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hoseoksluna · 16 hours

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VAPOR, pt I. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

genre: smut, a hint of angst

word count: 10.6k

summary: yoongi never promised his healing time would be easy and when he hurts you enough that you need your other "boyfriend", jungkook is quick to rescue you.

pinterest board: blur | playlist: car playlist

warnings: mentions of a sex toy, jungkook is upset and angry at his hyung, public sex, dirty talk, sexual tension and frustration, praise kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), bruising, cum swallowing, going behind someone's back........

note: HI MY LOVES—MY STEAM DRABBLE IS HERE AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE EXCITED TO POST SOMETHING, OH MY GOSH. OKAY, before i say anything else, i would like to put a disclaimer here: even though all my characters are fictional, they are still human in this world, which means they fuck up, which means they're not perfect whatsoever and never will be. i would like to really put an emphasis on that before you read and if i receive any vulgar and rude asks about this, i assure you that i will not respond to them. OKAY ALL SERIOUSNESS ASIDE—this was fucking AMAZING TO WRITE and i already CANNOT WAIT to start writing another part, this time with yoongi included. i promise to make everything right and—SPOILER—this couple WILL get a happy ending, so don't worry, my loves. ENJOY READING. SPAM MY INBOX. I LOVE YOU.

There’s a mango-scented candle rustling in a bag, resting on the passenger seat, and Jungkook is driving very carefully so as to not knock it over and possibly break it. For a moment, one that reemerges in his headspace as he keeps his foot light on the pedal, he wonders if he should buckle a seatbelt around it and ensure its safety that way, his fear of ruining his surprise for you causing his brain to come up with the strangest of ideas—in the name of the love he carries for you.

Is it love, though?

Jungkook furrows his brows, that thought seizing his sternum enough that he has to turn his music down and let some fresh air in through the window so he doesn’t crash his fucking car. Icy sweat stings his spine, his stomach churning and without sparing a second longer, his eyes take after the sadness of the weather outside his vehicle. His vision blurs and he rubs his eye, one at a time, to focus on the road.

A red light blinks at him and suddenly, there’s fury that he feels deep within chest.

Conceivably because slowing down means he has to face the onrush of emotions sloshing in him. Has to hear the rain not just outside, but inside, too. Has to feel the prick of those raindrops along his waterline. The heft of those clouds outside and inside his clavicles as well, tightening and tightening.

Jungkook sighs, drumming his fingers upon his steering wheel, trying to distract himself from it all. From the invading question that absorbs his body like the vapor rising across the night-clothed street—when did he get so emotional?

Unfortunately, he knows the answer right away.

You’ve been sad. On your own.

It’s been a few weeks since all three of you made a deal to stick together. Yoongi has been brave, his good mood clutching him for a lot longer than Jungkook sadly estimated. You’ve spent these past two Fridays and weekends together, out and about, rolling in bed, rolling in Yoongi’s apartment. It was all fun and games until the boss reached a dead end. Somehow. Jungkook still doesn’t know what it was that Yoongi actually saw—what was that one particular thing that caused him to spiral.

To relapse.

And you didn’t tell him until it was too late.

Perhaps, you did tell him—nonverbally, that is. You stopped adding your signed messages whenever he was texting with Yoongi during the week and even those alone stopped coming in as the days went on. There was something wrong and he knew it. His intuition only proved to be right when another weekend showed its face and it contained no undertone of you. And no suggestion of Yoongi either.

Silence. Dead silence.

And it wasn’t until Jungkook got an incoming call from an unknown number half an hour ago that he realized the gravity of the situation.

It was you who called him up, sobbing into the phone, having stolen his number from Yoongi’s device. As difficult as it was to understand what happened, Jungkook tied all the strings of information you gave him between your broken breaths and blubbering: Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you all day and took a shower alone, the latter being the most devastating of the two.

He felt bad for you, terribly bad for you—but simultaneously, he was upset with you.

Still is.

It’s one of the reasons why he’s driving up to Yoongi’s apartment. With a mango-scented candle and a puffed-up bag of cheese balls. He doesn’t want to think what the other reasons are, not when he’s staring down his gift for you, clicking his tongue at last and reaching over for the seatbelt and sliding it into its buckle. Just in time for the traffic light to turn green.

Now, now he’s speeding down the road, turning up the volume of his car playlist. A slow song by the Arctic Monkeys is playing and it’s a movie—the set of circumstances that are happening in the present. The rain, the tightness in his chest, the but faint adrenaline of the momentum. What is he really doing?

It feels as though he’s following a script, however his eyes haven’t skimmed down the entire thing. He doesn’t know how this is going to end. Hell, he doesn’t even know if he’s doing the right thing because he’s planning on staying outside of his hyung’s apartment. Like hell he’s going inside when his sweetheart—

Jungkook purses his lips. Moves the shift stick. Kills the engine. Closes his eyes.

His heart thumps. Turbulently. It stirs worry in him. What if he’s going to die?

This is the first time he’s left in the hands of the unknown. He’s always had the sixth sense of knowing tactness like the back of his hand, although this time he doesn’t know shit. Doesn’t know if he’s breaking his best friend’s trust. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen once he sees you, possibly wearing one of your nighttime robes. The last time you touched him was the last time he had his release. His hand doesn’t feel as good as yours does—and his orgasm isn’t as fulfilling as when it’s shared with you. He’s brimming with frustration, with anger so vast that he could explode and he knows it’s unfair to be mad at Yoongi, when he himself said it wasn’t going to be easy, that it was going to take a lot of work. But Jungkook can’t help his feelings. Can’t help to see you.

Only you.

Broken, tear-stained, when it should be blush painting your cheeks red from all the love and happiness your own boyfriend should give you as it’s his duty. Something he’s responsible for. Something he should put above himself.

“Drunken monologues, confused because it's not like I'm falling in love, I just want you to do me no good and you look like you could,” Alex Turner sings and Jungkook’s chin quivers, his heart gaining tempo, his perturbation rising—owing to the violence of that muscle, owing to the state of your feelings.

He wonders if you’re still crying.

He’s outside of Yoongi’s apartment. Didn’t even realize it, mind too fucked up, too full of you.

Grabbing his phone, he sends you a text.

I’m here. Come outside

A reply pings right away.

SWEETHEART: ?

SWEETHEART: it’s raining

He’s halfway typing his response that he doesn’t want to go inside, but he decides against it. Doesn’t want to make it worse for you. If you knew of the dark corners of his mind that don’t particularly like Yoongi at the moment, you wouldn’t look at him with those pretty eyes of yours as you always do.

He can’t afford that.

I have an umbrella

As his thumb hovers above his phone, waiting for your reply, he can almost hear your sigh. Can feel your breath on his clammy palm as he rubs it on his pants in effort to rid himself of the nerves crawling in his veins. The breath he was favored enough to hold in his grasp the last time he had you to himself—clamping your mouth shut as he spanked your clit for being so beautifully responsive to his touch, rubbing it until your eyes whisked back while Yoongi slept beside you, unaware.

It’s engraved in his brain. It plays on loop before sleep overtakes him at night and it’s his first thought in the morning once consciousness reminds him that you’re not his.

SWEETHEART: is it cold outside?

He figures you’re asking the question in order to decide whether you should change or not. It seems as though warm pajamas don’t exist in your world, for the beginning of September is in the process of blooming. It nudges his anger; provokes it enough to fill it with a lethal dose of a yearning to buy you the warmest pair of pants he could find. He clenches his fist, thumb quick to type a response.

Wear something that covers your legs or stay home.

The same thumb shakes at the expression of his firmness, his anger disturbed, wholly—wholly disturbed. If you come out wearing your little shorts—

A reply pings again.

SWEETHEART: ok ill change

And another one right away.

SWEETHEART: ill text u when i come down

That’s a good girl.

He almost types it right then and there, but something within, despite the slowly calming storm of his feelings, despite his cock tightening in his pants at the swift image of your bare legs, at the lingering perception of you being a good girl and listening to him, drags his thumb to his emojis. A sudden renewal of his sixth sense, and he doesn’t understand how it’s happened as it dawns on him, makes him realize that’s not exactly what you need right now. You didn’t call him for a fuck.

You called him for emotional support.

👍🏻

And like the good girl you are, you merely take five minutes. Stay true to your words, text him as you’re coming down and Jungkook grabs his umbrella from the backseat. Doesn’t forget to unbuckle the seatbelt in the passenger seat. Saves himself from the embarrassment.

The trees sway in his direction, inviting him in, once he takes two steps at the time, coming up the stairs. He watches them through the clear roundness of his shield, beckoning him closer. The rain pelts against it, but softly this time. Merciful as it knows you’re about to emerge from the ocean of such unfathomable sadness. It doesn’t wish to frighten you, rather it desires to soothe your escaping, make it less harrowing. Even the wind that whips at him stills as soon as you open the door, bathed in light.

And Jungkook is struck with the notion that he wants to do the same.

You’re wearing flared leggings. Gray. With sneakers of the same color and a white top that hugs your waist, that seems way smaller than the last time he touched it. He gets a glimpse of it, and it unnerves him, as you lift your hand to curl a strand of your hair behind your ear because otherwise your body is shrouded in a flannel that’s too big for you. Too robust for you and your particular liking of tight, little clothes.

He doesn’t want to know who that garment belongs to. Doesn’t even want to come close to unfolding that thought, to even let it get a taste of his burning blood. Because there’s another matter at hand.

You’ve lost weight.

And he’s going to kill his hyung for it.

You step out and it’s an instinct, the way his arm draws closer to you so you don’t get touched by the rain, even if it means the raindrops get to trace the back of his head and the nape of his neck. Yet even that invigorating, tender liquid doesn’t cool the scorching lividness that takes place beneath his skin, beneath his bones. But then you touch his hand, left to left, drag it away and hide yourself in his chest. Everything changes when you do that.

Jungkook explodes. Silently. Gently. His chin quivers again and he doesn’t care that you can hear the tremor of his heart as you lay your ear against it. Doesn’t care that his grip might hurt you as he hugs you back, thinking he could wrap his arm twice around your much different waist. And he takes you like this. Back to his car. He doesn’t even feel the wetness pooling in his waterline, leading you as you walk backwards. And you laugh, you laugh softly while he inhales your mango scent that has somehow even crept up to your scalp, and he doesn’t believe it’s that easy.

It can’t be that easy to make you feel better.

He opens the door for you, a façade of nothingness plastered on his face as he tries his hardest to remain stoic so you wouldn’t see the turmoil churning within every perimeter of his body. And it’s an instinct, too, the way he catches your little purse when it slips off your shoulder, even though he doesn’t see it, too busy devouring your gaze—afraid, awfully afraid that tonight might be the last time he sees your pretty eyes, considering the contempt he’s now showing his hyung.

If Yoongi finds out about this, it’s over.

His life is over, too.

Anger, frustration, sadness, love—how is he able to feel all of those emotions at once? You purse your lips, your weary eyes skip his features all the way to his mouth, stopping at his lip ring and the question rises again in his brain.

Is it love?

The rain falls harder. And so does he, unfortunately.

“I got you something. It’s right there.” He tips his chin to the passenger seat without taking his gaze off of your busy eyes. They’re still looking at his mouth, watching every word come out. He finds it so endearing that there’s nothing more he wants to do than grab your cheeks and kiss you for it. Maybe his frustration would loosen a little bit if he did it. “Don’t sit on it.”

It’s that addition to his previous sentence that causes you to flick those pretty irises of yours up to his. And he studies it as the double meaning uncoils in your brain, even though it was by accident that it tumbled out of his mouth. The weariness in your orbs parts like clouds upon the heavens, though no sunshine spills through them. There’s still a lingering blankness, something unknown, something foreign. Then, the tiniest of smiles curls your mouth and it jolts through him, his heart thudding harder—to the point that even more profound discomfort settles in.

“Did you get me a dildo? I could use one right now.”

The perplex that seizes him almost causes his legs to give out. And he can’t help it, the way his eyes roll back and his hand, with your purse hanging from his forearm, runs down his face. Jungkook wants to get drenched in the rain—maybe if the raindrops put out the sudden fire licking at his every nerve ending, maybe then he’ll come to understand how you manage to be in the mood when your state of mind can’t possibly let you have dirty thoughts.

His cock tightens again and he calls you by your name, firmly. He can’t have this. Not right now. He needs to be sensible. You need it. “Get in the car.”

You listen, but your smile falters. Grabbing your bag from his forearm, you turn around, bending over to wrap your fist around the bag on the passenger seat. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look at your delicious round cheeks and once he discovers that they’re hidden under that layer of the hideous flannel, he sighs a breath of relief. He can’t look at you that way. Averts his gaze, immediately.

As soon as you’re seated, he clicks the door shut. Considers letting the rain have him. Did he make a mistake, being firm with you?

Inside his car, his favorite song is mellowly playing. In the mere few seconds, you’ve managed to suffuse the entire atmosphere with your mango scent and Jungkook inhales it. It takes him into a whole different world, one filled with eternal sunlight as the song portrays it. He finds himself in a country of spring that has been briskly rained upon and now is being softly seared with those shafts of light and speckles of heat, the details of your beauty.

“For the love of my life, she's got glow on her face…” the singer sings and the lyrics plod into his mind. Jungkook wishes the description applied to you at this very moment like it had before, like it had every single time he stole a glance at you. He misses your glow and your glitter and it pierces his unstable heart that he finds no traces of those particles of shimmer on your cheekbones and eyelids as you’re rummaging through the bag, not even on your cupid’s bow as you gasp, gently, discovering he bought you your favorite things.

You’re looking at him with such smothered joy and it would relieve his feelings if he didn’t feel such guilt, if he didn’t feel as though he was a crumbling pillar, a failure undeserving of your time.

You take the candle into your small hands. Such a stark contrast—his heart aches at the sight of it. You pop the lid open, sniff the aroma and your mouth rounds in a terribly, terribly cute manner. Jungkook is glad for the lack of light in the space of his car, which hides his growing manhood. He props an elbow on the door and pinches his nose, trying to regain his composure—

“It’s mango-scented,” you say in disbelief, pouting and Jungkook can’t breathe. “And cheese balls, are you kidding me?” You open the bag right away, plopping the treat into your mouth. He’s surprised you eat just one—it doesn’t feel right. “Thank you. Honestly. Thank you.” You cradle it into your chest and Jungkook has to look away.

What has Yoongi done to you that you react this way to such silly things? He needs to ask, but he fears your answer. And what’s worse, he fears what he’ll do to him once you tell him.

“What did you tell him?” He needs to get away from this place, but it has to correlate with your plan, if there even is any. If not, he’ll handle it. Figure something out.

You take a sharp breath, loading your gifts back into the bag, keeping it nice and safe on your lap. Then, you lick your lips and look at him with an intention that causes his heart to jump right there onto the wonderfully clothed flesh of your thighs. “I told him I was going home.”

Home. Since the moment he knew of your existence, your home has been the place wherever Yoongi resided. It never mattered where. Jungkook grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. “Where do you live?”

You tell him your address. He knows that from this day on, he’ll never, ever forget it. He starts the engine, wondering in the meantime about the ordinariest things of your life. Do you live there during the week and spend your weekends at Yoongi’s apartment? Or has he completely overtaken your life that you spend every hour of it in his presence? He wants to know. And he wants to get some food in that slim tummy of yours. “Do you have any food there? When was the last time you were there?”

It’s you who looks away now, staring ahead, playing with your fingers while the rest are still wrapped around the bag. “I don’t live there anymore. Haven’t been there in months.”

Jungkook bites his lip. Too, too many questions are hovering in his brain—he barely has the capacity to think about them, let alone hurl them at you. “What did he say when you told him you were going home?”

You snivel and his heart on your thighs twitches in pain. He has to grip the steering wheel harder in order not to jump out of this car and kick down Yoongi’s door.

“Nothing.”

Jungkook puts the car in drive, wordlessly, seething inside. He’ll invent another plan while yours will remain its prototype. Will keep you safe.

Safe, fed and tearless.

The drive is quiet, save for the euphonious melodies emitting through his never-ending playlist. The rain has become less severe, soft in nature, only adding to the background noise—adding to the process of your mollification that he’s overseeing. He’s put a stop to the questions. Has figured you have enough of them, for the only reason you decided to lie to your own boyfriend and go behind his back was because you needed to get out of his clutches.

