plant was a bit battered from her friends and her combing past them each day. Places he would never see, a person, his mother, who he would never see again.

Jungkook had never been one to believe in the afterlife, but this world wouldn’t even give him that much. His mother wouldn’t be an angel, she wouldn’t be there waiting for him in the gates of heaven or hell or oblivion, or whatever it was that awaited him after death. She would be somewhere in the system, government property, waiting to be used as a weapon or as a tool, or worst of all- sitting there forgotten, the only memory of her the peeling sunflowers on his bedroom wall.

He feels arms winding around his waist, he glances down to see slim wrists and fingers that are laced together, he feels a cheek pressed to his back and the feeling of skin on skin. His head hangs forward and he squeezes his eyes tight together, focuses on the sensation of her breath against his spine, waits.

He turns, until he is facing her. He doesn’t smile, his fingers reach outwards and he carefully, slowly, caresses the outlines of her face in his hands. He memorizes everything – the slope of her nose, the set of her eyes, he leans in and presses a kiss against her lips in the hope that the taste and feel of her will stay imprinted in his mind for as long as possible.

He pulls away and stares at her. The city is behind them, the room is filled with an odd aubergine and green glow from the city lights, the ads that gleam bright at all hour of the evening.

He leans his forehead against hers and their fingers lace together, their bodies pressed together, clutching onto one another with a quiet, teeming urgency.

“Don’t leave,” He whispers. “Tomorrow. We can hide. We can run away.”

“Jungkook…” She pulls away. “I can’t… just run away. They’ll find me.”

“They wont,” Jungkook insists in a low voice. “I’ll protect you-”

“And how long do you think you’ll be able to protect me for before they find us both?” She interrupts, her words slice cleanly through his protests. He falls quiet. “This… this goes so much deeper than just you and me Jungkook. I’ve seen it happen, I’ve seen someone who I lo-” Her eyes flash in hurt and she swallows. “He was killed and I won’t, I can’t let that happen to you too.”

Jungkook opens his mouth but she rushes in.

“...I’m tired of not having a name except for the one I gave myself, I’m tired of not knowing who I am or who I was ever supposed to be…” Her voice trembles and her fingers glide from where they were sitting on his collarbones, ghosting over the ink on his chest down his bicep to his wrist. “Maybe I was meant to be Separated.” She whispers brokenly. She taps the lines there on Jungkook’s wrist, the barcode, and her eyes are watery, full. “We can’t change the future when it’s already been written for us.”

Her words hang in the air between them and Jungkook has ten thousand things he wants to say. He wants to tell her that maybe she’s wrong, that they can hide from the world, that they may be able to slip through the seams, that the future isn’t written in stone. That he thought his future had never been written to include anyone else in it, yet here she is easing her way into his heart no matter how foreign and terrifying it feels. That his mother described running through sunflower fields as the most perfect feeling in the world - ‘in its simplicity, I didn’t have to think about it, it just was’. But he falls silent instead.

She is crying – tears pooling in the corner of her eyes, her fingers coming up to her cheeks to scrub away at them stubbornly.

“Okay.” He says instead. He draws her into his arms and he presses his lips to the top of her head. “Tell me you’ll think about it, though.”

She nods from where her face is buried in her chest. “I’ll think about it.” She lies.

They stay there that night, two bodies entwined, exchanging kisses, touches, caresses.

Two lonely hearts, two broken souls, who found one another – if only for one night.

Wren wakes up when it’s still dark outside. She sits up in bed suddenly, her face dotted with sweat, and it feels like she’s just had a nightmare – but she can’t remember what it was about.

For a moment she feels hazy, disoriented, and then it hits her – today is the day. The day she has been waiting her whole for.

She straightens, slowly, taking the time to stretch out her sore limbs. She thinks idly that it doesn’t really matter whether or not she stretches out her muscles, seeing as in a few hours her body won’t belong to her anymore anyway.

The thought makes her head ache in a dull, funny way.

Wren glances down and sees Jungkook by her side. He is knocked out– he had fought so hard to stay awake last night, tossing and turning stubbornly, but he had eventually succumbed to sleep.

Wren on the other hand only managed a few hours, if that – staring up at the ceiling and watching the neon lights cast strange figures on the walls. Jungkook had one arm draped over her waist and he smelled unfamiliar – smoky and masculine, like cedar and sage, and Wren had spent time tracing the tattoos on his arms and wishing that she was someone else, anyone else… and not her, a ticking time bomb, a mind and a soul without a home to return to.

As her fingers had carved softly around the petals of a magnolia flower tattooed around Jungkook’s elbow, Wren allowed the stray thought in that she had been fighting to keep out ever since she spotted Jeon Jungkook standing by that window pane… that in another universe, in another time, she might have really been able to love this man with every fibre in her being.

She carefully eases the arm off of her body – God it’s heavy – and she straightens. The room is still dark and she stands uncertainly for a moment. She is naked, and she covers her body uselessly with her arms, wrapping tight, holding herself together. Jungkook is still sleeping, his mouth parted, his lids closed. He looks so peaceful like this, she thinks to herself, and so beautiful- his hair messy, the curve of his shoulders and the tattoos that look like artwork traced on his skin.

I could’ve really loved you, Wren thinks quietly to herself. A part of myself does love you, in a strange way.

She doesn’t want to leave, every nerve ending wants to keep her rooted here, in this room with the low ceiling and the paintings on the wall. She wants to sit in between Jungkook’s legs with his arms draped around her body, him telling her stories about his mother, and she even wants to hear stupid little tidbits of his life – dumb things really, like how many people he’s tattooed, or what the stupidest tattoo was that he’s ever had to do, or even God knows, what his favourite colour is.

She forces herself to walk to the door, and it feels like her body is aflame. She wants to stay. She wants to be loved. She doesn’t want to be alone. But it feels like horrible déjà vu, the whiplash of being in a car accident, the jolting and all consuming memories of the people who have loved her – her father, her mother, Min Yoongi.

With that in mind, she opens the door and walks out of the bedroom. Her eyes fall on the leather recliner and she drums her fingers against her thigh, blood is rushing in her ears and her heart is going a thousand miles a minute in her chest.

She walks down the stairs, back through that threadbare piece of black cloth. She keeps going, until she is outside, back on the street- where the air is icy against her flushed skin, the pink that tinged her cheeks draining away. She shivers, she holds herself tighter, she looks up at that grey obsolete building and with a lump n her throat she can’t swallow down, she turns around and walks away.

It doesn’t take long until a small chorus of pods pull up beside her on the street. It’s early – too early for them to be out on patrol – and she doesn’t stop to wonder why it is that they are out at this time of the evening. They glide up soundlessly and one turns to her, joints clicking and a subtle electronic beep as it scans over her for a barcode she knows they won’t find.

“Subject 274,193. Birth name, Inhae Jung. Age, 25 and three hours. Awaiting to be processed for Separation.”

The status report makes her flinch. She stands still in spot and glances up at the building, from where she is, she can barely make it out. She searches for the big glass window but her eyes find nothing but grey walls. The lump in her throat gets bigger.