A decision he approves of.

The quietness has helped him regain his composure fully, set some things straight in his brain as the anger in him slowly dissipated. Space is good, for both his hyung and you and he’s proud of you for allowing yourself to get to this point that you walked away. Yoongi, evidently, has returned to his hermit tendencies and Jungkook knows very well that it’s something that he needs in his healing time. It’s who he is; who he always has been. He didn’t push him away too many times for him to be possibly wrong about this and while the information he gained from you that Yoongi changed his ways shattered Jungkook’s heart and glued it back together, he knew, somehow, deep within him, that it was just an effort. For you.

He didn’t think it was a façade because Yoongi is certainly not a phony person.

He did it for you. Tried his hardest. And succeeded. With your help, he’s sure—which makes it all the more beautiful—but Yoongi is still Yoongi.

Someone who deals with things on his own.

And although the distance he needs hurts other people, he doesn’t mean it. Jungkook knows this just as well, despite the fact what he truly thinks is that Yoongi should try harder.

For you.

He needs to tell you this. Needs you to know. But he doesn’t think you’re ready to hear it just yet, which is okay. The plan is constructed, he’s here for you and he will make you feel better. He will caress your heart and make your belly full. Will make you forget for a little while before he gently brings you back to reality.

You deserve this. After everything you’ve been through. Because of him. Because of Yoongi.

And because of this, he no longer feels guilty that he has you to himself without Yoongi knowing. Even if that means he risks his brotherhood, even if that means he risks his affection for you seeing the light of day.

You’re more important.

It’s this thought that gets interrupted by a sudden ring of your phone. You jump, zipping your purse open and Jungkook keeps his eyes on the road. He doesn’t really want to see the kind of picture you have Yoongi saved under. He has to keep his feelings intact. Remain calm.

Your breath shakes. “He’s video calling me.”

Sparks of electricity nip at his fingertips. A surge of adrenaline, the threatening, false notion that he’s doing the wrong thing. Jungkook almost smirks. It’s so fucking thrilling to him.

He lets you decide on your own what to do, but you grow unsure, nerves burdening you. He feels that heft and it’s quick to sober him up.

“Should I get out of this car? Say I’m taking a walk?” you ask, your pretty, pretty eyes wide, your pupils so tiny. Jungkook wants to take your hand in his, take your fear that makes you think these silly thoughts and crush it.

He’s here. He’s going to take care of this. Of you.

“Let it ring.”

You look back down at your phone, lip between your teeth, but Jungkook keeps his eyes on you, the red of the stoplight pervading you with the danger of your girlish freedom. And it does ring two more times before Yoongi gives up.

Good.

You have the right to need to distance yourself just as much as he does. Give him the same silent treatment like he did to you.

There’s a smug smirk plastered on his face when he catches you putting your phone back into your purse before the light turns green. He speeds down the road, driving with just one hand, ready to unfold his plan.

One he’s already shared with you.

He’s taking you to the mall.

His hand itches to take yours as you walk beside him. Strangers stare you down, but you keep your attention on the myriads of shops lining the side of the promenade. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that there’s so many people wasting their Thursday at such a place like this. At this hour, especially. It kind of makes him regret that he took you here, despite the fact the sole purpose of it was to feed you until you were full. The lights are too bright, children are screaming and running around and it’s giving him a headache, but one look at you changes his mind in an instant. The glow he missed has found its way back to your cheeks and there’s a glint to your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long while. The paleness is gone and he’s not really ignorant to the way a bush of roses begins to bloom in his chest at the realization.

You stop dead in your tracks all of a sudden. Your little purse slips off of your shoulder. As attentive as he always is, he slides it back up, a smile tugging his mouth to the side. He thinks it’s just so damn cute. And the fact you don’t pay any attention to it as well. Probably used to it.

Red posters of sale adorn the storefront that has caught your eye. Jungkook is unfamiliar with it, but you seem to be completely enthralled by it.

“Where do you wanna eat?” he provokes. Already knows what restaurant you’ll be feasting at, obviously, but poking you is a matter of enjoyment for him. “There’s so many food courts to choose from.”

You look at him and clutch your stomach, as if the mere mention of food made you hungry. A faint, faded light flashes across that glint in your irises before it dwindles away and Jungkook is ready to throw you over his shoulder and push people off of his path to get you there right now.

“Can we… go here first?” you ask, hesitatingly, grabbing a hold of his elbow, but he feels as though you’re squeezing his heart, wringing it out of all that liquid emotion that he swallowed down earlier in the car. Your touch is warm, like the pond water kissed by the sun back at his cabin, seeping into his skin and languidly streaming through his body.

It’s automatic, primal and right, the way he clasps his other hand across your fingers wrapped around his bicep and the way your body draws closer to his. It should be normal to do this when he’s seen you bare—when he’s seen you feral, needy and disappear into your pleasure, one he’s the creator of. Why does it feel so thrilling? So dangerous?

You can meander through as many stores as you want. And he tells you that, or at least tries to, as he smiles at you, softly, and nods his head, letting you lead him inside the shop that has so vehemently caught your attention.

A trillion styles of jeans, tiny tops, skirts and shorts of the same size, Jungkook understands your fascination as he takes it all in. And he’s pleasantly surprised when you indulge him as you fondle every material of every clothing you like, telling him how pretty you find it. You’re not timid to show him your disappointment either, wrinkling your nose, when the fabric is too frail or too expensive for the price, muttering vulgarities directed to capitalism and leading him away.

It isn’t until your sight stumbles upon a rack of dresses that your breath, audibly, hitches in your throat. And you unlink your arm from his, going straight for your seemingly new obsession.

A red dress. A sheer fabric, more like. With roses sewn in, a split in the middle, one strap covering only a part of the hanger. It’s the only piece of clothing you actually take into both of your hands, putting it against your body, as if to see what it would look like on you. Fuck if he knows what you’re doing—all he knows is that his throat is dry, the image of you wearing something like this making him a living, breathing corpse.

Jungkook clenches his fists. Even more so when you disappointingly click your tongue upon seeing the price tag, putting it back where you found it. The thought of you not having that dress causing his heart to lodge, tightly and disturbingly, in the shriveled walls of his throat.

Not happening. Not under his watch.

That dress was made for you.

Jungkook licks his lips. Doesn’t stop the words from spilling out. “Why don’t you try it on?”

You give him a look as if he was a mad man. And he is. That he certainly is. “Please, this costs more than I can afford. I’d only go home crying if I tried it on and had to put it back.”

He stifles a laugh at how ridiculous you sound. Picks up the price tag. Less than two hundred thousand wons. It wouldn’t even make a dent in his bank account.

He grabs the hanger. Hands it to you. “Go try it on, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. Don’t look amused at all. Your brows knit ever so adorably and the corners of your mouth curl downwards, arms crossing over your chest. Oh, he’s going to wipe that expression off of your face. Paint it in pretty, pretty colors. “No, thanks. I think I cried enough today. Let’s go.”

You walk past him, but Jungkook stops you. Grabs your arm. Calls your name, firmly. “I’m not gonna repeat myself.”

You huff. “Is there something wrong with your ears?” Your brows quirk and he thinks he died again. Might melt into a putty. Just for you.

He smirks, showing his teeth. “It’s no issue for me,” he says, speaking of money, taking your hand in his and enveloping your fingers around the hanger. “So be good and try on this dress for me. Off you go.”

Jungkook turns you around and, with his palms on your shoulders, he leads you towards the dressing rooms, not stopping until he finds one that’s unoccupied. You huff and puff again, but he gently pushes you inside. And when you open your mouth to say something, he drags the curtain to the side. A laughter bubbles in his chest.

“You’re not buying this for me.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Strip.”

There’s no witty remark, no exhales of your exasperated breaths, only the obnoxious music blasting through the speakers and he assumes that you gave in to him. A tendril of proudness, not of his actions but for you and your good behavior, swims in the hot bloodstream of his veins and it’s now, now that he’s almost alone and you’re out of view, save for your feet clad in pink socks under the curtain, that he perceives that he’s coated in sweat. The disorder of his colorful, all kinds of feelings has turned him so numb that he doesn’t even feel grounded in his body. He needs a strong sip of alcohol. And a good meal.

He begins to flutter the sides of his leather jacket, just to alleviate himself of how hot he feels, when he hears you gasp, your footsies shuffling on the carpeted floor. He takes a step towards the dressing room, a trembling hand reaching for the curtain and stopping there—a spasm of nerves zaps his abdomen, spreading iciness to the tips of his fingers. He knows what he’s about to see will make him a dead man for the third time this evening and because of that, he takes a deep, soundless breath, closing his eyes for a mere second before his hand pulls the curtain away.

Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him.

And nothing is what you’re wearing underneath the dress.

Abruptly, there’s no music. There’s no gasps emitting out of that marvelous mouth of yours. And the film in front of his eyes is in slow motion, accompanied by the winged fuckers going equally mad inside his stomach. You’re twirling. From side to side. Patting down the material tight against your slender body. A grin on your face, one that he’s last seen during that time joy rested in you, bathes you in a glow that he longed to see. The glint, the light in your eyes takes on a whole new intensity and it shoots embers into his bare hands, burning him ferociously and curtly—just for him to find that he likes it and that he wants more. You turn around, facing him, and you swathe him with that flaring, almost raging light. It’s the sole thing he senses amidst the numbness of his headspace.

Except for one thing.

The ruffle of the sorry excuse for a rose beneath the singular strap of the dress is but an inch above your stiffened nipple while the other, just as excited, is left bare for his eyes—as if the principle of being exposed like that awakened your body. But it’s the vast, stitched red buds of that flower across your small waist, stomach, mound and the apex of your thighs that brings his attention to this other thing that he’s aware of.

He’s hard for you.

This image of you will perpetually haunt his dreams. Your little, carmine rose tattoos as if lining your skin, mainly. His throat swallows, dryly.

Jungkook cups himself in an effort to hide his arousal and his bafflement from your stark, astonishing beauty. He thinks you’re unquestionably otherworldly, so far beyond his reach and his league that it aches. As much as the apprehension that if you wore anything else in this fucking dressing room, he’d fall to his knees just the same.

And then you speak and somehow you bring sharpness back into his reality.

“The socks go well with the dress, don’t you think?”

Jungkook glances at your feet and what he sees makes him pinch his eyes and let out a rumble of laughter. There’s a fucking Pikachu on your socks, grinning up at him, mocking him for getting hard for you for the third time.

He can’t look back up and be a witness to the magnificence of your body. If he allows himself to do so, he will combust. Bring the whole building down—

A set of footsteps sound behind him and, with a racing heart, Jungkook steps inside the dressing room, shrouding you with his body without touching you, pulling the curtain shut. You startle, backing away until your spine leans against the mirror and there’s no space, none whatsoever, for him to run from you because when he turns back around, it’s your eyes he meets first. Nose to nose, breath to breath.

When did they start making dressing rooms so fucking small?

His breath picks up speed. He wants to pretend he doesn’t see the thick veil of your feminine carnality shunning out the light in your irises, because he can’t afford this, not when you’re sad, not when you need a friend, not when he needs to be stable for you. But the more you look at him, the more you draw him in and he has very little strength to fight against it.

Averting his gaze, he props a hand on the wall beside your mirror. Notices your clothes, untidy, sprawled on the bench. Finds no traces of you taking off your underwear, which means only one thing.

His heart nearly skips a beat.

“Where’s your underwear?”

Your grin forms into a smirk and you latch both of your hands onto the sides of his jacket. Danger mingles into that carnality in your eyes and Jungkook knows, right at this instant, that he’s fucked. “Didn’t take any.”

His cock hardens even more in his hand. A brief flashback of the way he ripped your panties off at his cabin when you disobeyed him fills his mind, and he grows weak. It’s still a private pleasure of his, one that he likes recollecting, no matter the events that took place after. And the whole escapade has caused him to form a certain attachment to your underwear—or lack thereof. Knowing you didn’t take any on your first, secret night out with him suffuses him with delectation, one that intertwines with a rising question in him.

Did you choose not to wear it for the sake of the old time or did you choose not to wear it because you’re expecting something from him?

He yearns to know. Needs to.

“Why?”

Your fists bunch up his T-shirt underneath the jacket, tip of the tongue darting out to lick across your top lip. Your eyes follow the way you squeeze the fabric and Jungkook catches your long lashes quivering at your discovery of his quite prominent problem. A blush scatters along your nose and cheekbones and he doesn’t have to look down to know that his hand scarcely conceals his imprint. He’s grown harder for you in this close proximity and, peculiarly, light pervades him now that you know about his arousal, even though he doesn’t expect you, nor demand from you, to do anything about it.

“Oh, you know.” Palms flat, you drift them down his stomach. Jungkook stiffens, a forest burned by you. “It would only get in the way.”

He sucks in a breath, pressing his other hand beside your head, caging you in, his cock in full clothed glory for you. His head spins, but paradoxically, he feels himself gaining strength, as if you managed to rejuvenate him by laying out your cards on the table in such a filthy, electrifying manner.

“Get in the way of what?”

You mirror him, sucking in a breath of your own. “Get in the way of you fucking my brains out?”

A quirk of his brow. A twitch of his cock. He can’t breathe—you’ve taken all of the remaining oxygen in his lungs when you sucked in that breath and uttered those dirty, dirty words. How are you capable of this? What has Yoongi done to you? Jungkook drags his teeth up his bottom lip, although it attenuates close to nothing. His arousal only blossoms, the bush of roses in his gut thickening, so akin to your little, feigned tattoos. He yearns to feel them under his palm.

A dead man, for the fourth time.

His knees might give out. His hands are clammy.

Though his mouth acts on its own. “Have you forgotten what I’m capable of doing?”

He watches the flashback swim past your irises and it connects to your mouth, expanding it into a coy smile. “I guess I have.”

Bad, bad girl. It’s you who’s fucking his brains out, trembling like a little leaf, longing for his touch, calling out for his hands. He feels them buzz, interwoven with your senses and your desires. Even if you didn’t move an inch, if you remained still as a sculpture, his hands would still know you want them and it drives him to the peak of insanity—enough for him to consider taking you right here and there, in all seriousness. In spite of the fact he still has a mind of his own and is aware that he shouldn’t. For Yoongi’s sake, yes—but mostly for your sake.

The tips of his fingers tingle with the craving to rip that flimsy fabric off of you and make you remember what he did to you, even though you fully remember. Something about that fills him with an onrush of vigorous energy, one that needs a release. It whispers, most intensely, its plea for it within his skin.

“Do I really need to remind you?” Jungkook asks, playing your little game after all, digits clenched into fists on either side of your head. You nod, briefly, seemingly becoming smaller in his captivity, hands drifting lower, rooting by his hips. He’s surprised he’s letting you touch him like this, but then he’d let you do anything you want. He sweeps a glance at your form, just once, before he bores his gaze back into yours. It did something to you and he draws closer, senses you squeezing your thighs together. Such a cute, bad girl. “It would be a pity to rip this dress off of you. What would they think, hm? If you walked out of this dressing room and had to explain to them what happened?”

Jungkook drags a finger down your neck and at the first physical contact, you release a breath that wafts over him, deepens his heat. He traces the line of your strap until he reaches the frilly bud of the rose and tugs at it, just once.

He’s about to continue taunting you, but you catch him off guard.

“I dunno, I’d tell them I wanted you to do it. That I needed the reminder,” you whisper and your low tone of voice curls unfathomably somewhere within his gut, forcing him to double over. You hook your fingers around his belt loops and Jungkook brims with gladness that he didn’t wear a belt. “What was it that you did to me?”

He nearly, nearly rolls his eyes back. The effect you have on him—he craves to bunch your hair in his fist, teach you a lesson regarding what you’re doing to him.

And he just might. Take full responsibility while he’s at it.

Two responses swirl on his tongue, however.

One to scold you for provoking him in public, but he knows it would stall the aroused energy and back it away into a corner. The other to keep going and drive you to his level of insanity.

It’s a crossroad and he’s standing in the middle, a man in charge, his morals questioned and at absolute fucking risk. His blood pumps at full speed and sweat lines his forehead. He’s on the verge of bursting. Time and tension presses against him and with all that energy and strength pulsating in him, it’s scarcely the one he needs to put a stop to this all. It all leads into a far different direction, leading him away from the clearness of his morals.

Fuck.

Then, your chest lifts in desperate staccatos and that’s it for him. That’s the breaking point.

No way out.

Only way in.

For you.

Jungkook wets his lips. “How well can you keep a secret?”

In the same trembling staccatos, you exhale in relief and he’s ready to give you everything. Absolutely fucking everything. “I’m the best in the game.”

A flash of light in his being. He’s immensely pleased with your answer, growing hotter and hotter. He inches closer to you, flush to your body, lips by your ear. Feels your little nubs pressing against his upper abdominal muscles. Craves to sink his teeth into the delicious flesh of your ear. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” he starts, mimicking your low tone, speaking of the evident elephant in the room, hoping you catch onto it. “And if they ask, you have to come up with something else. Can you do that?”

He pulls away a tiny bit, just to study your reaction. Your hold tightens on his belt loops while your mouth parts and your head nods in agreement, ever so needy but patient for his next move. He wants to lick you all over just for that, reward you until you lose your voice.

“You teased me with your words, with your little bratty mouth, and even though you listened well when I told you to lick your finger for me, you disobeyed me when I instructed you to not wear panties at my place,” he starts, lips mouthing your ear and he feels the need of your body to stabilize at the memory. Offering you his own, he presses closer to you until he pins you against the mirror, until both pairs of lungs sync in movement, his fingers skimming, barely, over the sides of your hips. Though something resistant takes place in the middle of that entwinement. Something that gives his mouth the aftertaste of copper. “And when I found out, I ripped them off of you. Fingered you so fast you came in seconds and made a mess on my hand. And then…” he pauses, an inkling regarding how to get rid of his uneasiness plaguing his mind. “Then I made you apologize and you did. You did it so sweetly that I made you come so many times until you lost count,” he alters the memory, concluding the reminder finding the aftertaste rapidly increasing, transmitting down to his heart, burdening it with a heavy load that he doesn’t know the contents of.

“Can you show me what you did? I think I might remember better if you do.”

He almost sinks to his knees, but the resistance, the coppery aftertaste in his mouth immobilizes him, keeps him glued on his spot and his hands begin to tremble. An image of Yoongi blazes in the back of his mind and, fleetingly, Jungkook sees a swift movement, a memory of getting hit. If his hyung is in as bad a mental state as he is, it’s inevitable that history will repeat itself. You haven’t received his blessing. Neither has he.

But at this very moment, he thinks knuckles to his cheek will simulate the act of a kiss.

Secrets are secrets and he’s weak.

Awfully, awfully weak.

“Is this what you want me to do?” he asks, looking you dead in the eye, lifting his chin, hoping you see his frailty—hoping you see that he’s hanging by the thread. “Finger you in this dressing room until you ruin that pretty dress?”

A smile. “Well, you didn’t get me a dildo, so your fingers will have to do.”

A sharp inhale of breath. “What about this cock, huh? You don’t want it?”

You drag a finger along his jean-clad length, barely touching him. Jungkook twitches all over.

“It’s too big for me, you know I can’t take it.”

A deep chuckle. He’ll ruin his jeans himself. “If my mind serves me well, you’ve always taken it well. Came around it a lot of times.”

You whine. This, this is your breaking point and all of Jungkook’s muscles tighten at the recognition. He’s gonna give it to you. Say fuck it to it all—his life was damned the moment he set his eyes on you. Knew he was going to die prematurely. Thinks dying in Yoongi’s hands is quite merciful. It’s his best friend after all.

“Please, Jungkook, I—”

He grabs your waist, tightly. His thumbs touch and his stomach drops. “You what?” He’s going to make you say it, he doesn’t care. He needs it. He craves it.

A mewl, one that coils around his length. “I’m so wet. I need you. Please, do something. Anything. Let’s get out of here.”

He turns you around and because you didn’t expect it, you gasp—loudly. Angels must be by his side, for your sounds get instantly swallowed by the blasting music. You can be as loud as you want, as he wants and he makes a mental note to remind you that when the time asks for it.

His fingers gather the flimsy fabric, bunching it at your waist. In the sharp light, shining down at you most perfectly, he has a splendid view of your drenched thighs and swollen clit. He presses you against him, needs you to feel how hard you made him, how rock solid his cock is at the sight of your mouth-watering filthiness. He needs you in his mouth, he needs you.

“Where?” Jungkook asks, staring you down in the mirror, brows furrowed, head tipped to yours, lips in a tight line, parting with every hardened exhale. “Where do you need me? Show me.”

You moan, ever so softly and he can’t help but grind against your ass, fingertips making dents in the flesh of your waist. You take your hand and drift it down to your sweet little cunt and Jungkook holds his breath. You rub your center, your adorable lips wrapping around your small fingers and you show him the thick sheen of your arousal, glistening in the light. Just like you did the first time he set his eyes on you, even though the paradisiacal sight wasn’t meant for him.

Now it is—and he’s nearly about to weep in joy. Such spiritual experience, swathed with gratitude and mercy, healing him through and through. This is for him. You’re willingly giving it to him. He never thought he was ever deserving of it, but now in your hands, at your service, it feels too good to be true. His eyes wet, his arousal taking a new form, becoming something bigger, more profound, something that will change him, cling to him for the rest of his life.

“Here. I want your fingers.”

He takes your palm in his, planning something with it. “Just my fingers?”

You lean your head back against his chest. “All of you, please, please.”

At your service.

Jungkook wraps his lips around your fingers, sucking your dew, swallowing it, needing more. You grow more desperate, watching him in the mirror, and your little index finger grazes his lip ring, smiling sweetly, pleased with yourself. He coos at the sight, but then you turn around, pressing yourself against him, your cunt against his thigh, his cock against your tummy, and you grab the back of his neck and pull him in, harshly, for a kiss.

You eat his mouth. He’s barely able to reciprocate your hungry kisses, the roll of your tongue, your moans at your own taste and he decides he will simply slow you down.

Reaching behind you, his fingers tease your entrance. In response, you lift your ass for him, arching your spine as much as you can. He knows that if he were to pull away, he’d see your juices in the mirror, in the stark light, but your starvation and your craving tastes too good and he physically can’t.

Gathering your slick, he drags his fingers past your parted lips towards your clit and you swirl your hips for him, outrunning him—making the tip of his digit give you the circles you want. He groans into your mouth, out of breath and it isn’t until he rubs your bud rapidly, with deep pressure, and you moan so loud that it alerts him enough to pull away.

The music did not, in fact, swallow that sound.

Jungkook clamps your mouth shut.

Without stopping his movement. Watches your eyes roll back. And he’s greedy, unfortunately so.

Turning you around, he props your leg on the bench and he looks at your pretty cunt. Swollen red clit, like your feigned tattoos, parted lips, dripping hole and equally soaked folds, glistening in the direct light. He swears, can’t help it, fondling your femininity, all four of his fingers gliding with ease, back and forth, everywhere. Down to your other hole, to your inner thighs, back up to your seashell, to your mound and lower tummy. He cakes you with your arousal, one he’s the creator of, bunching your dress higher until he’s holding you right underneath your breasts that spill over his forearm. So full and perky—he’s unhinged. Utterly, utterly unhinged.

He wants to smear your slick over those clothed nipples as well.

Fuck.

Jungkook rubs your clit again, with the same speed as before. Your eyes lid, but keep the eye contact in the mirror, ravaging him through and through. He submits to it, even though he has the upper hand, even though he has the capability to make those eyes go cross. And they do—when he sinks his fingers inside of you, middle and ring, stuffing you full. Your walls suck him in so hard that he almost loses his footing, squeezing you so hard against him that he’s sure he will leave bruises on your tender skin. He silently promises he will kiss them later.

“Is this what you wanted?” He lifts your leg, hoists it up in the air and begins to fuck you speedily, fingers curling in your spot every once in a while. He doesn’t want to make you come fast, but then time is pressing against him and he knows the mall will be closing soon. He still has to fill that belly. Would prefer if you came around his cock. “My fingers fucking your needy little princess parts, hm?”

You moan his name and Jungkook shushes you in your ear, rewarding you regardless by abusing your clit with circles, alternating between those and swiftly fucking you in your tight hole.

“I’m gonna come, Jungkook, I’m gonna come.”

He withdraws his fingers. All of them—even those wrapped around your leg. You sway on your feet, heady, panting, and he stabilizes you with a hand on your arm. He smirks at you in the mirror, fingers in his mouth and you give him a dirty look.

Before you can tell him off, he explains himself. “You’re coming around my cock, I don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”

His words wipe your face off of that scowl and you smile at him. A sunshine personified. Jungkook chuckles, pushing you against the mirror with his hand on your sternum and getting on his knees.

He places your leg on his shoulder. “Hold your dress for me.”

You listen right away, ever so eager. One hand clutches the hem, the other sneaks to his hair. Jungkook likes it so much that he doesn’t waste a second and envelops his mouth around your little clit.

Just briefly. He has your dew to drink.

He swipes his tongue along your slit. Over and over, until his sweat drips in pearls down his temples and he makes new bruises on the sides of your hips. Even goes one step further and fucks you with his tongue, letting out short little breaths and soft moans against you, gone feral by your taste and your fleshiness. He takes your lips in his mouth, plays with them with his tongue. Pulls away, stares lovingly at them and spits on your clit, sucking it inside his mouth and rubbing his face in your dripping juices, licking up everything you’re giving to him.

And when your knee gives out, he catches you in time, standing to his feet. Doesn’t kiss you. Is selfish. Wants your taste perpetually on his tongue. Your eyes sink to his wet chin and you lick your lips, a feral look on your own gracing your features. You resemble a horny little animal, one that he craves to own and make his. But he can’t burden his heart with that thought. Doesn’t have the strength for it, not when he’s still hanging by the thread.

“How do you want my cock?” he asks, his own eyes lidded, darkness consuming him. “Like this or from behind? You decide. I’m giving it to you. It’s yours.”

You’re left speechless. He taps your cheek, gently, to make you talk. If you don’t, it will be his ruination and he will die. At your Pikachu-clad feet. A sweet, sweet death. Ideal.

“I—I can’t take it from behind.” A deer in the headlights, terribly cute.

He chuckles, caressing your hair. “But you have.” He grins, but it’s an answer for him. He’ll take you from behind in the safe confines of your home. “Like this, then. It’s more than perfect, sweetheart.” He kisses you, deeply, but he doesn’t give you his tongue. His heart expands, his affection crawling all around the kiss. He wonders if you can feel it.

Pulling away, he unbuttons his pants and takes out his length. He’s soaked his underwear, but he doesn’t mind. His arousal drips down and he rubs it along his tip to make it as painless for you as he can when he enters you.

And once he does, your eyes roll back and you break into whines, ones that fuck with his brain. Your leg is wrapped around his torso, but he joins the other one, holding you by your splendid little cheeks. Like his fingers, you suck him in, even though he hasn’t given you all of it yet. He’s already losing it. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him once he’s balls deep. He won’t last. He physically can’t.

Jungkook bites your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. “You want all of it?”

You tug at his hair. “Yes, all of you.”

At your fucking service.

He sinks deeper into you, hissing, furrowing his brows, sweat dripping down every perimeter of his body. Your mouth latches onto his neck and he’s gone. Even more so, when you graze your teeth upon his skin before you suck it—like he sucked your lip. He fucks you hard for it, making you let go of his neck and moan against the column. It pleases him so much that he does it again, a warm pressure coiling in his lower belly. It creates a cacophonous sound, your body colliding into the mirror and it mingles, beautifully, with the music playing. As well as the squeaky noises of your slick gliding along his cock every time he draws out.

“Who do you belong to tonight, huh?” Jungkook rasps, filling you balls-deep just like you wanted, driving into you slowly until his pelvis kisses yours. “You can be as loud as you want, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna hear you but me.”

Rapid, whiny moans. He mimics their speed while maintaining eye contact with you and he groans when your eyes go unfocused, mouth parted. You’re just as gone as him. He pecks you for it, so terribly pleased. His orgasm inches closer, enveloping him with even deeper, thicker darkness.

“To you, Daddy,” you cry out and because you called him by the title, he maneuvers you. Hoists you higher on his cock, with your legs now dangling from his forearms. And like this, he drags you up and down his length, his own moans breaking at the feeling of you tightening around him. He’s gonna come now and it’s your fault.

“No, sweetheart, you can’t call me that when we’re here,” he scolds, shaking his head, brushing his lips against yours. “I can’t ruin you the way I’d like. They’d kick us out.” He kisses you, slowing down his tempo, stalling his orgasm. “Now apologize or you’re not coming.”

“I’m so sorry. I won’t call you that in—in public.”

A rewarding kiss to your neck. A hard stroke. One that blankets his vision with colorful stars. “Good girl,” he praises, looks down at you and kisses you without breaking the stare. “Now you need to be the best girl and come around my cock. I can’t fill you up—you didn’t wear your panties. I’d ruin your leggings for everyone to see.” You cry out again, the idea dizzying your mind as much as his and you tug at his hair, scratching your fingernails down his neck, touching him all over. “Can you do that for me? Can you come for me and not make a mess like the last time, hm?”

He pounds into you, the strokes so hard that the sound of skin slapping turns disturbing and he holds his orgasm for your sake, all of his muscles clenched, stars dancing across his vision, pecking your features. And that’s it for you.

You come so hard around him—and you are the bestest girl in the world because you manage to keep your eyes on him throughout the entirety of the wave of your orgasm washing over you, licking up at your body. Mouth parted, his name slipping past, a deep tinge of red, deeper than your dress, flushing your cheeks, eyes dazed, so gone, so fucked out, dark and alluring, so akin to his.

His bestest girl. His sweetheart.

He needs to pull away. He needs to come.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re tired but I need you to take off your dress and get on your knees.”

You do it so quickly, without talking back, that even his own flush finds its way to his cheeks, his heart growing even larger and hotter, winged fuckers zapping his stomach. He fucks his fist in your face, loving the way you’re watching what he’s doing for a little while with a lingering hunger before you flick your eyes to his, beckoning his orgasm out of him.

“Good girl,” he whispers, muscles straining, movement quickening. White clothes the colorful stars, the warmth in his stomach on the very brink of exploding. “Open your mouth.”

And he paints your mouth in the same shade of white. You’re so good that you wrap your lips around him, sucking him softly, making popping sounds that prolong his orgasm and he grasps your hair in his fist, gently, despite the violence of his release. He’s not just giving you his cum; he’s giving you all of his affection and when you swallow and smile at him in such a kind, beautiful manner, it wets his eyes in a way that he can’t explain.

He helps you get on your feet and you worsen his state of emotions. Like earlier, you fold into his form, hugging him skin to skin, squeezing him so hard that he stops breathing altogether. And when you begin to weep and smear his chest with your precious tears, he weeps with you.

Never in his life before has he experienced such embrace, such love unraveling in the form of tears and quiet sobs. And he doesn’t want to absolve this again. With you, it’s perfect. And right now, he could die with the utmost certainty that you’re both crying for the same reason.

Love unable to be real, to be fulfilled.

He senses it. Senses it in the way he cradles your head and wipes your tears away. In the way your lips wrap around his, kissing him as if this was the very last time. You don’t have to say a word. He knows. And it’s enough.

Jungkook dresses you. Runs his fingers through your hair in effort to fix it and make it look as nice as it did before he ruined it. And his eyes drench again when you zip him up in the meantime. No one has ever done that for him.

The warmth in his heart heightens. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible.

Taking your hand, purse and your dress, he leads you to check out. Pays for it. Carries the bag. Pretends you’re his; pretends his duties are nonexistent and his morals have different colors—just for this night. Doesn’t let go of your hand, even as he orders a good bowl of soup for you and himself, even as you sit down together and wait for your food. Even as you look at him deep in thought.

“You saved me,” you unravel, a soft, tender, drowsy mien gracing your face and his heart thuds against his ribcage, gratitude surrounding it, eyes wetting again. “Thank you. And for the dress. I’ll only wear it for you.”