“Ma’am, will you please come with us to the nearest Government Dome for your processing?”

The nearest pod, a young man with sharp features and striking good looks steps up to her. He doesn’t smile, because pods aren’t programmed to have emotions. He speaks in a bland tone, but Wren doesn’t miss the way his arms twitch by his sides, at the other pods that have closed in just a centimeter. It’s a threat, a veiled one, but a threat nonetheless.

“Of course.” She murmurs faintly. The Pod nods and then a vehicle glides up on the street beside them, it hovers silently in the air. She’s ushered inside before she quite knows what is happening, wedged between two pods.

Processing. This is it. She wonders if it is going to hurt. She doesn’t speak, the Pods don’t speak either, she watches one out of the corner of her eye and wonders how sentient they are, just how much of the old mind and soul and essence of self still dwells within these lifeless hosts.

Judging by their blank stares, their rigid bodies, Wren more or less has the answer.

The paperwork is quick, efficient. Wren waits, completely naked, on a steel chair. She has been strapped in, attached by the wrists and ankles, ‘for security measures you see’, and it is cold in this room. Goosebumps cover her arms. A woman sits opposite her on another chair, tapping something into the holographic keyboard that sits in the air beside them, filling in last minute details.

“I’m glad you’re being so compliant,” She says sweetly. “We were beginning to worry. That is quite a debt your father accrued there.” She tuts softly and her fingernails drum down on the table.

Wren feels her breath hitch in her throat. Panic rising up inside of her like a tsunami, building, escalating. Not now, she pleads, and she doesn’t know whether she’s thinking about the impeding panic attack lapping at her feet, or the Separation itself. Not this, not now.

“But you’ve been kept in pristine condition for the most part. That… thing is no good,” She continues, her eyes honing on the black bird etched on her wrist. “But we can easily laser that off for the next inhabitant of your body if they so wish.”

She shoots Wren a saccharine sweet. “It’s great news, really. We were beginning to worry that we would have to harvest your brother too. But it seems you’ll pay back your father’s debts in full, so there should be no need.”

Wren’s heart slams to a grating stop in her chest. Her eyes flicker over to the holographic screen, there, is an image – a boy, a man really, a few years younger than her. A shock of dark chocolate hair, a strong jaw, a barcode hovering beside his face.

“My… brother?”

The woman ignores her, she stands up. She’s dressed in a black sheath dress, her hair is cropped short and she has several jewels dotted in her earlobes. Wren’s eyes widen, her heartbeat quickens, the wave of panic looms larger and taller than before.

“My brother? I have a brother?” She repeats, desperately. The woman picks up the two silver, rectangular shaped slabs from a bench that slides out from the ground between them, she is no longer speaking. She turns off the screen and Wren feels the wave beginning to descend upon her.

“No, I don’t- I can’t, I don’t want to do this!” her voice rises into a scream and she moves to stand. But she can’t. She struggles uselessly against her restraints and the woman’s face is completely passive as she approaches.

Wren has felt fear and dread a thousand different ways, in a thousand different colours. But this is new. This is fear so raw that it numbs her, her body goes slack, her eyes fill with tears.

“Don’t,” Wren pleads, but the woman doesn’t slow. The metal bars are pressed to her temples.

Wren has one thousand questions, and the wave is approaching, roaring, thrashing dark waters beneath its surface. She pulls at names and faces in a desperate hurry.

Her brother, Yoongi, her mother, her father. Jungkook.

Her eyes card down to her wrist, straining from where it is locked in place, the bird trapped beneath. She can only see the tip of its wings.

The wave is coming in faster now and Wren squeezes her eyes shut. I should have stayed. I should have run.

Jungkook, she thinks desperately. I can’t forget. I can fight this. I can not forget. They can’t take this from me.

The metal is cool against her skin. She can hear the woman humming a tuneless song under her breath.

Wren squeezes her eyes shut, she musters up everything inside of her as the wave finally crashes down over her head.

Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

And then everything goes blank.

Jungkook has his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his mouth set in a grim line.

Here, alongside the river, there isn’t a clear footpath – so it feels as if the earth is slipping beneath his feet, small stones crunching under his shoes with every step he takes. The water below is a translucent grey, marred with thick swathes of oil.

Jungkook sees him, standing there, and his breath sucks in through his teeth and rattles in his lungs.

He reaches the other man’s side and for a moment they stand side by side, staring down into the lifeless water. Both are silent, shoulders touching.

Behind the river mouth Jungkook can see the city beginning to come to life, and he knows all too well that in mere minutes the pods will start to emerge, and that the air that is so silent and still will soon be thinned out by voices and the monotonous click and whir of machinery.

“So. You’re back in? Really in?”

The other man’s voice is light, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the suspicion threaded in through his words. Jungkook stays still.

The water is glassy and Jungkook swallows.

“Yeah, Namjoon. I am.”

The taller man lets out a soft chuckle and relaxes, his shoulders slumping slightly, his hands sliding into his pockets.

“Finally realizing how fucked up the world is?”

Jungkook hums under his breath, ignores the question. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Namjoon laughs again. A hollow laugh that wavers in the air and Jungkook turns his head to stare at his brother.

He hasn’t seen Namjoon in years, and although so much has stayed stagnant in the world they both live in, the world they’ve always known– the neon lights that burn artificial light day in and day out, the air always acidic and coppery, the rhythmic beep of scanned barcodes in the background of every memory – so much still, has changed. Namjoon has changed.

His face is older, his eyes brimming with a fierce determination. Long gone is the naivety and sadness that used to live in the lines of Jungkook’s brothers face- Kim Namjoon is utterly unsympathetic now. Locked on the goal ahead. Ruled by a laser sharp focus.

We really are brothers, Jungkook thinks as he takes in the set of Namjoon’s jaw, the coolness in his eyes. Jungkook wonders if underneath that ironclad front is a heart that feels like his does now – swollen and aching and uncertain.

Jungkook had never been conscious of his heart before- it had always just been an organ pumping blood around his body. But now he can feel it, he can honest to God feel every squeeze and restriction of it right there in his chest, he can feel the radiating ache that seeps through his body and leaves him trembling. His heart and his chest and his bones and his head all ache in unison, and he doesn’t know how to make it go away. It’s why he’s here, he supposes, why he’s here standing beside a brother that he barely knows, hanging onto a moment and a memory of a girl who no longer has any moments or memories to call her own.

Jungkook wonders if that is what spurs Namjoon on as well. If his brother too has a glass heart kept safe and protected in a cage of steel.

“I’m looking for someone…” Jungkook swallows hard. “Someone Separated.”

“What…? Someone Separated? Why?”

“Is it possible?”

“I… I don’t-”

“Hyung. Is it possible?” Jungkook’s voice is as sharp as knives and Namjoon doesn’t react. He just looks down at the ground and rubs the tip of his shoe in the soil, the earth is loose and unstable and separates easily, and Namjoon lets out an almost indecipherable sigh.

“Yeah, it is.”

Something akin to relief washes over Jungkook and he nods once, then twice, as if he is assuring himself, it’s possible, it’s really possible.

“Jungkook, it’s possible, but it’s not easy-”

“I didn’t ask if it’s easy. I asked if it’s possible.” Jungkook says in a short, clipped tone. Namjoon falls quiet. Stops moving. There is a small gap in the earth where he was digging his shoe into before.

“Look. Something tells me there’s more to it than you’re telling me…”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker over, meeting Namjoon’s. The older man has a resigned look in his eyes. “…But you don’t have to explain your motives. As long as you’re with us for real. You are, right?”

Jungkook swallows. He nods, turns back to the river.

“I said I’m in, so I’m fucking in, Namjoon.”

Namjoon just laughs again and the sound is grating, Jungkook realizes that there’s no humour in that laugh. It’s just there, a sound to fill the silence.

“Okay,” Namjoon murmurs after a beat of quiet. “I’ll... I’ll go. Got places to be. I’m... I’m glad you contacted me, Jungkook. I... I’m...” His voice trails off. He doesn’t finish his sentence, he stands there.

Then he claps Jungkook’s shoulder and then he is gone.

Jungkook stays, staring at the river. The sun is rising, and it is an unsetting shade of red– like it was dipped in crimson dust.

Jungkook doesn’t have long, knowing that when the sun has risen fully, a new day will have started. Yet he stands and watches, watches as the sun bleeds that ruby glow over the horizon, watches as the city begins to flicker to life, all the while thinking about her, the bird tattooed on her wrist, the barcode tattooed on his.

His lips form her name, Wren, and he whispers it into the air like it’s a vow, like he’s promising to himself with the river and his city as a witness that he won’t forget, that he’ll be back for her, have her back in his arms again no matter the cost. No matter the currency or price that he has to pay.

His fingers curl into a fist and tears, strange and unfamiliar prick in his eyes, and once again he’s all too painfully aware of his heart- heavy and thudding in his chest. He wonders fleetingly if the tables were turned, if he had the opportunity to have all of this separated and taken away from him – memories of his life, things he had done, ink he had etched into skin and her eyes staring watery and huge into his own… would he? Would he forget? Would he choose to forget her?

I won’t forget, he promises, so fiercely that he isn’t sure if he’s said it aloud or not. “I won’t forget.” He says aloud a final time.

And then he turns and slips into the shadows before the sun rises, hanging low and scarlet in the sky.

amynote: (I am thinking of potentially writing a sequel to this!!! let me know your thoughts.) edit 19/04/18: I am definitely writing a sequel! thank you for the feedback!! + wow i really enjoyed writing this story. challenging but so much fun. thank you very much to the person who sent in the original request. I hope you all enjoyed reading ♡

#jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook x oc #bts fanfic #bts smut #tattooed jungkook #bts angst #bts dystopian au #yoongi fanfic

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joonbird · 6 years

Text

Passionfruit | 4 (FINAL)

➭ “To you, matters of the heart have always been simple. You’ve always lived by three rules: you don’t do emotions, you don’t do attachment, and you don’t do love. That is, until you meet the enigma that is Kim Namjoon- a man who shakes your entire world upside down.”

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: smut

wordcount: 9k

part one | two | three | four

The clock face reads seven minutes past 2am. It is that time of the evening when everything seems amplified, bolder somehow.

The sounds of your footsteps against the wooden floors are louder. The shadows cast against the white walls are larger. Even the moonlight that seeps in through the windows is brighter. Everything is splashed in inky blue and the fading yellow of moonlight. There is a forgotten piles of books stacked on the kitchen counter, sitting beside a half eaten bag of cinnamon chips.

Everything is more noticeable at this time of night, nothing slips through the seams.

More fine tuned than anything else is the exhilaration that is humming through your veins, the excitement that ends with a persistent thud in your chest as Kim Namjoon steps towards you.

He gathers your face in his hands and his eyes search yours. He captures you in a prolonged moment that feels like everything else at this time of the evening – it feels surreal, slow, magnified. More intense, more brilliant, draped in velvet.

You are mesmerized, frozen and fluid all at once. Namjoon’s eyes squint slightly as he smiles at you, eyes tender and sweet. His palms are warm against your cheeks and your breath rushes out as he leans in closer.

He kisses you slowly. Carefully, like he is memorizing the feel of your lips against his.

Your breath catches in your throat, Namjoon pulls back a fraction. His eyes lingers on your lips, he swallows and his Adams apple bobs up and down. There is something fused there, written in the chaste brush of his lips against yours.

He kisses at your bottom lip delicately, pressing stamps of his mouth against your lips and then your cheek, before his mouth is by the base of your ear.

“I want you so damn bad.”

You feel like you were about to buckle, wrapped up entirely in sensation of his breath against your neck, his words whispered quietly into your ear like they were a secret. You tilt your head back, your lips parting, and a barely there whine escapes from your throat.

His lips find yours and you sigh against them, his tongue licking your bottom lip. His hands slowly trail down from where they were cupping your face to your shoulders. He kneads his fingers into the taut muscles there, you let out a choked moan – pleasure from the feeling of his fingers working rhythmic circles into his muscles, the seed of anticipation drawn out by his kiss, expressive and slow and with a hint of urgency.

Namjoon’s palms glide down your arms to rest on your hips and your teeth caught around his bottom lip, and he let out a soft groan.

Your kisses shudder to a stop, his forehead pressed against yours and the only sound that fills the space between your bodies is the sounds of your breaths for air, deep inhales and a pounding drumbeat that is in your heart and in your core and crawling over every inch of your skin.

You think to yourself, holy fucking shit this is it – this is what all those cheesy love songs are about, this is why people do stupid things all the time, this is it. The swell in your chest and the weight of his hands on your hips, and most of all the thrill of knowing that in just a few moments he is going to kiss you again.

As expected, Namjoon chases into you and his lips find yours. This time, harder. You feel a heat trickle inside of you, your hips tilt up into Namjoon’s as his tongue swirls around yours.

He moves, wrapping his arms tight around your lower waist, tugging you even closer into his proximity. His kisses are deep, tantalizingly slow teases of his tongue against yours as your bodies slot together.

You let out a gasp into his mouth as his palms expertly glide upwards to caress over your waist, your sides, right by the curves of your breasts.

You are not entirely accustomed to this – Namujoon’s back pressed firmly against the wall outside his bedroom door, his arms keeping your body flush against his, and most of all the torturously slow rhythm at which has started to rock his hips against yours.

His head dips down as he kisses you hard and it catches you by surprise, you squeeze your thighs as you hear the quiet moans that are beginning to escape from between his lips.

He is savouring this – you and him, your bodies pressed together like desperate teenagers as all you do is kiss, long and deep and slow.

Namjoon is still in an old, tattered tee and his flannel pyjama pants, you are clad in the dress that you had worn to the party. It’s the middle of the night, the air is humming with anticipation and it feels as if your entire body is throbbing with it too. You go up on your tiptoes, eager for more of his mouth, more of him and his palms settle on your ass, he grabs you in his palms and gives you an appreciative squeeze.

“Mm,” You murmur thickly, your face is tilted up to his. Your breath is going ragged, and you are painfully aware of the heady pulse that has started to take over your sensitive, wet pussy. Namjoon’s fingers skim at the hem of your dress, toying idly with the fabric.