The thuds halt. And it’s the only thing that does—a tear rolls down his cheek and he can’t truly believe he’s baring his feelings like that for you, in front of you. He feels as though he was dreaming and he fears he’s going to stir to awakening any moment now.

A waiter brings your food. None of you pay him any kind of attention, though you don’t forget to say your thank you’s.

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, despite the fact no words rise on his tongue, but something interrupts him.

His phone rings.

And it’s none other than his hyung himself.

BACK to masterlist

#jungkook x oc #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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kingofbodyrolls · 8 months

Text

Friendcation (m) | myg | teaser one

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist | Chapter one →

Summary: Going camping with your best friends seemed like a brilliant idea when you initially made the plans. But when you harbor secret feelings for one of them, what will become of you being close confined for three months? Trouble, that’s what.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, “Y/N”)

Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin.

Genre/AU: best friends to lovers, non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!Yoongi, humor, smut and fluff

Rating: mature/explicit/R18

Word count: 11,9K

Warnings/tags: will be tagged for each individual chapter. But for chapter 1 it's; pent up sexual frustration, vulgar language, a lame game of 'never have I ever', mentions of past sexual encounters, fluff.

Author’s note: I’m only finished with the first chapter, but I’m too excited about this, so I’m posting it as a teaser. Don’t expect me to post at a regular time, because as I said, I’m still writing it (though I have planned most of it out already 😉).

Teaser is under the cut ⬇️

Snippet:

“Nice tits,” Yoongi's mischievous comment hung in the air, punctuated by a chuckle that echoed with playful admiration. Heat rushed to your cheeks, turning them beet red as you instinctively glanced down your body, realizing with a sinking feeling that your white shirt had become transparent when it clung to your soaking body. Panic surged through you.

In a hurry, you covered your breasts with your hands, the wet fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart raced, and your body felt hot, a combination of embarrassment and an unexpected wave of arousal coursing through you.

Why the fuck is he still looking? you thought with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. His gaze bore into you with a lazy smirk, and your skin prickled with a blend of vulnerability and desire.

“Stop looking!” you hissed, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and frustration. The tension between you was palpable, an unspoken connection simmering beneath the surface as the world around you faded into the background.

In an angry, trembling tone, you hissed at him, “And don't you dare say a fucking word!” Your hands remained firmly pressed against your breasts, your skin still tingling from the electric encounter. With a mix of indignation and vulnerability, you turned on your heel and hurriedly retreated, the path back to the van stretching out before you, each step echoing the tumultuous feelings churning inside. You retraced your steps in stifling silence, the tension between you and Yoongi lingering in the air like an unspoken secret.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

Text

time to dig up those graves, m | myg, jjk

misfit toys au continuation of intro >> don’t play >> this game

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, jungkook x reader

summary: In this world, there are those who get stabbed and the ones who do the stabbing. Is it fun for you, Min Yoongi? Is it fun to see who gets the fatal strike in this game of sex and lies you've created with your stepsister? It's not so fun, though, when you actually witness her parring hits from your very own father.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; warning! implied sexual abuse (no direct actions are described); name calling; equally wealthy and SHIT parents that abuse their adult children in the name of filial piety narcissism; descriptions of a peeping tom event and a physical fight; stepsiblings; intense smut (fem reader, D/s (switches, sub!JK), fucking in a hot tub, thigh riding, nipple play, heavy biting / marking / scratching, fingering, cumming on reader's face, cum eating, m-receiving oral, restraints, blindfolding(?), use of a makeshift gag (panties) + cock ring, cock-warming, spitting, choking, cowgirl, cum feeding (from a condom ew), reverse cowgirl, ball torture); non-idol!AU - orange-haired!Yoongi x savage, bad bitch!reader, ft protective, security guard!Jeon Jungkook; shifts between Yoongi's, yours, and JK's POV

“Enjoyed your date, slut?”

He had to hand it to her for the hotel selection at least. The large penthouse balcony allowed for a sprawling view of a city skyline below, complete with tiny glittering windows, artificial stars shining for the restless still awake in this late night. The separation from inside area to the outside veranda was a wall of glass doors that only required a few buttons to fully open up the space, folding back into the wall to allow the guest to walk freely from the massive bed to the hot tub.

Min Yoongi walked into this extravagant hotel room with a curled lip and spite in his tone.

A voice rose from the water like rising steam.

“It wasn’t a date. It was only a client from the club.”

“That’s not what the media said.”

He saw her back first. Base of shoulder blades and up. Her elbows rested on the stone tile edge of the hot tub. Her hair was twisted into place with a long metal hairpin, revealing the curve of naked shoulders, the glistening skin imploring for his bites.

The more vicious, the better.

As he approached his stepsister, Yoongi noticed the hairpin had a thin silver chain with a charm on it.

An onyx cat head.

Her head turned, barely. The charm swung ominously in the air, making him feel like some sort of body should be attached, but the design was clearly meant to be a disembodied head attached to the end of a thin metal stake. An instrument with the sole purpose to be stabbed into tangled hair to thereby deem the wearer put together.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with the squabble of simpletons, Yoongi.”

A wry chuckle.

“It was a dull dinner, honestly. The client was asking for some of the girls for his birthday party.”

The sound of churning water mixed with fingertips dancing on the surface. A low, mirthless hum. He could feel the cloaked rage in her otherwise calm tone.

“I told him my employees are not circus animals.”

“You don’t own the brothel, you know,” he muttered.

Silence.

An Icy itch slithered down his spine.

Yoongi had the distinct feeling that if his stepsister had a knife with her, it would now be buried into his anatomy with furious precision.

Instead, she inhaled slowly. Long digits fanning out, lifting, right hand gracefully landing on the stone tiles. Sliding out, her shoulders and head tipping back, and he saw her eyes were closed, wispy strands of hair fluttering over her cheeks and forehead. The water was milky with bath salts, aerated waves washing over her chest, concealing it save for the upper swell of her breasts.

She sank down as she leaned back, pink pillowy lips parting to let out a smokey sigh.

The onyx charm of the cat head clinked against the stone.

Scraping.

“The establishment is a gentlemen’s club. Not a daycare that rents out adult babysitters for crass, immature worms that still have birthday parties.”

Those beautiful eyes opened, darker in the dim light of the wall sconces set on low. Yoongi stayed where he was, a few meters away from the hot tub. Any closer and he didn’t trust himself. Her head tilted, gaze piercing right through him even when upside down. He noticed his eyes were wandering, glancing at her hands. Her arms. Her lips. The shape of her collarbones now prominent from the position. His tongue flitted over his lips, wetting them.

Flexible.

He knew that about her, of course. Remembered the arch of her spine with his hand on the small of her back, his tongue licking a thick, wet stripe up her torso, tasting the sinful sweetness of her skin.

Yoongi shoved his shaking hands into the pockets of his gray acid-wash jeans.

Nodded slowly, looking away from those accusing eyes.

“It’d be bad for business,” he mumbled. “Doing that kind of service.”

Seconds that felt like hours.

“I knew you would understand, Yoongi.”

The sound of shifting water.

When he glanced back, he was staring at the back of her head again.

“Where are your guards?”

“I sent them home,” she drawled absentmindedly, waving her hand. “No need for them when you’re around.”

He scoffed, ticking his head. “Hah. Like I would save you from any danger.”

“We both know saving is the last thing I want.”

The conversation lulled once more. An unpleasant, bitter feeling festered within his chest, her words ringing in his ears. He had received the envelope only a couple hours earlier. The day had been wasted away in his music studio once again. Eventually, he had given up and collected his bomber jacket to leave, finding a bright red envelope taped to the outside of his door. It had contained an address and a keycard.

“How did you know I would come?” Yoongi muttered.

The middle finger of her right hand tapped against the stone. The rhythm of her nail was barely audible over the roar of the jets of water.

“I didn’t.”

He flinched.

As if shot.

A strange kind of ache in his ribcage, as if a gaping hole was forming.

A part of him wanted to run. Not just physically removing himself from this moment. Running could mean so many more things than that. Running was lashing out. Running was trying to find the words that hurt most. Running was holding onto the meaningless pride of needing to be more than. Running was the kind of thing his father did; exercising clout, money, pettiness to defend his conceited, selfish character.

Yoongi tucked his tongue into his cheek.

His right hand raised and rubbed the left side of his chest, pressing the jersey fabric of his t-shirt to tense muscle.

He saw her left arm shift.

It swung out, landing in the same position as her right. Fingers fanned downward, elbow resting on stone. Her decorated wrist didn’t touch the tile, keeping the silver chain bracelet with black glass beads out of harm’s way. It shone wickedly, catching the light.

Yoongi lowered his hand.

Kicked off his shoes.

Removed his jacket, letting it fall to the floor.

Her hands remained the sides of the hot tub, at rest. Calm. Not reacting to the sound of his pants falling onto the carpet, socks shed, shirt pulled up and over his head. Hooked his fingers on the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs and pushed down. Fabric collapsed onto the floor, one by one, and then the sound of his heavy step on wood.

And yet.

Nothing.

“Hey.”

Nothing.

Yoongi found he hated her saying nothing more than her calling him brother.

He lowered himself to his knees.

His hand reaching out, gliding it against her cheek, stroking her damp skin with fingertips. His thumb brushed against her lower lip. An exhale. Her soft lips pressed against the pad of his thumb, making him shiver. The ache in his ribcage was transforming into something ravenous as his fingers pressed into her jaw, turning her head while he lowered his, blurs of red-orange shielding his peripheral vision as his hair swung forward. His eyelids lowered, weighed down by the heat radiating from the bubbly, hot water.

Her head turned.

Her chin lifted with his touch, half-lidded eyes finding his.

Yoongi kissed her deeply.

Her body twisted, rising slightly, nimble tongue flitting between his lips.

He stilled his breathing.

Trying not to shudder.

She drew back, alluring eyes pulling away from him, her fingers skimming his knee. Floated backward to make way for him. He lifted his knee and swung his leg into the water, propelling his body into the waves. The temperature change from night air to churning heat shocked his nerves, sending pinpricks of goosebumps all over his skin, but he ignored it, reaching out again, his hand grasping her upper arm and pulling her back to him.

“Don’t try to escape,” he whispered.

Husky and rough.

The corner of her lips ticked upwards.

“Speak for yourself.”

She planted her hands above his shoulders, gripping the edge of hot tub, and closed the distance.

Kissing him.

Yoongi knew he didn’t have any particular morals. He didn’t care about being perceived as right or having correct conduct or who the fuck knows what else people wanted to be. Breaking rules, crossing lines, digging his fingers into his stepsister’s hips and sliding his thigh between hers while sucking on her tongue, he did these things without much remorse and without much thought, because thinking too deeply about it would mean facing parts of himself that he wished weren’t real. He knew what he should be doing. He should have stopped.

He knew that.

Her body rose, rivets of water trickling down her breasts, beading when they reached her hard nipples, fierce kisses deepening and his head tipping back, giving into the addictive, binding taste of her saliva and his mixing together, tongue to coiling tongue.

A few times of this, sure.

A few times could be forgotten.

Under the churning water, she sat on his thigh. Angling her hips downward, making them both hiss at the contact. Sensitive nerves rubbing against hard muscle. His tight grip guided the deliberate pace, staring into each other’s eyes, shaking breath shared in the mere centimeters between their faces.

Yoongi knew he could have many beautiful things.

Her eyes gleamed as her smirk reached them, shamelessly stimulating her clit against his flexed thigh, not hiding, aroused enough that he could feel the viscous juices clinging to his skin for a split second before it was washed away by the jets of water around them.

He could have many beautiful things.

She’s the most beautiful one.

He tilted his head and ran his tongue over the side of her neck, feeling her hips flinch and her head fall back, a sweet moan injected into the air above his ear. The city sounds were akin to white noise due to how high up they were, but Yoongi wouldn’t have heard them anyway, too focused on cascading water and rolling hips and the taste of her skin, her head moving aside to give him more access. Muscle and pulse under his teeth.

He bit down, marking her.

A satisfied, airy chuckle.

“I hoped you would, Yoongi.”

Power and blood underneath his mouth and his fingernails, dragging them roughly across her ass, sucking hard as she fucked herself harder, riding his hard thigh with lustful vengeance, chasing her orgasm in pain and pleasure and heat.

Out in the open, high in the sky, seemingly untouchable.

Her left hand flew off the edge and grabbed the back of his head, locking her fingers into his hair and sending flicks of red-orange tips into the edge of his vision, pinning his vicious mouth to her throat as she came, sliding closer, her soft thigh flush to his erection. Hips strongly flinching in his hands, pulsating softness pressed into his skin. Leaking honey washing away, washing away, the traces of her release reduced trembling muscles and heedless, hazy sighs laced with his name. Heartbeat roaring in his ears, his own breathing erratic and melding with her moans, all of it drifting up, up, up into the night sky where planes roared past.

Clueless sheep flying above the tangled snakes.

He kissed up her bruises and his marks, curling his tongue around her earlobe, diamond earring quivering from his raspy growl.

“Turn around.”

She slowly let go of his head.

Her breath feathered against his ear, words breezing past twin platinum hoops.

“Don’t want to look at my face, hah?” she whispered, light in tone and heavy in implication.

Yoongi said nothing.

She obeyed, untangling for less than a second before twisting her body, backing up without fear, leaning against his chest, layering their heartbeats. He raised himself a little, sliding his erection into the dip of her ass, a familiar feeling now. She hummed and rocked her hips back, rubbing his hard cock against her juicy ass.

He stopped her.

One hand gripping the inside of her thigh and the other in her hair, his fingers digging into the bun held together by a metal hairpin. The onyx cat head charm swung unsteadily, metal to gemstone rattling.

A breathless beat.

Yoongi flicked his wrist, forcibly rotating her head ninety degrees so her parted lips were against his cheek, holding her there. He breathed out. Exhale, unhurried, her warm breath drifting over his left cheek. His hand on her thigh sliding down, down, bodies surrounded by aerated water, brushing his fingertips against her shivering slit.

His eyes shifted, turning his head to look into hers.

Said nothing, letting the direct eye contact do the talking.

She held her breath.

Yoongi let his eyes explore every detail of her face, pressing two fingers to her engorged clit and rubbing slow circles. He memorized her expression. The tension in her jaw lessening at the hunger was soothed by his touch. The lowering of her lush lashes, gazing at him with desire. The way bliss slowly but surely crumbled the cloaked anger, swollen lips parting and snaking moan rising as his fingers tangled in her hair, pulled, tugging her head back and exposing his bites.

Broken vessels and seeping blood the cause of those red-purple marks, his teeth marring perfect, pampered skin.

He stared into her eyes and leaned in.

Shoved two fingers into her pussy as he covered her open mouth with his, swallowing her cry.

Yoongi did not want to forget.

His hand cupping the back of her head, pressing her body to his with his forearm, adding a third finger and thrusting his tongue into her mouth, devouring her stifled moans with greed, and he knew he did not want to forget, knew he wanted the memorize the way her body clenched around him and sucked him in, more, needing more, countless times, a hundred times, a thousand times, never enough, looking into her beautiful eyes, roughly fucking her with his fingers all the way to his knuckles, encouraged by the way her hips bucked and shuddered. Lips locked, continuous. The constant milky water adding sensual slip between their bodies. Her left hand on his hip, sharp manicure digging in deliciously. Her soft ass bouncing against his stiff length, keeping him on the edge of almost enough.

He shoved her up against his torso repeatedly.

Over and over.

Her other hand lifted from the bubbling water, sliding into his hair and intensifying the kiss.

Lost in his tongue and his hands.

Heat intensifying, lust compounding, lightheaded from shared breath. Neither of them stopping. Faster, harder, in unison, her tight grip on his ass, the kiss broken with a faint gasp, suddenly staring at the perfect arc of her straining throat and feeling the sting on his swollen lips.

“Yoongi, fuuuck…”

His name so saturated with ecstasy that even he felt his nerves sing.

She writhed against him and her hands shot down, jamming his three fingers as far in as they would go, locking him in place so he could feel deep inside, feel the powerful, slippery walls clenching around his digits, feel the cum drenching his skin in waves, bear witness to sharp throbs rippling up her torso, her back arching, moan so wanton that the sound itself was enough to make his already hard cock swell even more.