You tremble as his fingertips brush against your thighs, you squeeze your legs together and whimper. You step away from his body and the warmth of his skin against yours, enough for him to pull the fabric off of you in one smooth motion.

You watch with widened eyes as Namjoon tugs his t-shitrt off, you swallow hard as you take in his frame – the lean build of his upper body, the muscles that flex in his arms as he tosses the top to the ground.

His chest heaves with each exerted breath, and his pyjama pants, hung low on his hips, reveal two small lines leading down to the tent in his pants.

You reach behind to your back, aware of how badly you have started to tremble.

Namjoon’s eyes are focused on you as you unclip your bra. Namjoon’s eyes widen, his tongue darts over his lip and he lets out a throaty groan, his hands loop around your hips and tug you back against him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He sighs in the shell of your ear before he reaches up, his fingers latching firmly around your chin. He peppers a prolonged kiss against your chin, and then another on your collarbone.

“Everything about you,” He murmurs against your neck, “God. I’m so fucking lucky.”

His hand laces into your hair and his fingers wind around the roots and gives a gentle tug. He begins to grind into you – the only thing separating your bodies is the lace of your underwear and his pyjama pants.

It fills you with a sticky heat, the presence of his hands on your waist and the rock of his hips into you. Your hands splay out against his chest as you whimper, they track upwards and loop around his neck.

You press your body harder against him in an attempt to feel more. You can feel his cock – hard and stiff in his pants, pushing against the damp lace between your legs.

“I want you so badly,” The words spill out of your mouth and you press harder against him, rutting harder into him, wanting his cock so badly that it almost feels like you can’t see straight, you can’t breathe straight.

“Fuck!” You cry out, the feeling of his bulge against your now aching clit giving you little relief, and you let out a whimper of desperation at the roar of lust that has started like a fire in your core.

“You get me so hard,” Namjoon moans, his words consume you. You kink your hips harder into him.

Namjoon rests his fingers on your inner thigh, so close to your slit that you suddenly wonder if you are going to explode right then and there.

You restlessly thrust your hips, clenching your pussy, wanting him with every fibre in your body. You press harder against him, his back flat against the wall, and your body melts into his.

Your entire body is begging for him, begging for his fingers to touch your wetness, your cunt which is sore with want.

Namjoon doesn’t oblige, instead he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

“Feel good baby?” He murmurs, his voice is gruff and you feel a thread of sensations ease up your spine as he nibbles against your earlobe.

His tongue flicks over your pulse point and his fingers ghost over the hem of your underwear- right by your pussy. His fingers tease at the lace trim by the apex of your thigh and you suck in your breath sharply.

You are completely aching with it, his hands stroke at that sensitive stretch of skin… before just as quickly as his fingers had found their way there, mere centimetres away from your wetness, they move.

You let out a series of whines, desperate lamentations at the relief he isn’t giving you – his palm now tracking slow circles of your belly. His hand searches upwards until it meets the swell of your breasts.

It feels like your oxygen is cut off, you feel dizzy, the moan that is starting to gather at your lips becomes a hiss as his fingers begin to languidly stroke around your hard nipple.

All you can feel is the heavy thud between your legs, the blurred rush of desperate filthy thoughts on repeat in your head. Namjoon grazes your erect nipple with two of his fingertips and the relief it grants you has you buckling under his touch, your fingers clinging at his strong shoulders.

Your eyes dart downwards, the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms reveal the tent in his pants and you can feel his hard cock pressed against your thigh. Namjoon’s fingers latch around your nipple, teasing you in drawn out strokes.

His hand moves to your other breast, he cups at it and then pinches your nipple, you cry out.

You feel like you are about to reach climax just form him touching you like this – so tense and so wound up that you have to fight the urge to reach down between your legs with your fingers and touch yourself.

You are desperate – soaked through your ruined underwear, crammed full with an itching intensity and arousal like nothing you had ever felt before.

Namjoon laces his fingers through yours and glances to the right, the direction of his bedroom. You nod, a silent answer to an unspoken question. You immediately straighten, your legs shaky with burning want as you follow him into his bedroom.

Namjoon closes the bedroom door behind him.

His bedroom is dark – he flicks on his reading lamp and the room is elapsed in a dim, earthy glow. Your eyes tick over his room – landing on the haphazard piles of books and fresh laundry, you inhale the scent of him that lingers in the air.

You turn and you gaze at him. Namjoon, who is stripping off his pyjama pants, standing there in black boxers that cling to his hard cock. Your throat is dry, your head hammering with thoughts that are incoherent and dirty and painted a deep crimson red.

Namjoon is staring at you with an expression on his face that has your heart jackhammering in your chest, his eyes lidded and full of lust and admiration and pure, unadulterated want.

He steps towards you and your lips meet his in a desperate, hungry kiss.

You fall onto his bed, entwined tightly. As your back lands on his soft mattress, Namjoon hovers above you, careful not to crush you with his weight, but enough for you to feel the presence of his body on top of yours.

“Namjoon,” You groan out your name and it sounds like you are begging, you squeeze your eyes shut and fragmented colours burst beneath your lids. You press your thighs together and heat licks at your core before you open your eyes.

“I want you.” The words ease out of your lips and curl around your tongue. Namjoon’s eyes widen and he swallows, he stares at you – a disarming gaze that makes you feel warm and prickly, he breathes in hard as if you are the most gorgeous thing in the world and he needs a moment to gather himself.

Your hand reaches up between your bodies and your hand grazes against hid cock. Namjoon immediately moans, and you can hear arousal in the honeyed strain of his voice.

You pull down clumsily at the black fabric of his underwear, urgent and rushed, and Namjoon takes over, grasping at the waistband of his underwear and tugging down until his bare cock stands up between your bodies, straight and thick.

Your mouth waters and the throb between your legs gets even louder. The pillows are soft beneath your head, your eyes find his and your breath is trapped in your throat as his fingers tug down at your underwear and toss them onto the ground.

Anticipation clenches inside of you as you part your legs, feeling that senseless thud between your legs grow, snowballing and heightening and making your nerves curl at the edges. You are wet, so damn wet that it’s all you can think about, the air is cool against your sensitive slit as your hands link around the back of his neck.

Namjoon catches your eyes, you watch as he bites his lip, reaching up so that his fingers lock firmly around your wrists. He stares at you, he drinks you in – his eyes soften a touch, his stare is intense and affectionate and urgent.

“I am so crazy about you, you know that?” He says simply. Time slows, his fingers tighten around your wrists, his eyes flickers.

“Namjoon…” Your voice trembles and you swallow. “Fuck, please, fuck me.”

He lets out a barely audible sound at your words, something in between a moan and a grunt as he shifts his body until his cock is there, at your entrance.

It feels as if your mind is short circuiting- frazzled bursts of electricity from the feeling of Namjoon’s cock right there at your wet entrance. You can feel the presence of him- teasing you, and you let out a strangled sound.

“Namjoon…” The word falls out of your mouth, akin to a plea. You feel hot all over, your lashes fluttering as you look up at Namjoon through heavy lids and tinged pink cheeks.