He worked his fingertips into her hair, massaging her scalp, his body on fire.

Pressed his lips to her neck, nicking the skin and eliciting a fucked-out hiss.

“You…”

She was breathing hard, winded from the high achieved at this height.

“You should cum on my face,” she breathed out.

Arousal hiking, feral want clawing up his insides, the gears of this misfit toy click, click, clicking.

“Cum all over me, Yoongi.”

The air outside the hot tub was cold, but his body was too hot to notice. Splashing water as they repositioned, but neither of them cared, too ensnared by each other, lured too deeply by the forbidden passion, her elegant fingers spreading out over her jaw and open mouth, pink tongue hanging out and loose strands artfully framing this display, looking him up and down as he gripped his cock, sitting on the stone tiles, pumping himself right in front of her face, water streaming down his tense muscles.

Her eyes gleamed with rapturous glee.

Flexible tongue coiling in the air, dancing, teasing him as he thrust into his hand.

He clenched his jaw, looking down at the unabashed, lewd, pornographic display of indecency.

“I…”

The corner of her lips ticked upward.

I love you, so I act this way.

“I fucking hate you,” Yoongi gritted out, his core tightening, already there.

She grinned, and he gasped, shoulders jerking and throwing his hips forward, shooting a thick string of white across her cheek and neck, choking back his groans as she leaned back, floating closer and showering herself in his orgasm, his twitching cock painting dripping lines over her lips, her tongue, her cheeks, her neck, even down to her collarbones and up to her forehead, his heavy scent stuck to her skin.

She smeared it all over her face, collecting his cum, sliding her fingers into her mouth and licking them off, pressing her fingertips onto her tongue and rubbing circles right below the shivering, dark red head sticking out of his tight grip.

Yoongi panted hard, chest heaving.

Saw a bead of white clinging to the tip.

Quivering.

His eyes flickered to her, unsure.

That intense gaze locked with his immediately. No malice. No anger. Only a carnal craving unsatisfied, desire unrelenting, wanting him still. Wanting more, just as he wanted more of her. Both knowing the night was still young. Both still waiting to put their hands around each other’s necks and cum together without air. Both still waiting for the ache between their legs to be fulfilled.

She glided in the water, smooth and sleek, and her lips closed around his cock.

Yoongi let his eyes close and he let go, sliding his cum-covered hand into her hair instead as her head began to bob up and down, persuasive tongue swirling around his re-engorging shaft, and he cared not for what was right or what was correct conduct, tipping his head back and burying his cock into her throat with a moan.

“You are a disgrace. I leave on an important business trip and I come back to my lawyer informing me that my son has fuckin’ assault charges, again. Again! Do you know how expensive these settlements to these lowlife peasants are? Tch, and you still have that disgusting orange hair I’ve been trying to get you to dye back. Fucking clean up. Why are you dressed like a dirty street rat? Shit. You should be more like your sister. As usual, the gentleman’s club has no issues and I’m forced to clean up your messes instead. If you doing jail time didn’t reflect so poorly on me, I’d lock you in there myself.”

You said nothing.

Entire body on high alert, wearing a thick cream turtleneck tucked into suit slacks, hands folded in your lap, legs firmly crossed. No easy access. You were sitting on the rigid, black leather sofa of the living room that had not seen much living. Glass coffee table, ivory shag rug. Your immaculate hair was pinned back, every strand in a smooth wave cascading down the left side of your face.

You stepfather sat beside you.

To your left.

He was wearing a lavish gold and black robe, open to reveal his toned chest. Gold silk pants to match. Holding a glass of scotch in his left hand and his right arm was resting on the back of the sofa, his fingertips stroking the nape of your neck.

You didn’t look at him.

It took everything in you to not flinch away from the vile, parasitic touch threatening to caress your bare skin.

Your jaw was clenched so tight that it hurt. You couldn’t even look at Yoongi, who was standing at the other side of the coffee table with his tongue in his cheek. Dressed like the street rat he wasn’t, distressed black sweater with the threads torn apart, washed-out gray long sleeve underneath, and light blue jeans with giant holes exposing his scabbed, scraped knees. His freshly dyed, long red-orange hair was hanging in limp strings due to too much gel and fingers combing through it too many times.

Your mother sat on your right; artificially tightened body stuffed into an even tighter, low-cut, flashy cobalt blue minidress. She didn’t add anything to the tirade except her tight-lipped disapproval and the condescending upturn of her nose.

Her hip pressed against your hip.

She scooted even closer to you, practically sitting in your goddamn lap because you refused to more any closer to your stepfather, keeping a fixed fifteen-centimeter difference between your leg and his open legs.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” you stepfather barked shrilly.

His knee flapped open more and hit yours.

You bit back a snarl, clasping one hand over the other, forcing your fist down.

Yoongi clicked his tongue and dropped his shoulders back.

Cocked his head.

“Yeah. I got a question,” he replied lazily. “How young was the youngest girl you fucked in Europe this time? Another high schooler? Or have you stooped to middle schoolers now?”

The corner of your lips quirked upwards.

Your eyes shifted, locking with Yoongi’s smug expression.

“You–”

Your stepfather flew off the couch and kicked your stepbrother in the knee with his fur-lined, designer loafer, making him grimace and buckle. A loud thud as Yoongi caught himself with his hands, visibly restraining himself as his own father poured the expensive scotch onto his head and clothes, soaking him in alcohol. His head was barely visible above the glass surface of the coffee table.

Dark eyes shot towards you.

Yoongi smirked, rivers of liquid poison sliding down his temples.

You smiled, licking your lips.

Your mother finally rolled her eyes and stood up, huffing as your stepfather hurled the glass into the far wall, and now they were yelling, he does this all the time, what is the point of getting angry and destroying my fine crystal, roaring back, don’t tell me what to do, woman, and your crystal that you bought with my money?

Yoongi got up, shaking off the excess liquid in his hair with a growl, pushing past the maids that suddenly appeared to rush and silently clean up the shattered glass right away.

“Oh, don’t be so full of yourself! You can’t even get it up anymore without the pills.”

“I told you those were for my blood pressure!”

“I’m pretty, not stupid! I asked the doctor since I had to go to find out that I somehow mysteriously got chlamydia, again!”

Your stepbrother stopped by the hall.

Looked back.

Your lips parted.

His eyes darkened, cutting that nonverbal communication, and Yoongi looked away, turning to the right, disappearing around the corner without another word.

Your mother began to grab the various equally expensive and meaningless trinkets around her, vindictively throwing them at her husband as you got up from the sofa, in a haze, wandering out as strong-armed butlers rushed in, the shouting escalating, but all you did was run, turning to the left when you reached the hall, running, still feeling the ghost of a vile, parasitic touch at the nape of your neck.

Jeon Jungkook entered his apartment, closed the door behind him, and turned on the light.

The young Master was standing right in front of him.

“Woah!”

He jerked back and dropped his keys, the loud clattering shattering through the disturbed air of his exclamation. He was out of his security guard uniform, handed to the laundry clerk at the gentleman’s club for them to clean and return to him when refreshed and re-pressed. He had remembered to take out the switchblade with the engraved black tiger, of course. It was currently weighing down his dark-wash jeans, the clip concealed by his long-sleeved black shirt and padded leather jacket.

The woman who was effectively his boss was standing in his apartment.

Just standing there, staring at him with a blank expression.

Jungkook swallowed hard.

His lips tingled with memory, remembering the taste of her pussy and the way her hips grinded into his face, suffocating him in the stone basement as she toyed with his overstimulated cock.

“Um… Hi, Master.”

She blinked, slowly, and it was like she finally saw him, taking the time to observe his appearance from his thick-soled black boots, up his legs, up his torso, to his face.

“You’re home, Jungkook,” she said.

He reached down cautiously, looking up at her inquisitively as he picked up his keys. Her eyes followed, tracking his movements like a newborn hawk. “Uh, yeah. I live here,” he managed to get out, lingering a little before straightening, tossing his keys in the ceramic dish by the door. “I guess it’s in my employee file, huh? My address?”

The young Master tiled her head.

Jungkook felt the same way he felt when he saw her outside the employee lockers, seeing again those empty eyes bleeding distress. He should probably be bothered, annoyed, maybe even angry at this invasion of privacy, and yet he didn’t sense any ill-will emanating from her.

It was as if she too didn’t understand why she was there.

“Ah, did I give you a key?” he asked, now unsure what he had done in his lust-filled stupor. “I guess I must have–”

“I picked the lock.”

“What?”

He gawked at her, wide-eyed.

She ticked her chin to the console table by his door and he started, seeing a strange, brushed black leather pouch open with various pointy instruments.

“A chubby boy taught me how to pick locks in middle school in return for not ratting on him for peeping at his female classmates in the gym changing room.”

It was almost comical how fast Jungkook whipped his head around, his own black hair hitting him in the face as his jaw dropped in the stunned disbelief at this very sudden, very specific explanation of how she broke into his apartment. She nodded, looking up from the lockpicks to his shocked face.

“I found him stuffed into one of the tall lockers,” she continued calmly as if she was delivering a dry speech instead of explaining how she learned literal criminal activity. “He was being bullied by the older jocks. They would beat him up, piss on him, and then shove him into one of the tall lockers in the girls’ changing room.”

“What… the fuck…”

She shrugged. “He didn’t seem that distressed about it, because then he realized the girls liked the small lockers more than the long ones. They never opened the tall ones, so he stayed there and watched them. Wasn’t gonna do anything. Just watch them take their clothes off and put them back on. Eventually, the jock boys got bored bullying him, so he went back on his own and kept locking himself in to watch.” Her head ticked, as if remembering something. “I was in there by myself, skipping class, and I heard breathing. Yanked him out. At first, I thought he was hurt. I thought he needed help.”

Something strange flitted in her eyes.

“He didn’t want help.”

Jungkook felt an icy itch slither down his spine as he witnessed her vacant expression as she explained.

“He wanted me to go away. I told him I would tell the teachers. He said he would teach me how to pick locks then. He taught me, and I went away.” Wry laugh. Nothing was funny. “I moved back to Korea for high school. Never saw him again.”

Her eyes rose, locking with his.

Searching.

Jungkook didn’t back off.

He couldn’t figure out what wasn’t quite right behind those eyes.

She looked away, turning, gazing in the direction of his expansive windows in the living room with the sheer curtains pulled. “Did you know Papa owns this building? He owns a bunch on this block. Seems like a nice area,” she commented hollowly.

Jungkook found he despised her talking about her stepfather, even in passing. “It’s okay. I picked it because it was close to work.”

That was not the reason why he picked this apartment building.

The young Master turned away from the windows. “Do you like work?”

The reason was standing in front of him.

“I’d hate it if you weren’t there,” Jungkook confessed.

She smiled.

It felt like a mirage, too distant to be a façade.

“The world is savage, Jungkook,” she said.

Clear and simple.

He answered, steadfast.

“I’m trained to be tough, remember?”

Later when he thought about it, he was surprised that he was even able to continue this kind of conversation. He usually struggled when there was a lack of straightforwardness. Yet this moment was so surreal that it felt like a dream. Something about this moment in reality was just slightly off track, a mis-clicking gear stuttering in place, all the right pieces but having trouble syncing up.

“Careful not to get backstabbed by the one you’d take a knife for,” the young Master told him, standing in his apartment after having broken in.

Jungkook took the pause that followed.

Followed the teeth of the gear, click, click, clicking into place.

“It’s true that there are two kinds of people in this world – those that get stabbed, and the ones who do the stabbing,” he found himself saying, and he could see the wary child peek out from the tangled forest of those eyes, not yet trusting him. Maybe wouldn’t. Maybe it was too late now. “But I think there’s one more.”

She tilted her head.

“The knives.”

Her soft lips parted.

“I don’t really have any particular thoughts about anything.” He shrugged. “I don’t have any solutions to the complexities of the world. I don’t know of or understand the sides to take.” He cast his eyes down, feeling strangely guilty about it. “But… I can listen. I might not know the words to say, but I have a voice. I’m capable.”

His eyes flickered upward, to the innocent fascination that received him.

“I’m a knife.”

Jungkook smiled sheepishly, hoping he made some sense.

She smiled too, then swiftly lifted her hand, hiding her lips behind her fingers as her eyes sparkled with revived mirth, relief washing through him at the sight. Her shoulders lightly quivered.

“You’re funny.”

He pointed to himself, wide-eyed.

“M… Me?”

The surrealness fell away, suddenly in reality with his warming ears.

“A-Ah, so… why are you here, Master?” Jungkook sputtered. Had he done something? Maybe a client complained about his behavior? Maybe it was a co-worker? Or… Maybe… But before his mind could go back to memories of the dark that sung melodies of pain and pleasure, he saw the shift in her demeanor. Her hand fell, no, playfulness trickling out to vacancy, no, please, the feeling of having said the wrong thing looming over him.

“You’re right.”

Detached tone and it tore up the insides of his chest.

“I should leave.”

Her face turned away from him and suddenly he saw all the details of her appearance – her immaculate hair windswept, the ivory turtleneck molded to her neck and torso, slacks made of a heavy-weighted black fabric that were wrinkled from running, and was he so preoccupied with his attraction that he forgot to observe all the pieces of this puzzle, forget this wasn’t his version of good luck and actually meant something else–

Jungkook’s hand reached out and touched her shoulder.

She recoiled.

As if shot.

“S-Sorry!”

Pulled back his hand, panic rising in his voice, the accusation in her gaze slicing through him.

“Sorry, I…”

His chest was so tight that it was hard to breathe.

“When I asked why you were here, I didn’t mean go away,” he rambled, his fingers curling inward in the air, crumbling inside, frustrated at his heart, shaking his head quickly, running away from her cowered stance and cornered eyes.

His voice.

Stricken.

“I don’t want you to go away.”

He raised his head, afraid.

It wasn’t anger that received him. Something else. Faltering, unable to look at him. “I… I shouldn’t be here. I broke in. You should be calling the police so they can lock me up.”

His mouth went dry.

He didn’t know.

But he knew.

The young Master locked eyes with him again and he hated it, hated this poisoned guilt looking back at him, hated that her lips were moving, and hated that he knew he wouldn’t like any of the words he would soon be hearing.

“Sometimes you can only be safe from danger if you’re the one in the cage,” she breathed.

Only an exhale, because annunciating those words was the equivalent of telling a dirty secret.

He bit his lip.

Jungkook shoved his hand into his jeans pocket and yanked out the switchblade with the engraved black tiger, holding it out on his palm, angry at the complicated world and angry that he could not make that poisoned guilt disappear.

“Is he the one hurting you?” he snarled.

The young Master did the thing he was afraid of.

She shook her head.

Jungkook felt like he was bleeding out with each slow, miniscule shake. Fatigue in the form of helplessness, unable to say anything, pulling his hand back and clutching the switchblade so hard that the ridges cut into his hand. No. Of course not. And he had a hint who, which was the worst part. He slid the switchblade back into his pocket, the weight not as tangible as the stale air in his lungs as he remembered the way the old Master’s husband looked at his stepdaughter, hell, even the way the old Master glared behind her daughter’s back, her own flesh and blood.

Tentatively, he raised his hand again.

Her right hand intercepted, sliding up her sternum and up to the left side of her neck, fingers curling over her shoulder. Her eyes flickering to his, but this was simple guilt now, no longer poisoned. He stilled, right hand still outstretched, centimeters from her cheek. She tried to look away.

His shaking lips let out a weak cry.

Jungkook didn’t want his selfishness to interfere, but it was inevitable.

She stayed in this eye contact and let out a soft sigh.

“I don’t want you to see even though you know what happened in that hotel room that night,” she murmured.

He swallowed.

Hard.

Made a decision.

His left hand lifting, and Jungkook closed his eyes, covering them with his hand as his right closed the distance, stroking her jaw gently. Breathed in. Breathed out. Listened to the sound of her caught gasp, felt the way she shivered, but didn’t back away, staying still as his fingers traveled, running his thumb over her lower lip. Involuntary shudder, remembering the insistence that mouth possessed, and he too wanted to be possessed again, lightly pressing his fingertips into her cheek, imploring.

Her body shifted.

Stepping closer.

His hand fell, covering hers over her shoulder.

“That’s none of my business,” Jungkook whispered.

Somehow, she understood.

Her hand slipped out from under his. He held his breath, seeing only the inside of his eyelids. Her hand came back, fingers wrapping around his, stroking his knuckles. Sank her fingernails in. He gasped, her name savored by his tongue like a delicate sweet, and she leaned in, bringing her heat and that carnal insistence, kissing him deeply in the darkness he created.

“Shh…”

Wrists bound with natural-fiber rope. So simple, the knot between them wound around several times and then brought up with another square knot, tied securely to a large lasso around the square base of the extremely heavy travertine coffee table.

Your fingers ghosted over the straining arms.

One heavily inked all the way to the shoulder. One clean save for a mole in the inner upper arm.

You leaned down and pressed your lips to that mole.

Licked it, dripping saliva and blowing on it. A cool stream over hot skin taut over hard muscle that shivered at the change in temperature. You continued kissing, down, down. Over collarbones sticking out due to the arms pulled upward. Over the shaking throat, hearing muffled shudders under the white towel placed over the head.

Your panties were stuffed into his mouth, partly overflowing to create a small pocket of air between the nose and towel.

Your fingers crept under the towel, pushing it up a little, and traced his lower lip, knowing there was a small mole underneath them, at the center. Wiped away his spit. Cleaned him up. Pulled your hand out and dragged your nails down his neck in the process. A small whine that clearly indicated syllables. A word.

Harder.

You raised your naked body and slid down, sinking your fingernails into Jeon Jungkook’s shaking chest and scratched him with your pointed, almond-shaped manicure, leaving behind angry red lines, growling deep in your throat.

His wanton moan under you, familiar and grounding.

You breathed out.

Calm now.

“You want me to be addicted to inflicting pain?” you dreamily sighed, question hazy like smoke, rolling your shoulders as you pulsed your slick pussy lips against his hard length that you had been sitting on for a while now. “That’s a dangerous game to play, Jeon Jungkook.”

His fingers curled into fists, muscular arms quivering, deliciously whimpering.

His head was on his living room rug, but the rest of his body was on the unforgiving hardwood. A jumble of clothes beside your bodies, along with two other things. You were straddling his hips. Slid back, jamming his stiff length in between his thighs forced together by yours pressing inward, rubbing your wet heat against the shaft, coating him with your juices.

You toyed with his nipple as you mused.

“I was not surprised your had condoms, but I was surprised that you had a cock ring.”

You flicked the small nub repeatedly, running your nail over it, feeling it harden under the pad of your finger. Abused the other one too, listening to his snuffed gasps and seeing his arms buckle, pulling at the rope. The travertine table did not move, of course. Licked your finger and pressed your saliva to his irritated skin to add a new sensation, slow circles agonizingly tender as you rolled your hips. You deliberately kept your pussy away from stimulating the head of his cock.

Then you pinched his nipple, hard, making him cry out at the harshness.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You lifted your lower body, reaching for a condom in the pile.

“Do you touch yourself and think about that night in the basement?”

He moaned desperately when he heard your rip the packaging open.

“Do you jack yourself off with the cock ring on, abusing yourself and wishing it was me?”

You picked up the silicone circle, surprised at the firmness. It had only a little give. A slight adjustment of your legs and you looked down, his twitching cock glossy with your slick, the dark red tip leaking pre-cum.

You leaned down.

Licked it.

Without the stabilization of a hand, his rigid length slipped, smearing pre-cum onto your cheek and bouncing wildly. A stifled sob shuddered under the white towel. Begging. You licked again, intentionally messy and not enough stimulation, tasting your vicious sweetness mixed with the strong bodily flavor of his pre-cum.

Jungkook whined, the sound vibrating in his chest.

You snaked your tongue around the head and collected it into your mouth.

Stopped.

Just covered the throbbing head with your soft lips and stilled, holding the condom in one hand and the cock ring in the other. Warmed it with your saliva, spit running down the length as seconds tick, tick, ticked by.

The whine morphed into inaudible pleas, his back arching, chest flexed, arms locked, muffled cries of your name to move, suck, do anything, anything at all, but you simply kept him in a warm, wet sleeve, not even the length but only the twitching head that was leaking more and more, tongue pressed to the underside to stimulate the thin skin and keep him hard.

The towel began to slip as his head tipped back.

You removed your mouth.

He barely had time to gasp before you seized his cock, squeezing roughly, his gasp shooting into a pained groan.

“Watch the towel.”

He made a subservient noise of agreement, lowering his chin again.

You let your breath out.

Gripped his thick girth and rolled the condom down, slowly, steadying your heartbeat to even. Taking your time. Pressed two fingers to the base and slid the cock ring over the latex, additional lubricant making it easy, closing your eyes as Jungkook quietly sniffed under you, relenting to your pace.

“Shhhh…” you murmured.

Soft and gentle and delicate, your thighs rising from his, leisurely opening your eyes as you lowered yourself again, relishing in the way his whole body shook and tightened when your pussy wrapped around him, swallowing his cock on one smooth stroke.

You glided your hands up his abdomen, not yet moving your hips.

His begging was silenced by his own teeth clamping down on your panties, his neck glistening with sweat and strain.

You spat on his stomach.

Jungkook’s entire body lurched, suffocated choke of your name striking the air.

You slapped your palm down onto the saliva and raked your fingernails over his side, bucking your hips with the slash and sending his body into a frenzy, shock and pain and pleasure barreling into him all at once. His hips jerked up and you slammed your hips down, fucking him into the floor with your knees to wood, switching between clawing his torso and pinning him down to fuck him harder, chasing, chasing the rush and the ecstasy, adrenaline high rippling through you with his swelling girth threatening to stretch you out, but you clenched your core and all around him, your sweet slick mixing your spit on his balls, loud smacks of hips to hips echoing throughout Jungkook’s apartment.

You wrapped one hand around his neck.

You fucked him right there, on his hardwood floor.

White towel over his face and his depraved moans distorted by your panties shoved into his lips and your hand gripping his throat. Tighter, blood thinning and oxygen not enough, his chest aflame with red lines, muscular body straining against the rope, writhing to fuck you back and get that agonizing depth, and you raised your other hand, scraping your fingernails against his now-reddened, hard nipples, causing him to howl and cry out, closing in his biceps to his head and holding the towel down over his face, black hair flaring out, wild and insane, your name torn unwillingly from his throat.

You felt his cock jerk and his hips froze.

“Oh?”

You clenched above and below, feeling the hardness twitch uncontrollably.

A distressed whine from under the towel and quivering, bulging arms.

“Came already, even with the cock ring?” you hummed, letting go of his neck. No outright disapproval. Just a hint. It was enough, maybe even better for him. You could tell by the despair radiating from the muffled sounds, the upper half of his chest flushing pink.

The corner of your lips ticked upwards.

“Shhh.”

You patted his hard pecs, the ricocheting heartbeat under your palm as you lifted yourself off his slightly softening cock, still maintaining some hardness due to the choke of the cock ring. You removed both, careful with the condom so to not spill the milky liquid inside.

Set the sticky cock ring beside his crumpled jeans.

Leaned over and folded back the bottom half of the towel, exposing the tip of a nose and swollen pink lips with your black lace panties crammed into them, the fabric now saturated from his drool. You tugged at the makeshift gag and his jaw unlocked, gasping as you pulled it out, silver lip ring on the edge of that sinning mouth trembling.

You pressed your thumb to the small mole right below his mouth.

Rolled the pad of your finger, nicking his lower lip with your nail, dragging it down.

“Open up.”

So obedient.

Waiting, soft pink tongue so inviting in the darkness.

“Let’s be dirty together,” you whispered, voice rough from the wrongness of what you were about to do.

Jungkook whimpered in agreement.

You spat into his mouth.

He moaned, runny clear liquid sliding down his tongue, gulping awkwardly, his lips still somewhat open from your hand gripping his chin. You forced his jaw open even more, hooking your index finger into the inviting darkness, pressing onto his teeth.

Then you poured the contents of the condom into his mouth.

His own cum and traces of used lube, wringing the condom as his body jerked, disbelieving gurgle at the taste, unformed questions beneath your grip, but you dove down with a starving hiss, releasing his chin and covering his mouth with yours, thrusting your tongue inside to drink it too, cum and saliva and the bitter hint of latex, turning his shocked cries into guttural groans, your hand over his eyes, pinning the towel down as your tongue-fucked him.

The only thing that made the tainted taste bearable was the sweetness of saliva and the high of orgasm.

His cock slapped against your thigh, already hard again.

Sweat was soaking through the towel, damping your palm.

You yanked the white towel up, pulling it away from his face as your body turned, dropping the used condom and picking up another, swinging your leg around his waist to face the other way. Wiped your hand with the towel, throwing it aside carelessly when you were done. Not going to bother with the cock ring this time.

You ripped open the condom.

Slid it down his purple-red, throbbing length and then sat on it, immediately starting a harsh, intense pace.

Behind you, a thin gasp and then a ripple of tension over his body, traveling down his torso that your calves were pressed against, to his legs, hard thighs clutched in your hands, snapping your hips and clawing at the inside of his shaking legs, jaw clenched, fucking him, chasing your high. Closer. Closer to between his legs, scratching him so hard that you marked up that tan skin, closer.

You gripped his balls and closed in your knuckles, hard.

Jungkook cut off his own pitched, obscene moan, reducing it to a stifled scream behind closed lips.

You tightened your core and smacked your ass down into his crotch, over and over, putting your power into your hips and just enough to your hand, keeping him in the immobile enclosure of your rigid fingers, clenching your jaw and feeling the rise, the climb to the high, every second another click, click, clicking gears of this misfit toy intoxicated by savagery.

Grasped the inside of his thigh, tipping your head back with a hazy moan as you left red crescents of pain.

Jungkook wailed behind gritted teeth, thrown into painful ecstasy.

The pleasure snaked to every nerve. Electrifying, oppressive, brutal bliss with the locking of your hips, pulsating flinches constricting around twitching hardness. Once again pumping a condom full. Your grip on him loosening, so good, losing yourself in wave after shuddering wave of hazy orgasm as you ran your palms up and down his inflamed thighs, irritated lines raised from the points of your nails dug too deep.

His muscles were tense and shaking, struggling to come down and uncurl his toes.

What have I done?

She fell.

The movement was so swift that Jungkook didn’t notice until it was too late.

Her back arched gracefully, left arm shooting out, grabbing the switchblade from the pocket of his jeans and yanking, her other arm arcing back even faster, grabbing one of his bound wrists and then her fingers glided to the joined knot between them.

Her shoulder blades touched his shivering pecs.

She sliced clean through the rope with a single flick.

Jungkook gasped, startled at the speed and dexterity. His arms smacked to the floor, pins and needles radiating due to his wrists becoming suddenly slack with no support, the shreds of rope scattering. She sheathed the blade and threw it back on his jeans.

Panted on top of his heaving chest.

His cock was slipping out, but the soreness and heat of the marks she left kept his afterglow at an all-time high, hazy and delusional and running on fumes. His forehead was sweaty. His back was sweaty. There was definitely a puddle of cum and saliva under his ass, sticky and cooling. His arms were aching, not from the tension of the rope but the tension of himself, stressed from keeping his whole body taut to prevent himself from moving too much, leaving himself at the mercy of unpredictable pain and pleasure.

It was torture.

It was the best.

He peeled his right arm off the rug and settled it over her collarbones, holding her left shoulder. Shuddering, the brutal bliss ebbing against his will. Staring at the ceiling of his apartment, wondering what the fuck he had just done.

Jungkook felt light fingertips ghosting over his trembling, hard forearm.

“You have scars.”

Soft breath and tone, just for him.

He did.

“Y-Yeah…”

He placed his left arm over his eyes, puffing heavily from exertion.

“I got thrown out a window.”

She touched the back of his hand, tracing the lines of his tattoos and the whispers of healed wounds.

“A long time ago, when I was a teenager. It was an older building, my high school. The windows were basically just thin panes of old-ass glass. No reinforcement on the first level, so I didn’t break any bones, but I got really sliced up.” He chuckled airlessly, pressing her to his sweaty body. “I was fighting.”

“About what?”

The irony was too real.

“I slept with some guy’s girlfriend, apparently.”

Curious inquiry. “Apparently?”

He snorted. “She failed to let me know beforehand. But, for some reason, it was my fault more than hers and I’m the one that got beat up. Go figure.”

Her hand settled on his wrist, fingertips resting on his knuckles.

“I knocked him out after crashing through the window. My taekwondo teacher always told me that learning martial arts was not about hurting others, but this guy threw me out the window, so I got tired of holding back and made him eat dirt. After that, I took up boxing lessons too. Just ‘cause.”

Her body vibrated under his arm.

She was laughing, laying on top of him, naked body to naked body.

“You’re funny, Jungkook.”

“Why do you like it?”

He was shirtless and eating out of the ice cream tub with a spoon. “What?”

You tilted your head at him.

“The sadism.”

Jungkook turned bright red despite the hefty chunk of ice cream he just shoved into his mouth. Choked and whipped his head away, dragging himself and the chocolate ice cream that had a whole lot of things in it that could only be described as the components of a small diabetes bomb. You craned your head to try and see around that broad back. There was an odd fleshy sound and then a wheezing gulp. He whipped around, face still shockingly scarlet, awkwardly laughing, jamming the lid back on the cold-sweet-death confection.

The spoon clattered into the sink.

“T-That’s–”

You looked at him, confused.

“That’s–D-Do you hate it?” he blurted. Black strands tousled and curled around his cheeks. His long hair was a mess. The floor wasn’t, not anymore. You asked what to do to help, but Jungkook instead took you to the bathroom and gave you a fluffy white towel from a linen closet. By the time you had come out, the traces of rope and cum were gone. Wiped away, as if it had never happened. Your clothes had been folded in a neat pile, set carefully onto the coffee table.

You had put them on as you heard Jungkook moving around in the kitchen.

Your panties were in the trash can.

They couldn’t be saved.

In contrast, Jungkook was in gray sweatpants and no shirt. He was probably commando too, but you didn’t ask or look.

You frowned at his question. “I don’t–”

I don’t do things I hate.

You stopped speaking.

That’s not true.

You looked away, furrowing your brow. “I don’t hate it,” you said firmly. That much was true. “I like it with you.” You tucked your tongue in your cheek, thinking. “It’s different.” And now you were realizing it was different. You have had shameless, mindless, pointless sex. Of course. This much money and nothing but time to kill when your mother had her back turned and ass up? Naturally, you took advantage of the situation. Got yourself into tangled limbs and dubious positions. Nothing was shocking anymore. Nothing and no one tasted good.

Except Yoongi.

Because…

You shook your head quickly, cutting the thought off.

Jungkook called your name and you looked up, surprised it had sounded so far away for a moment. So far away, but you dragged yourself back to Jungkook and the questions in his eyes.

You found yourself taken aback as a new thought popped into your head.

“I like hurting you because you want it,” you breathed. “Because it’s not an internal emptiness you are trying to fill. You just like the idea of me in complete control of you and your body.”

And then, the question.

“Why?”

His fingers on the ice cream carton tightened. He was a lot less red now. Large brown eyes shifting. Light shrug that consisted of a single lift of his right shoulder, the black mandala inked there gleaming under the overheard lights from his movement.

Jungkook found your eyes again.

You stared into those clear irises.

You had become so accustomed to the ways of the world where everyone shot everybody. So used to always scrambling for ammo to load your gun, so familiar to your silence so no one had any bullets to use against you, so used to war as second nature when money was the terrible master, and you had become so accustomed to it that you forgot that not everyone was a servant.

Not everyone was hiding something in order to step on others.

You were born into this game. You toyed with the players because you learned that, if you didn’t, bad things would happen. You had to become the snake that charmed without a charmer. Alluring enough to slide by on good graces, dangerous enough to warrant a warning label, and always keeping everyone guessing what your next move was.

You had to become an object of wonder to survive.

But, when Jungkook looked at you, he put this misfit toy on the other side of wonder.

“Are you ever in complete control of anything, Master?”