“Please baby.”

And just like that, Namjoon slides inside of you.

You let out a choked moan, Namjoon’s eyes flicker down to your face, his eyes dilating and his jaw clenching as he stretches out your walls, pushing inside of you until his entire length is inside.

“You feel so good,” You whimper out breathlessly and Namjoon chases your words with a kiss, sealing his lips on yours and moaning into your mouth in agreement.

You exhale shakily, absorbing the feeling of his full thick length inside of you. You let out a sigh, a moan trickles out of your lips, and then Namjoon begins to rock into you.

He starts slow, thrusting into you at a pace that begins languidly – each thrust leaving behind a raging want. He builds, his pace quickens, he fucks into you harder, stronger, deeper. You angle up into his cock, the only thing you can do when Namjoon has your arms pinned above your head as he fucks you.

“Fuck,” Namjoon mutters, he lets go of where his fingers are tightened around your wrists and his thumb caresses your lower lip. You kiss his thumb and then his fingers, you take one of his long fingers into your mouth and suck it clean.

“Jesus Christ…” Namjoon mutters, his eyes rolling slightly as he thrusts into you a bit harder.

Your hands, now free, roam down the canvas of Namjoon’s shoulders down to his chest. Your touch glides over his ribs, before you settle on his back.

Namjoon has built to an intensity that has your body starting to shake, you shudder in pleasure with each thrust of his cock inside of you.

It’s like Namjoon is reading your mind, he teases you with each push of his cock against your walls – fucking you hard and fast and swift, before he stops just as you feel like you are close.

His fingers grip at your waist and your face and your hair, his mouth kisses you over every inch of your exposed skin. He pushes in his cock slowly and makes sure you feel every ridge of his cock inside of you, leaving you writhing under his body as he teases filthy mewls out of your lips.

You are so wet that you can feel it, slick between your legs, the throb between your legs barely acquiesced, rather, heightening with each of Namjoon’s ministrations.

“Feel good baby?” Namjoon asks, his voice is husky in your ear and all you do is nod fervently, he mouths at your neck and his tongue swirls against your collarbones, his teeth nibble at your earlobe.

Fuck yes, it feels good.

“God, yes, don’t stop, please, don’t stop. Please baby, please.”

Your eyes are watery, your breath coming out in ragged gasps of air. His arm wraps around your waist, his hand cupping your breast as he moves. In one swift movement, he flip your body so that you are lying on your side.

You gasp aloud when Namjoon pulls out of you, your body raw with arousal, as Namjoon moves. His body is soon crooked behind yours, arm is linked around your neck, his palm down your chest and massaging your breasts, his other hand on your hip.

You could feel his fingers digging into you, they are possessive. You can feel the tip of his cock, his entire length slickened wet from you. Then he pushes himself inside of you yet again.

You let out a choked cry at the feeling of him inside of you, you stutter your ass against him.

At this angle, you can feel everything – the warmth of his chest which is broad and strong against your back.

His lips, brushing against your ear and the dip of his voice muttering dirty hushed words as he thrusts into you.

His fingers, digging into the flesh of your thigh and every now and then moving to brush along your ass.

Most of all however, is the angle. The angle of which Namjoon’s hard cock is entering you, the arch of his hips as he slams into you with rhythmic thrusts.

With each slap of his skin against yours, you arched into him, you wanted more, you invited a deeper fuck, you begged for it.

“You feel amazing,” Namjoon moans, “And you sound amazing, every single noise that comes out of you makes me lose my god damn mind…” Namjoon’s voice is overflowing with lust and throaty with want, he accentuates his words with a particularly intense thrust- one that has cries spilling from your throat and a moan spilling from Namjoon’s.

“See, that sound, right there… God,” He mutters, and you moan again, enjoying the praise, your body curling with pleasure as he thrusts into you again.

“Namjoon, I’m so close …” You whimper out his name and you could feel it in the stutter of his hips, the drawn out swear words that he mutters, the rumble of his chest… that he is as close as you are.

His hand - which is wrapped around your hip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised to see a faint bruise there when he’s done – clutches your thigh.

He lifts your leg, supporting it in his hand as he effectively spreads out your pussy lips. He pushes into you and the new angle and deepness has you you suppressing a wail. You find yourself trying to stifle it, the loudness, the urgency as Namjoon’s fingers grip harder around your thigh and his thrusts pick up pace.

He swells his hips upward as he finishes each thrust with a grind of his length right there in that spot, the spot. You feel like you are teetering off of the edge, full of white hot pleasure. Your entire body is coiled and tense and you let out a sound that is almost like a scream, it rips out of you between pressed lips.

“Be as loud for me as you want, baby.” He groans against your ear. “You sound so good…” He shifts his hips just a fraction and you felt your breath suck in. His voice is deep and scratchy and you can feel his breath on your neck, the sweat on his body against yours. You quiver at the feeling of it, his hand still laced firmly around your leg, him pumping himself into you.

Your pussy feels so full of him and just when you think you aren’t going to be able to handle any more, his hand works down from where it was wrapped around your breast to meet your sore clit.

He presses two fingertips hard against your clit, enough to make you gasp.

The sensation is sharp and intense and while he keeps pumping into you, harder, faster, deeper, so full and intense and amazing as he continues to hit your spot…his touch on your clit is slow and deliberate.

Your breath comes out of you in shuddering gasps, your body is clutched in Namjoon’s hands. You are wrapped up entirely in the feeling of him.

Namjoon pulls his fingers out of your clit and his hand rests carefully your chest, his fingers wrap lightly around the base of your neck. The weight of his touch right there, his fingers along your pulsepoint, has your body stiffening.

A dark, heavy spill of lust courses through you. You hear Namjoon moaning, soft barely there hums of want. You are pliant in his touch, writhing under him, as your body clenches.

You gasp out. Namjoon, attuned to your every whimper, picks up the pace. He adjusts his hips, slamming into you. You can’t focus on anything but the feeling of him, your teeth catching on your kiss swollen lips, your body stiff and desperate as you hear Namjoon’s voice in your ear, he is moaning, calling you baby, his baby, voice thickened and deep and dark.

It crescends over you. Waves of pleasure and relief so intense that your thighs clench and you cling onto Namjoon’s arms for support. He immediately presses his lips against your neck and murmurs into your skin.

Everything goes silent, goes numb, it fades as all you can focus on is the prickling bliss that is taking over your body.

It’s almost intolerable how good it feels, your back arches and you feel electric waves of pleasure everywhere. You are moaning, you are only faintly aware of the obscene sounds from your lips.

You can tell by the clutch of Namjoon’s hands around your waist that your erotic sounds of pleasure are turning him on more. But all you can focus on with a laser-sharp focus is this.

The orgasm, the high, the release that has you hot and cold, dizzy and focused, a delicious and intense release that leaves in its wake nothing but bliss and the chanting of Namjoon’s name.

Your orgasm begins to slow, beads of pleasure dripping down your skin. You are still tight with pleasure as you feel Namjoon’s thrusts start to grow uneven.

He grips at you and lets out a wanton moan of his own. You crane your head, pulling away from him so that your ass is pressed harder against his cock.

He moans as you tilt your head and your eyes meet his. His hair is pushed off his forehead, his eyes dilated in lust, his lips full and glossy. The sight is like no other and as his eyes meet yours, he climaxes- his face rippling in pleasure as the tiny pinch of his brows dissipates, his lips parted as the sounds of his orgasm fill the space between you.

Namjoon folds, crooking over your body, and he holds you to his chest. You are both fucked out of your minds. A buzzy thrill has knotted in your throat, you can almost hear slowing pulse of your heart, completely tangled up in the fuzzy warmth that has enveloped your body.

Namjoon holds you even closer to him and lets out an outdrawn sigh of pleasure. You shiver at the sound of it, a smile flits across your face as he carefully pulls out of you.

You both let out a small gasp- you are full of his cum, full to the God damn brim.

“That was…” Namjoon murmurs, his voice trails off and he ends his sentence by pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade.

For a moment the only sound is the synchronized hum of your heavy breaths.

They slow, evening out like creases being pressed out of a linen shirt. You lift your head and roll over onto your side, your cheek pressed tightly against his pillow.

Namjoon has his eyes closed, lying flat on his back. He has the barest hint of a smile on his lips and you swallow hard. That same swell of something unfamiliar, thick with sweetness rises in your chest.

Namjoon’s face is utterly serene, and the only indication that is mind is going a thousand miles per minute is the flicker of his eyes beneath closed lids. You smile, gazing at him – at the faintest smattering of freckles over his nose, pecks of affection from the sun from the summer heat. At the two small indentations on the bridge of his nose from his glasses.

He senses your stare, his eyes open and he cranes his head. He smiles at you – a smile that has his eyes creasing in the corners, two dimples peeking out in his cheeks.

He reaches out and brushes your cheekbone with two crooked fingers.

You have so many things that you want to say. It feels surreal to be here – lying in his bed, your bodies close but not touching, to see the slope of his bare skin and his hair falling in his eyes.

You had never expected to be here – not just in his bed naked, but here with him, the most exposed and vulnerable you had ever been with anyone.

You think back to how you had felt in the past.

Lying opposite a body that was always just a body, your chest starting to ache in a funny way that you always squashed down, the inklings of doubt and self-hate seeping in before you dragged yourself upwards, scooped your hair up into a bun, and began to search for your clothes. That lump in your throat as you searched for your discarded underwear on all fours, whispering to yourself that everything was fine.

There had been so many shitty nights, so many mediocre nights, so many good nights even – all nights knotted together with you feeling like a stranger in somebody else’s presence, and the uncomfortable itch to get up and return to a comfortable space.

That space had always been your bed, in your home, you lying on your back staring at the ceiling with that funny lump in your throat.

But not anymore. Now, this, here, it felt comfortable. And you don’t have any whispers of wanting to leave, no ache tugging in your chest.

You are lying there trying to figure out how exactly to put all of that into words when Namjoon clears his throat a little, cards fingers through his hair and tugs at the ends.

“How do you feel?” His eyes are on you, scanning you.

“Amazing.”

“Same.” He grins, and you laugh. He laughs too. The two of you just laugh, bodies so close. And it’s not like you’re laughing over anything in particular, you’re just happy.

“What time is it?” He sighs, his hand sneaks around your waist and he pulls you into his arms. You nestle against his shoulder, he presses a kiss absently to the top of your head.

“Dunno,” You mumble, “Late. 3am, I reckon.”

“This time of the night is so weird. Like… it’s that time when it’s not quite night but not quite day. If turning points were set at a time, they would be 3am. It feels significant somehow, right?” Namjoon says absently.

You let out a soft laugh.

“That’s so deep.”

“Well it is 3am after all. If there’s any time to get deep it’s now, right?”

Namjoon smiles wryly at you, and you hesitate.

“Be honest.” You begin. You begin to form the thought that had been dwelling on your mind for months into words.

“Why did you talk to me at the party all those months ago? Did you know what people said about me? Did you just want sex?”

Namjoon stares at you.

“Be honest, I can take it, really.” You stammer out.

“I wanted you but I didn’t just want you for one thing. Or for just sex… I don’t know, I can’t explain it. I just wanted to get to know you. I hadn’t met someone like you before.”

“Really?” You say softly.

“Really. And… I hadn’t heard any of whatever people were saying about you before that first night.” He sighs. “But I’ll be honest. After I met you, I mentioned it to Jin. And he told me some of the stuff he’d heard.”

“Oh.” Your voice quietens. “You didn’t… care?”

“I didn’t care,” Namjoon continued. “And I’m being 100% honest with you when I say that. There’s nothing wrong with being different to what college assholes or even I dunno, society I guess, expects. Plus, everyone has their own shit going on, you know? I’m not going to judge someone or write them off before I get to know them. And I don’t know... I had this feeling about you that I couldn’t shake.”

You hum softly. “Yeah. I just…” You let out a sigh and shrug, your shoulders dropping up and down heavily. “I feel… I felt… like a bit of a fuck up, you know? I like sex, I always have, and having sex makes me feel really good. At least it used to. Then I don’t know. It was like the more I was open about wanting it the more I got shit hung on me. And I know I shouldn’t care about what people say. But being told that something that makes you who you are is wrong or bad or fucked… it’s a really awful feeling.” Your voice cracks a little. “I don’t know who I am half the time and I want to know who I am, but I’m scared of finding out too. It feels like every time I’ve tried to be myself in the past it backfires in my face. I don’t know, I want to be strong and independent but it’s really fucking hard and sometimes I really, really don’t like myself.”

Your voice cracks a little. “Sorry,” You mumble. Your voice is hoarse. “Sorry. That probably makes no sense I’m-”

“Hey,” Namjoon says. “Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize for feeling a way, alright?” His voice is fierce and he lets out a soft sound, something akin to a sigh.

“I care about you so much,” His voice lowers, thickens. “You’re so special, you know that? You deserve the world.” You crane your neck to look at him, he gives you a smile, a flicker in his eyes, a hint of dimples in his cheeks before his face sobers. “You - you make me really fucking happy. And that’s not from you trying to be anything or do anything it’s just… you. You make me happy. Just you being you, okay? What you feel, what you think, what you are… All of you. You. Your past, who you are today, who you will be tomorrow… you make me happy. Really happy. That’s what I’m trying to say.” He sighs and then pulls you back into his arms and presses a kiss into your hair, he mumbles something you can’t quite hear.

“Namjoon…” Your ovoice is tiny. “I…” You swallow and you clutch onto him a little bit tighter. You have so many words swirling in your head and you can’t pick one out clearly. You wish so badly that you could.

“I wish we met earlier.” You say instead.

“Mmhm. Me too.” Namjoon murmurs into your hair, his fingers tracing circles in between your shoulders.

“Maybe though… we met at exactly the right time.” He says softly.

Your body is relaxed, and you listen as Namjoon’s breathing slows.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, his arms tucking you into his chest. He lets out a soft snore – you stifle a giggle under your breath – and he mumbles in his sleep, absently tugging you in even closer to his body.