“Daughter, I don’t understand. What is the big deal? I don’t say anything about you coming to work and then disappearing during the night, but, you know, he does notice. This is such a small thing you can do you settle his nerves. How many times have you done it? Come on. You can help me out once again. He’s becoming so irrational and ridiculous. You have the power to control him.”

“I’m not going to fuck him, Mother,” his stepsister spat coldly, saying the last word like it was a venereal disease.

Yoongi froze in the dark hallway, staring at the crack of light from the ajar door.

“Hah, I keep telling you, don’t say it like that,” his stepmother cooed, sounding like she had slapped her palm with her other hand in slight exasperation. “That’s so vulgar and uncouth. That’s not what this is.”

He had been slinking around the family mansion, trying to find her. The moment right before he left the living room kept repeating in his mind for days. He couldn’t focus on music. He couldn’t go out and drink at shitty bars. He couldn’t look at the Han River without wanting to throw himself in those dark churning waters, all because of the last time he and his stepsister made eye contact.

He didn’t give a shit what his father did to him.

And yet.

He saw his father’s hand on his stepsister and didn’t say anything about it.

What was there to say?

Yoongi did the same thing to her, only worse.

The glaring revelation closed him off. He saw the hurt in her eyes when he ran and yet he still ran, ran and ran and ran, thinking about nothing until he was locked in his music studio, surrounded by soju bottles, and then all that liquid streaming down his checks wasn’t alcohol, because all four bottles were empty.

“You’re so full of shit.”

The hostile snarl sliced through his thoughts.

Yoongi realized that he had never heard his stepsister angry before. Known she was angry, yes, but she had always maintained composure when she was in his presence. He had never heard her voice fanged with malice, every word festering hatred.

Never.

An icy itch slithered down his spine.

“Oh, because putting your husband’s dick in my mouth isn’t vulgar and uncouth. That’s something, especially after your doctor’s appointment.”

“Ugh, I’m aware and I’ll have that taken care of,” was the dismissive reply. “Let’s not get too technical. I will be beside you the entire time. Haven’t I always kept a roof over your head? Besides, these kinds of men are stupid and easy. He will last seconds. You’ll practically do nothing.”

“A fuckin’ doghouse would have been preferred over those motel roofs. And why are you even asking me? The Master can’t do it alone?”

His stepmother was beginning to sound annoyed, the cloying façade crumbling at the mocking. “How many dirty, pill-popping addicts have you let cum in you? You are being selfish and not thinking about the big picture. I am trying to keep this family in one piece. This kind of thing is so small in the grand scheme of things. Tch, can’t you see this from my perspective?”

Yoongi backed away from the door.

Silently, quickly, turning and walking fast. His heartbeat roaring in his ears, wishing it was loud enough to drown out the words from his memory even though he knew they were true, even though he could see it between wordless gazes and inappropriate touches, even though he had said it himself, accused outright, hoping.

Hoping his stepsister would vehemently argue that no such thing was going on.

She never did.

He had hoped that she enjoyed it, hoped he could hate her and wash his hands free.

Instead, she enjoyed his hands, his touch, his kiss.

Yoongi stopped at the end of the hallway, now standing in the foyer with the large windows and crystal skylight high above. Bright and airy. Expensive and vapid. The sun’s hazy rays streamed down all around him, diffused from the faceted glass.

He turned back and faced the dark hallway.

Called her name.

Waited.

“Don’t pretend. You don’t give a shit about this family. You’re here to get some ammo to load your gun so you can enjoy holding it against that old man’s head as he pays you an even fatter alimony to keep your mouth shut. What do you think I am? Pretty and stupid? You have been trying to trap me in this childlike mindset even as a grown adult. How convenient it would be if I believed you? If only I take this bait and do what you want so I can be just…”

Pausing to let the damage sink in.

“Like…”

Taking the moment to drive the knife in deeper.

“You?”

You backed up and turned around, hearing Yoongi yell your name again, louder this time.

“You’re miserable and fake, inside and out.”

You didn’t look back to see at you mother’s infuriated face. Didn’t hear her hissing at you to apologize, instead kicking the door wide open and stalking down the hallway in deliberate, large strides, white-hot anger scorching your veins, nearly colliding into Yoongi when you turned the corner. Gelled back, red-orange hair and all black outfit of a ripped denim jacket, designer t-shirt, and paint-stained jeans.

All of your fury dissipated once you saw him.

You cocked an eyebrow.

“What’s with you? Miss this that much, hm?”

You stuck your tongue out and smirked around it.

And you suddenly stopped, seeing his face. Something stricken across his sharp features caused your hesitation, pulling your tongue back. You had never seen this hopelessness before, especially not from Yoongi who was one that discarded everything and everyone with distrust. It must have only been milliseconds, but it was so potent in his expression that it was unmistakable.

Yoongi grabbed your left wrist so tightly that the glass beads of the chain bracelet you wore sharply pinched your skin.

“Come with me,” he breathed.

You felt your body lurch with his power and suddenly you were walking fast and he was walking faster, pushing past maids and butlers who pretended nothing happened, pushing past people living in the motto of better to feign blindness than to know, pushing past the sheep. He clutched your wrist like it was his lifeline. It hurt, but not in an unpleasant way. Confusion rippled through you and yet you let it happen, taking twice as many steps in your high heels and tight minidress, constricted by lace sleeves and a ruffled, high collar. All-black, just like him.

A pair of funeral-goers, maybe.

Apt for this household.

He practically dragged you down the stairs to the large garage with too many cars, shoving your keys from his pocket into your hand.

“Yoongi–”

He yanked your caviar leather cardholder out of his other jacket pocket and flashed it, jerking his chin to your vehicle.

“Get in.”

He didn’t have your cellphone and you didn’t ask him if he had it.

Your car unlocked as you neared the door handle. You got in, seeing your stepbrother throw himself into the passenger’s seat. Snapped the car door closed and tapped the button, whipping your head to him as the car hummed to life.

“I’m not your personal chauffeur, bro–”

“Please drive.”

You froze.

Yoongi was breathing hard, staring straight ahead.

“Please, drive and get us the fuck away from this house.”

You shut up and backed out of your spot. Put your foot on the accelerator and drove, just drove, Yoongi’s please ringing in your ears, taking a leaf out of his book and fuckin’ booking it out of there.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #misfit toys au

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min-hoax · 3 years

Text

castaway - myg

Chapter 1

Pairing: Yandere! Idol Yoongi x F! Singer Reader

Warning(s): Obsession.

A/N: Re-upload! Story originally in my old Wattpad account :)

- This is complete fiction. I do not believe any of the members would do or act as written.

CASTAWAY MASTERLIST

You’re a drug to me, so intoxicating and addictive. My hope to forget you was broken and my thirst for you increases as the months pass by. I don’t know how long it’s been, but I still remember the day I first set my eyes on you, how you smiled and squealed when your friend, Lili, tickled you for teasing her for the fall she took at your concert. And I still remember the incessant teasing from Taehyung when I froze and stayed on the spot because of your beauty. You were a fresh breath of air I wasn’t aware I needed.

I searched for you that same day and I was welcomed into your life. We live the same lives, you and I. You sing and I rap what we feel, I guess that’s another reason why I feel so connected to you. You’re the youngest just like Jungkook-ssi but despite your tender age, you’re calm and calculated. You are me. You and I match. You love to compose and make music as much as I do, and I absolutely love that.

I thought you were too good to be true, that you weren’t perfect, but I was mistaken. Your voice was just as beautiful as the rest of you is. It’s like… honey, literally music to my ears, and god, the way you move, so deliciously dangerous and sweet.

It leaves me breathless.

Though to the public you are cold, the further I researched, I started to know the real you. You’re silly and playful, so sweet and energetic that you are loved by just so many. I can only imagine how sweet you would be to your significant other, how sweet your lips would taste.

When I listened to the songs you had composed and written, my heart broke. You sang about heartbreak and I couldn’t help but to think: who hurt you?

And when I found out, I wished I hadn’t.

You dated them for two years. My stomach churned when I saw the pictures of you both, so young and in love. But you were young, just an inexperienced kid when you were him, that I thought that you hadn’t truly been with a grown, experienced man… have you?

The thought stays in my mind.

I tried to erase you from my mind, but you were like gum stuck to my shoe. You are permanently embedded in my mind, body and soul, and I can’t shake you off, just like I can’t shake off the thought of other people wrapping their arms around you - especially them who once hurt you.

It makes me so sick to the point where I want to punch my computer through the screen until my fist is seen at the back.

Your toy was tall and lean, with eyes that called for attention and hair that stood out from how smooth it was. They might’ve had a good exterior on the outside, but on the inside, they were complete and utter garbage, a piece of shit who trapped you in their trap and used you until they had enough.

I don’t buy the heartbreak songs they wrote. I found out soon that they were in a group, just like you - a rock band to be more clearer. I guess they have an okay voice, played guitar and piano, but I can’t help but to smirk at the thought that I am so much better… because I am.

It made me angry when I read the story of your breakup. They cheated and you still stayed. You were so forgiving and naive. They hurt you and you still stayed? How did you do that to yourself? I imagined yourself crying to sleep, and I couldn’t fathom it. It made my heart hurt.

I dream of you every single night. I kiss you and you smile. It’s so vivid that I legitimately came in my pants when I was making love to you in my dreams. I crave you so much, the thirst is never ending, and I know that I have to find a way for me to get rid of this once and for all. I just don’t know how.

#yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere kpop #yandere yoongi #yandere yoongi x reader #yandere min yoongi #yandere #bts au #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts #bangtan #yandere suga #yandere suga x reader #suga bts

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knpjpr · 3 years

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weekend | myg smut

📱synopsis: "weekends are always boring for you, filled with intense amount of screentime, the only excitement you get is from watching your favorite camboy, but what if he lives next door?"

character analysis: yoongi is soft when it comes to you, he can't help it. seeing the small look you give him sets his stomach a blaze, even so making it harder to resist you.

->genre: smut

->pairing: camboy!yoongi x neighbor!reader

->word count: 2.1k (unedited)

->warnings: mutual masturbation, unprotected sex (wrap it up smh), yoongi's a tease and kinda a lil shit, swearing

masterlist

“Fuck”

You said, breathing out a raspy sigh. Watching your favorite cam boy since 1 in the morning, you had been cooped up in the comforts of your bed, the warmth from your sheets surrounding you. It was the weekend, so filled with nothing but ultimate boredom, you might as well spice it up.

He had a very popular following considering the fact he was a huge tease to his audience.

He constantly looked over to the screen, always making you blush under his gaze. Even if he wasn’t directly looking at you, you could still feel the intensity that was behind those brown orbs.

“Do you guys want to switch up on something?” He said softly, your heartbeat fastened to the way he smirked. His room was clearly shown with the way his set up showed, seeing his dark grey walls that ran down to the floor. The corner of his bed was just in sight, but was blocked by his figure that sat effortlessly in front of the camera.

Watching ever so closely, you noticed as he reached down to his legs. The camera facing his lower abdomen, showcasing all of his movements.

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach as you saw his hand glide over the semi-hard bulge that sat in his pants.

“Damn, he really likes to tease.” You said with a heavy breath, obviously flustered with the slow movements from the man behind the screen.

Almost close to unzipping his pants, he laughed, his laugh ringing through your ears as he turned the camera up to meet his face.

“Sorry pretties, I’m not doing that tonight.” His words make you internally pout as you look up towards the corner of your screen, seeing how his views had multiplied to up to five thousand watching.

You were quite jealous, not liking how other girls or boys were drooling over him. You didn’t know this man personally, but with the way he made your stomach churn with need, you didn’t need to know him on an everyday basis.

With a smirk Yoongi was saying his goodbyes for the night, making you even more frustrated.

Twenty minutes passed and you turned off your phone , your attention was instantly drawn to the next door neighbor, a loud bang against the wall. You grew curious, wanting to know if they were okay.

Getting up from your bed, you headed out of your apartment, walking over to the door to the right.

You knocked a few times before it was opened, the door creaking open before showcasing who owned the next door apartment. Eyes growing ten times more in shock as you made eyes with the neighbor.

“Can I help you?” Yoongi asks, raising his eyebrow as you look over his body. His hair is wet, obviously indicating he was fresh out of the shower. Loose clothes covering his body; simple grey sweatpants that hung loosely around his waist, and a plain white t-shirt. His figure resting against the doorframe, a long stare on his face making him look more fuckable.

“I, uh came to see if you were alright..I heard a bang.” You couldn’t think straight, the sound of your heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears, as you could feel your skin crawl in nervousness.

Multiple nights of sexually pent up frustration, and it was all caused and owed to the owner of apartment 213, the man who lived right next door.

“Oh, the shampoo bottle fell hard in the shower, but it’s all okay.” Your sight wouldn’t leave his lips, watching as they pulled off each other with every word he spoke out lowly.

Yoongi didn’t know what was your problem, but the shy demeanor that you showcased made his pride go through the roof. Licking his lips, he pushed his hand through his hair, showing off his forehead as he looked down at you.

“Would you like to come in?” He spoke out slowly, the words sending straight to go in between your legs as you could feel the intense stare he had on you.

Who would you be to reject? Nodding your head lowly, he laughs out shortly, the real sound of his laugh making your heart squeeze, it was cute.

He’s grabbing your hand, guiding you to the kitchen as he’s stepping towards the cupboards. Standing at the island, you watch as he’s turning to you, holding up a cup. “Want something to drink? I haven’t gone grocery shopping, so I don’t know what I have..” His face is showing off an embarrassed tint of red on his cheeks, making you internally coo, shaking your head to his offer.

He placed down the cup, making his way over to sit beside you at the kitchen island, turning his stool over to fully face you. “I’m surprised, I can’t believe I’ve never met you before.” He places a frown on his face, which makes your heart flutter even more.

You still couldn’t believe this, Min Yoongi was sitting inches away from you, the man you had been watching for quite a few months. Nights of always imagining what could conspire when you finally could meet him, and he lived next door all this time.

Eyes watching your every move, he studied you, your frowning eyebrows showing him that you were in an intense thought, which he had found very intriguing. He wasn’t going to lie, when he made first eye contact with you, he was very much into you. Your face was enough to turn him on, and now that you weren’t that away from him, he contemplated straight up asking you if he could do more than just talk.

“Pardon me if I come off a little forward,” He starts talking again, taking your attention as you watch the way he starts to move closer into your personal space. His body smelling of strawberries, most likely from his body wash, but even so, you loved the smell of it.

“Can I kiss you?” That four word sentence could almost kill a person. The words replaying in your head as you had to comprehend what the fuck he just asked you.

He didn’t need an answer, the way you had been looking at him the whole time was answer enough. Grabbing a hold of your t-shirt and pulling you closer, your body now in between his legs.

He didn’t want to scare you, slowly placing his hand to the small of your back as he moved his face to move closer to yours. You didn’t know what to do at the moment. You wanted this truly, wanting more than ever to be under him, feeling him close.

Without any more thought, your lips are connected, your body instantly melting the minute his lips make contact with yours.

It was a mess, but you loved every second of it, his lips fitting perfectly in the space that yours didn’t. His hands holding a strong hold on your hips, the feel of his rings scraping against your shorts.

He’s stopping, pulling away with a huff as his lips are now red and wanting to be back with yours. But he’s stopping himself, making sure you want to take this to the next step. And you were ready, already moving back so he could step off the stool and lead you into his bedroom.

“Are you sure you want this, it’s a hundred percent okay if you don’t.” He’s not leaving his sight off of you, your mind going to answer you always had ready.

You were shocked, never thinking that you would be in the room you had simply seen behind the screen. You’re focused on the surroundings, not noticing how Yoongi is already pulling off his shirt and tossing it into the clothes bin he had beside his dresser.

“Yes, I’m okay, I want this.”

All at once, he’s grabbing onto you, pulling you back into his lips, his scent engulfing you once again. On impulse, you are placing your hands into his hair as he is leading you to the bed. Back hitting the soft sheets, as he’s pulling away again, his body placed over yours.

Without any more time wasted, he’s cupping your breast through your shirt. Fingers reaching down to the hem of your shirt as he’s pulling it over your head. He only sees it fit for you to be just as naked as him. The lace of your bra makes him lick his lips in anticipation.