You stare into the darkness of his bedroom. It is unfamiliar, the feeling that is unfurling in your chest.

It’s a warmth and a hope and a happiness that didn’t have strings attached or conditions applied, it is just there.

You are beginning to drift off, your mind slowly carding through all the things Namjoon had said to you. The expression in his eyes that is always so fond, so affectionate, so warm.

It will go away surely, you tell yourself, trying to settle the swell in your chest, the tremble in your fingertips. This is just the honeymoon phase, this is just the post sex glow, it won’t last. I’m right in this. I know I am.

You lace your fingers with Namjoon’s and as your eyes close, you find yourself hoping against all belief that you are wrong.

You wait for things to get worse, you wait for it to pass.

But it doesn’t.

The feeling keeps coming to you in small snippets as you spend more and more time with the tall boy who looked down when he laughed.

There was the first time you were walking across campus together and you said something in an offhand way and Namjoon laughed and reached across, casually grabbing your hand.

You had paused, eyes darting around and wondering if there was anyone around you. Your eyes had flickered back to Namjoon to see him chattering rapidly with the unparalleled enthusiasm that was Namjoon’s signature, strolling along with your hand in his like it didn’t belong anywhere else.

You stopped looking around when he held your hand after that, or when he didn’t. You stopped looking around and looked ahead. You found yourself relaxing, and you realized that you had stopped caring so much about what people around you thought.

There was the time you and Namjoon had been studying for an upcoming exam, standing in line at a coffee shop and waiting for your coffees to come out. Namjoon was frowning at his phone and complaining about his smashed screen. He was doing what he always did when he ranted (which in itself was pretty rare because he was usually so relaxed and easygoing) – his voice pitched upwards and got faster and faster until it ended with him hanging his head and laughing at himself. You had your arms looped around his waist and your chin on his shoulder, listening to him sympathetically. The barista had called out his name for the coffees and passed yours to him as well with a, ‘Here’s your girlfriend’s coffee.’

When Namjoon returned to you, still muttering about ‘Apple and their bloody glass screens it’s a fucking conspiracy and I refuse to give them any more money!’ you had accepted the coffee in your hands. You were quiet, he picked up on it as you walked out of the coffee shop.

“You okay?”

“He called me your girlfriend. The coffee guy, that is.” You answered.

“Oh,” Namjoon said, he blinked a few times. He hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip from his coffee. “I guess he did. I didn’t even notice.” He seemed unfazed, his eyes flicked up to meet yours. They were calm, still, but you saw the tiniest of questions in his eyes.

“Uh huh.” You replied. You reached over and nodded at his phone. “So. Are you going to get this repaired? Because all that broken glass is a hazard for you, Joon.”

Namjoon smiled at you, the slightest flush on his cheeks before he nodded, talking enthusiastically, something about ‘In theory I am against Apple but their products are just so pretty…’ and you took a sip of your coffee and tasted hazelnuts on your tongue, and from that moment on you referred to Namjoon as your boyfriend and he referred to you as his girlfriend and things had shifted seamlessly and naturally, as if nothing had ever really changed at all.

That being said – it wasn’t as if your relationship with Namjoon was perfect because the more time you spent with him, you realized he was flawed.

Definitely flawed. He could be stubborn, annoyingly so, and he was also sometimes frustratingly obtuse.

You and Namjoon had arguments, two two of you fired up and irritated, you shooting daggers at him with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, Namjoon letting out long sighs and shaking his head. Your hisses of ‘you are a real patronizing asshole Kim Namjoon’ and Namjoon just responding by letting out one of those sighs. Those sighs just adding to your annoyance tenfold because you were irritated and you wanted to fight and the one time Namjoon wasn’t being a chatterbox was now, God damn it.

Your arguments were always diffused though, Namjoon reaching out and saying something unrelated that somehow had all of your anger simmering down to a still, waiting until hours later when a soft ‘I’m sorry’ was whispered into your ear. You too, found yourself stopping and thinking, trying, being the one to loop your arms around his waist and apologize, to swallow your pride, Namjoon wrapping his arms around your waist and mumbling ‘S’all good.”

You had always thought arguments and fights made couples hate each other, that they inevitably filled both people up with resentment but with Namjoon it was the opposite - it felt like the more time that you spent together whether it was good or bad, and that with each ridiculous argument and each serious fight, the more fucking fond you got.

There were the times when the sex just wasn’t mindblowing – late nights when you were tired and not feeling it, your chest tight and uncertain. Namjoon read into that almost immediately each time, and he always stopped, his body stilling, his intent shifting as he held you close to him instead and planted kisses on your cheeks, or made an excuse and gave you space.

He knew exactly what you wanted most of the time- even when what you wanted right then in that moment wasn’t him, but yourself.

And then there was the good sex. Nights with nails digging into skin, Namjoon’s voice possessive and low and throaty in your ear, him mouthing at your thighs and your neck.

There was the night you and Namjoon referred to as That Night.

The Night was when you had been teetering on the verge of illness, a scratch in your throat that persisted and wouldn’t leave. Namjoon had visited your place, a beanie pulled low over his hair and glasses perched on his nose, an infectious smile spreading over his face when you opened the door for him wrapped up in blankets.

He had made you a cup of tea with a nose wrinkled in concentration (You had watched as he laid a palm absently on the kettle only to rip it away with a muffled yelp of pain, wincing and whirling around only to knock your looseleaf tea tin on the ground. It was so utterly Namjoon and for some reason the sight of the boy with the beanie and fluffy hair bent down scooping tea into his palm had something warm and soft spreading through your whole body.)

He was sitting opposite you, you were watching a movie, you were taking careful sips of your tea. He had one palm resting on your shins, he was drumming a pattern into them every now and then. It was nothing special, you weren’t doing anything particular, until you glanced up to see him staring at you intently.

“What?” You had laughed, reaching out to slap his arm, and Namjoon just smiled, shrugging.

“Nothing,” He said, but it didn’t sound like a ‘nothing’, it sounded like a, ‘Everything’, and even though you were sitting on your couch in a ratty hoodie with no make up and your hair dragged up in a bun, you had never felt more beautiful.

You were sick and you protested feebly as he kissed you, claiming he didn’t care about getting sick because it was worth it, and you had the best sex of your life on the couch- you on your stomach and him on top of you, his hands supporting you as he fucked into you long and hard and deep until you came around his cock, and then again when he sat up and you sat on his cock and rode him until you were screaming from the orgasm that clenched around every single cell in your body.

(He got sick afterwards and the two of you were wrapped up in blankets on separate sides of the couch, quietly tapping away on your own laptops, your feet propped up on his lap, his hand resting thoughtlessly on your calf as you browsed Youtube and he browsed Reddit.)

Months passed, and the excitement and exhilaration of Namjoon slowly started to fade – just like you had been so originally terrified of. But in it’s place, something stronger pulled out from underneath. Something better. Something more tangible, something that lay within the glances Namjoon gave you when he thought you weren’t noticing, something in the long conversations you and Namjoon had, something fused in those few seconds when you were both annoyed and angry and you both just stopped, you stepped towards one another with softening frayed edges and apologies.

It was funny that you could recognize something when it was so new to you. It was funny that your body knew it before you did. And it was funny that it came to you simply and suddenly, without a lot of fuss, it just popped in your head one day when you were sitting with Namjoon and your slowly growing circle of friends.

Namjoon was eating a piece of pizza (with pineapples on it, the nerve!) and his cheeks were bulging with pizza and he was talking with a full mouth (arguing with his classmate Min Yoongi about which Marukami novel was the best, Namjoon passionately defending Norwegian Wood, Yoongi disdainfully saying ‘IQ84’ and Seokjin side eyeing them both and saying loudly ‘Marukami is overrated you dumb fucks and this conversation is boring as hell’). It was any other day really and Namjoon had pizza crumbs on his face and a pizza crust in his hands and it hit you like a lightning bolt right then and there that you were completely head over heels in love with Namjoon.

After that it felt like a floodgate had been unleashed- you had I love you on the tip of your tongue after everything. Namjoon asked you to read over his philosophy essay? Sure, I love you. Namjoon went down on you for an hour straight? I am so freaking in love with you. Namjoon asked if you wanted to catch a movie with him after class? Yes and I love you.

It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t sudden, or overwhelming – it just was there, like it always had been, like it always would be.

It is the end of semester and that means one thing – party. It is one of your college cohort’s signature parties that everyone buzzed about for the weeks leading up to it, knowing it would be a messy night. An empty house with parents gone for the weekend, a raided liquour cabinet, cigarette butts discarded in neatly clipped green grass, couplets of people exchanging messy kisses and rushing into closets and laundry rooms and bathrooms.

You and Namjoon are at the party together, his arm draped around your shoulders as you stand in a small huddle with your friends.

You are an eclectic bunch- Namjoon, his housemate Seokjin, friendly and boisterous Jung Hoseok who you had befriended in an Economics class, Min Yoongi (their evolving friendship had gone something as follows: Week one of philosophy class, and Namjoon was ranting about ‘this annoying guy who doesn’t ever speak. Plus, he likes Nietzsche’, and then in week three, ‘the new guy is alright actually. I guess.’ to them now, constantly bickering like an old married couple), Yoongi’s girlfriend who was the only person on Earth who made Yoongi beam, she was sharp and quick and so much fun, and two girls who you had met in this semester’s design class, they were sweet and friendly and it had been hard at first to open up to them and to try, but you were so happy you did.

As the night ticks on, you realize this is the most fun you had ever had at a party – beer in hand and buzzing in your veins, sitting around on couches in a circle with a group of friends, As you lean your head affectionately on Namjoon’s shoulder it hits you that you are actually kind of happy just doing this, just being here, and that a hell of a lot has changed in less than a year.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, picking you way neatly through the crowd of college students.

When you are finished, you wash your hands, catching sight of your reflection. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a little messy, a smile on your face. You look happy, you like it – and you smile at your reflection before you wipe your hands on your jeans and leave the bathroom.

You almost collide into somebody on your way out, you jerk backwards. The guy you bumped into straightens, his eyes widening in recognition before his lips settle into a smirk.

“Hey Y/N.” It’s Kim Taehyung, eyebrows raised as he leans against the wall.

“How are you?”

You smile tersely. “Yeah just fine thanks.”

Taehyung’s grin widens. He nods to the bathroom. “Wanna join me in there?”

Your nose wrinkles delicately.

“No, I don’t.”

“You sure?” Taehyung grins at you and you feel that twist in your stomach. “Maybe I can change your mind.” He takes a step towards you and something in your chest flares.

“Does it make you feel good or something, talking to me like?” You said finally, steadily. “Because you know, it makes me feel pretty shitty. I’m guessing you don’t talk to your friends like that so what makes you think you can talk to me like that?”

Taehyung looks shell shocked for a second. You suppose he was expecting something else from you – a withering response, a roll of the eyes, fire fought with fire. Or a different reaction, you, face and self confidence crumpling.

His face falters, and you see a flash of what looks like doubt and guilt paint his features.

You don’t wait to see what he is going to say next. Instead, you turn and walk down the stairs. You are trembling, you make your way downstairs and walk straight to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

Once the glass is full, you sip at it slowly. The tightness in your chest slowly dissolves, you set the glass down, it sits on the counter– it is still half full – and you leave it behind.

You make your way back through the crowd, spotting your friends. The group had started to split off, Yoongi and his girlfriend long gone, Hoseok sitting on the floor nearby against a wall, eyes closed as he bobs his head drunkenly to the music, Seokjin and the other girls drunkenly taking selfies.

You slip by Namjoon’s side, his arms wind around your waist and he rested his chin on your head.

“It’s nearly 3am,” You murmur softly. “Turning point time.” You add lightly, Namjoon chuckles softly and gives you a small squeeze, you lean into his touch.

“You wanna head off?” He whisper. You nodded, he laces his fingers through yours.

“Absolutely.”

You and Namjoon walk slowly down the street. You are talking softly, it’s too late to talk at a full volume, so you communicate in hushed words and pieces of conversation. Namjoon is contemplative tonight- you can see it in the slight furrow of his brow and the set of his lips as he walks.

As you turn the corner and enter your street, right by your house, you laugh.

“Déjà vu,” You say lightly, turning to meet Namjoon’s gaze.

He smiles at you and nods. “Tell me about it.”

You walk up to your neighbour’s brick wall, Namjoon follows you, watching you as you hop up so that you are sitting on it, your legs swinging lazily.

“Best wall in the world,” He says seriously, “Great Wall of China ain’t got a thing on this wall.”

You giggle. “Thank you wall.” You say lightly and Namjoon nods.

“Thank you wall.” He directs his words to the wall and you tilt your head back and laugh.

Namjoon walks up to you, in between your legs. You can see the moonlight dancing off of his face, the way his hair falls in his eyes before he shakes his head, the smile on his lips.

It is like déjà vu- you can still remember it faintly, about a year ago. You sitting on this exact brick wall with a guard up and a defiant flash in your eyes, and this same man between your legs, staring up at you with a calm, confident gaze that was disarming and exciting and new and everything, all at once.

The look in his eyes is different tonight, it’s softer, sweeter… and you suppose that the look in your eyes is different tonight too.

He leans in, closing the space between the two of you with a kiss.

His fingers brush at a tendril of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. He cups your face tenderly, his head tilts slightly to one side as he stares at you.

You feel everything inside of you crumble away. Everything is amplified at this time of the night- most of all, this feeling.

“I love you.” Namjoon says.

He says the words slowly. Unwaveringly. He pronounces each word carefully. He blinks when the words are out, three rapid blinks, accompanied with the tiniest caress of his thumb against your cheek.

Your heart swells even more in your chest and you smile. You reach out, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs running over those dimples.

He smiled back, dimples flashing, eyes warm and as sweet as honeycomb.

“I love you too.”

amynote: I loved writing this series so much. I’m a bit sad that this is the end... but I am really looking forward to writing all my knj wips! thank you for reading Passionfruit, I am sending you all a lil forehead kiss♡

#namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon scenarios #bts scenarios

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