He wants to savor this moment, sitting back which makes you frown in confusion. He laughs at your face, unzipping his pants and rolling the rest off his hips. “Go on, pull those off.” His tone is more serious this time, softness still on his features as he points towards your waist. Your fingers lock with the bands of your panties and shorts, pulling them down and shifting them off the bed.

You shudder at the feeling of the air nipping your skin, your legs closed and shielding Yoongi’s gaze on the one thing he wanted to see. “Open. Slowly.” He says, not needing to abbreviate more as you could understand what he meant fully. Legs opening at a slow pace enough to show your pussy that had pooled with wetness.

“Fuck that was hot.” He said as he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, locking eyes with you as he was already hard, his touch making him almost shudder. “Touch yourself baby. I want to watch.” That statement was enough to see the green light in a traffic jam, your hand sliding between your legs as he watched with hooded eyes.

Fingers gliding your entrance, you could already feel the slick that slipped out, making you gasp out to the immediate touch. You were extremely horny, and it wasn’t hard for Yoongi to see that.

Slipping two fingers in, the sound of your moan triggered Yoongi, making him groan as he slipped his hands down the base at a rhythmic pace, his tip leaking pre-cum.

Walls pushing against your fingers as you push in and out, your stomach fluttering with pleasure as Yoongi watches, not being able to pull his sight away.

You had fantasized about this moment, thought of all the pleasure he could give you, but to have him watch you fuck yourself was just the icing on the cake.

Soon enough you could feel your edge pooling in your stomach, legs shaking as you watched his hand travel up and down on the shaft of his cock.

“Ugh fuck, I’m close.” He groaned from his place on the edge of the bed, as you fight the urge to cum right then and there. But a few strokes he’s cumming indicating that you could cum too, your back arching as your high hits your stomach.

He’s watching you still as you calm down, moving to be over your body again, but this time Yoongi has a fucked out expression as he’s taking his cock in his hands again. “Can I fuck you?” He didn’t have to ask, your legs already opened and beckoned him to give you a release, but you're nodding your head. He takes that as an answer, slipping his tip to slip past your folds as you gasp out louder. The feeling is addicting, his lip caught between his teeth as your walls sink down onto him.

He starts to move slowly, letting you adjust to the size of his cock, watching your face as you sink into the sheets more.You’re just as tight as he thought you would be, your walls squeezing his cock with every thrust into.

He’d never fucked someone that has had him this horny, this needy, and he wanted to go further with every thrust of his hips. Your throat hurts and gasps with every bump of your g-spot. His back warm and red as your nails scrape hard with every slap of his skin.

His hands make home everywhere around your body, synced moans that drip with sex as he’s balls deep in your cunt.

The same fluttering feeling is plaguing your stomach as his grunts pick up pace, indicating that he’s just as close as you are. His grip tightening as his stomach is on fire with needed pleasure, your fucked out face plaguing his mind.

“Fuck, I’m about to cum..” He grunts out loud, heavy breaths as his bottom lip bleeds with the hard pressure of his teeth.

Your lips grip harder around him as he stuffs his cock far in your pussy, not lasting any more time before he’s cumming inside.

Deep breaths is all you and him could produce when he’s slipping to the other side of the bed, the both of you out of energy.

“You know..I never got your name..” He speaks out with a tangled voice, the statement making you breathlessly laugh as you look over at him.

“It’s Yn..” He sits there for a moment, not saying a word before he’s resting his body on his side to face you fully, a stupid grin placed on his face as he looks over your body.

“Well Yn..want to make this weekend less boring?

318 notes · View notes

ppersonna · 4 years

Text

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float? - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic. this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot. i think it flows better that way! i hope you enjoy this. this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on. this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions. while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed. please take care of yourself and proceed with caution. 18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong. Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware. The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day? He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved. Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs. He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other. Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed. Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released? Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better? Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built. He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled.

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here. I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all. “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.” She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely. Words wouldn’t fix the wounds. She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed. The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.” Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured. Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds. And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money? He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved. He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived. It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet. Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes. It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat. “Happy for you. I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words. Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously. “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much. I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed. Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar. You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him. I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs. He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack. Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone. He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly. You stole a look back at him, at his words.

“Yoongi, you need to see someone. You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay. I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed. He was thin, so sickly thin. While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks. His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.” All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed. Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets. Yoongi’s body was trembling. He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan. He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.” There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized. The kiss was slow, gentle. You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own. Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans. This wasn’t passionate or steamy. It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could. He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.

He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him. He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging. Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent. You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely. You missed him. You loved him. You hated him. You never felt more complete. The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow. The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off. His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point. Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again. He felt alive.

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain. He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close. Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him. Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man. Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features. Fuck.

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him. He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness. Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals. There was crying. There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning. He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time. Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie. He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend. He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him. Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T. He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction. He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in. He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother. He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers. She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy. You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension. He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones. Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud. “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped. “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him. You were proud. Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay. It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation. He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had. He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his. He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances. This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative. Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself. Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you. Yoongi loved himself, as he was. Broken and healing. Addicted and sober. Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety. Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you. He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain. Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried. Jesus, he cried so much. He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks. The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy. He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts. You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it. Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had.

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no? He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees. Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good. You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering. You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face. No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago. No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most. The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display. He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most. Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body. His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have. I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess. So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue. He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly. Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over. It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself. You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.

You were his, again. He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love. All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby. You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself. Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.” He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love. Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together. Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun. Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed. You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed. You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly. Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7. He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything. Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes. Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation. Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful. Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself. Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief. Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside. Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #hyungsmutsociety #btswriterscollective #minthlynet #heartsforbts #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #agust d #bts agust d #bts suga #suga

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vminity21 · 3 years

Text

Speak Now | myg

Pairing: groom!yoongi x bestfriend!reader

Word Count: 3,124

Genre: angst/fluff

Warning(s): curse words used, mention of a toxic relationship, mention of advances toward infidelity Rated: pg 13

Summary: When the love of your life is about to marry the wrong person, you muster up enough courage to profess your heart before it is too late. By late, you mean the day of your best friend’s wedding.

Credits to: @suhdays for making the cover, you are my favorite!

With clammy palms, you relieve a steady breath descending into the pew while bundles of people bustle through the chapel doors in search for a place to sit. You picked the first available section that you saw and with a silent prayer, you hope that whoever chooses the same row will maintain their distance. With your mind racing, you frantically observe the scenery encompassing the audience from the colorful stained windows, the mahogany pulpit to the rich color of the carpet- absolutely anything to distract you from the overwhelming anxiety plaguing your tightening chest. There is, rather, one thing you are searching for. More like, someone. You are aware he is hidden in a room in preparation for the event about to take place, but unbeknownst to him, you did reluctantly, after many nights of pondering, decide to show up with a mission in tow. Your heart shattered in millions of pieces when you discovered, scrolling through social media, that Yoongi’s wedding ceremony was shared on his wall.

Upon assumption, you were not invited to the event for reasons you are certain of. But this post gave you a date and a time to organize your thoughts and the words that you want to say.

Since elementary school, you and Yoongi have been inseparable. Thick as thieves as your best friend Monnie would say; two peas in a damn pod her boyfriend Jeongguk would say, and even your mother supported the dream of you and Yoongi getting married one day. That day seemed to vanish suddenly even though Yoongi has been your best friend for as long as you can remember, and regardless of him being taken, you have also been his shoulder to lean on throughout his incredibly toxic relationship with his soon to be bride to be. The comical part of it all to you is that she has never been fond of you from the beginning which you inwardly knew it boiled down to jealousy. And as you figured, you were not invited because she demanded so.

Anger brims harshly beneath you and in attempt to clear your unwanted thoughts, you shake your head. She’s irrelevant anyway. It is Yoongi I am here for. In the end, you are here for one reason and one reason only. For Yoongi to know how you feel about him once and for all.

“Y/N?” Jung Hoseok approaches you, one out of the six best friends Yoongi has other than you. From afar, shoulder leaned against the brick wall of the school, you stared in evident longing as Yoongi set his backpack in his car irritatingly. A fight unfolded between him and his girlfriend and the pair were oblivious to you being a witness. Uncertain of yet again why she was mad at him, you turned to face Hoseok with a gasp of surprise since he unexpectantly caught you hiding. “Look,” he wets his lips, “If you don’t tell him how you feel, I will.”

“Please don’t!” You gasp, watching your volume as you switch your gaze to make sure Yoongi and the blundering wench hadn’t seen your presence. Turning to Hoseok, you plead, “It’s not-! What if?” You sigh, “What if I can’t? What if he still doesn’t get it?”

“But she’s not good for him and you know it. If there’s anybody who deserves each other it’s the two of you,” Hoseok’s expression becomes saddened when you look away from him. Emotions gather in the form of tears as you fight to hold them back.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be standing here telling you to confess to him if I felt it was a bad idea.”

The church pews continue to become occupied until the echoes of conversation simmer to cease once the out of tune organ cringingly serenades the atmosphere. Wincing in response, you grit your teeth to stifle a giggle because of course the wench of the west would choose the most untuned instruments there are. Ultimately, how fitting can this be for a wedding that should not even be happening? Turning to look at the first coupled bridesmaid and groomsman, memories start to churn when you see each of Yoongi’s friends. Hoseok was not the only one who warned you ahead of time to profess your feelings for Yoongi.

“So, when are you going to tell Yoongi you’re ‘unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him?’” Taehyung’s fluffy curls fall into his eyes as his cheeky grin enters your vision. He is leaned over the back of the couch as he bounces from his knees hitting the cushion.

“And this concludes the last and final time that I will ever watch Twilight with you,” you announce, crinkling at the wrapper of a rice krispie treat from the kitchen. “I’m not as wanted as Bella Swan.”

“You see that’s where you’re wrong. What makes you think you are the only one who feels the connection?”

Pausing from your eventual snack, you glare at your friend, “I’m not in love with him,” you denyingly mutter.

“Your eyes say you are.”

“Gah! Taehyung, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s not going to happen, alright? He has a girlfriend. Obviously if he wanted me, he could have chosen me a long ass time ago. We’ve been in each other’s lives all this time, so why hasn’t he said anything?”

“Have you ever considered that maybe he thought he couldn’t?”

“Excuse me?”

“As being a previous ex of yours, let me explain.”

“We dated for two days. In the first grade!”

“It counts.”

You scoff, pressing the krispie treat underneath your palm as you lean onto the counter to steady your rising nervousness. After a moment, you signal for Taehyung to proceed.

“I think you tend to forget that you’re not the only one who is afraid to confess your feelings to someone. Yoongi may be afraid, too.”

You shrug in reply.

“You are his best friend, Y/N. Maybe he didn’t want to be at fault for ruining a friendship if you happened to not feel the same, so he settled for her.”

He’s right, and deep down beneath the fear, you know it. Stepping toward Taehyung, you ruffle his frilly tendrils, “I loathe you.”

Playfully slapping you away, he chuckles, “Hence why I force you to binge watch chick flicks with me. I loathe you, too.”

Taehyung and his bridesmaid LenLen remain poker faced as they gradually step down the aisle. The memory of Taehyung fades when you find Namjoon sitting alone staring straight ahead with the same expression and another flashback ensues.

After ranting about how hurt you are by the upcoming wedding date, Namjoon visits to console you since counseling is something he does daily, and he is the perfect friend who listens to every word you say other than Min Yoongi. “I just don’t get it. She treats him so poorly and all it does is break my heart. And of course, I never got an invite. She despises me!”

With crossed arms, Joon’s glasses sit daintily on his face while the turtleneck he is wearing shapes his frame- he looks incredibly professional even on his day off. “Yoongi asked me to be in the wedding,”

“Oh?” you say, “As he should. You are one of his best friends,”

“I am, but she happens to despise me, too.”

“What?” You gasp incredulously, “How could? Joon, how do you even know that?”

He settles upon the couch while your gaze follows him, a brief sigh brushes his lips, “He asked me to marry them which she openly opposed.”

“That’s.. That’s a really huge deal, Joon. So, are you going to do it anyways?”

“No,” Namjoon responds quickly, “The reason she despises me is because she thinks I will ruin her and Yoongi’s relationship, the same as she sees you- a threat.”

“But how?”

Joon rubs at the crease in his eyebrows, “She made advances toward me when they first started dating, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him which is why I can’t push you to tell him your truth until you are ready. I was scared he would think I was lying. The last time I saw her was at a sports game and when he left to grab her a drink, she started touching my thigh and I left immediately.”

“That’s why,” your voice trails off as you remember something, “That’s why Yoongi was so worried about you! Because you never miss a game with him! It was because of that conceited, selfish bi-”

“Hey, let’s not stoop to her level. I strongly dislike her as well, she put me in a very uncomfortable position which is why I am never around when she is. I refuse to be pictured as whatever she decides to manipulate.”

“Joon,” you murmur, leaning forward to squeeze his shoulder, “We all know who you are. Yoongi adores you. Knowing how she is, we would have believed you over her most definitely. Are you going to attend the wedding at all?”

“I’m not sure,” your eyes flicker between his as sadness clouds them, “I want him to be happy and the only person he would be happy with is you.”

It was silent immediately after Namjoon said those words that are still repeating within your mind. Did all of Yoongi’s friends concoct a plan to nudge you to profess the entirety of your heart to him? And what happened to Namjoon was so cruel and it was the final straw that motivated and fueled you to do exactly what you are about to do today. She doesn’t deserve Yoongi, she doesn’t deserve his family, she doesn’t deserve his friends, and she most definitely doesn’t deserve his love. It is time for Min Yoongi to know the truth and nothing but the truth.

The piano chimes in with the organ clashing hideously as the time drags, and you notice Hoseok who is arm and arm with a bridesmaid you are unfamiliar with, stifling the urge to react to the disconcerted music. He takes his place where the best man stands and links his hands before him- a quick grin is shared with whoever he makes eye contact with and his dimples appear for the slightest of seconds. Seokjin and Jimin as well as Jeongguk are completely lined already and when Guk finally locks eyes with Monnie who is sitting in the audience, they share loving smiles. After today, if all works accordingly, Yoongi will be yours and you no longer would envy the love you always longed for with him.

Looking back especially after all the encouragement from you and Yoongi’s friends, there are moments where you almost worked up the bravery to tell him the truth, but it seemed with every opportunity, his girlfriend would find some way to interfere. It was as if she disturbingly knew your schedule and your thoughts which is something you never truly admitted to your friends. You didn’t want her to sound like an excuse that is holding you back from saving Yoongi’s heart from further turmoil.

Flitting your gaze to the handsome lineup of groomsmen, you realize not even one is smiling. Before you can contemplate further on all the reasons why there aren’t any smiles, you move your gaze just for your heart to halt instantly. There he is. Min Yoongi, the love of your life, dressed in a well fitted tuxedo that clings to his thin frame, makes his way timidly to stand in front of the pulpit. His blonde hair spreads neatly upon his forehead while his lips stay in a firm line once he takes a moment to fix the cuffs of his sleeves before resting his hands together in front of him. Gaping at how beautiful he looks; the nerves swerve tremendously inside you because the time is inching closer for you to tell him everything without holding back.

Your shoulders tense once the reverend directs the audience to rise, you are so focused on Yoongi, you hardly can hear the beginning of the wedding march as you swallow roughly. Standing to your feet, your hands are freezing when you hold them together, yet you muster enough to turn to see her make her entrance- the bride who wanted to hold captive of Yoongi’s heart. It’s hard to watch her smile at him as if she truly cares for him, it takes everything not to feel nauseated by the scene. The way she has treated Yoongi, Namjoon, and everyone else it feels like, will never settle with you. The times she obsessively called Yoongi whenever the pair of you would study together, interrupting the time he wanted to spend with his guy friends, or the curse words she would spew at him when she didn’t have her way; or the times she made him cry by threatening to leave him just to turn around and post a selfie of her and a random guy to make Yoongi jealous. So of course, Namjoon would have been heard. He has a heart of gold as well as the rest of the crew. And Yoongi deserves to surround himself with this serene positivity.

She stands before Yoongi as the two join hands. He hardly gives a smirk; doubt seems to exist within his glance, or so you hope. Your icy palms clasp together once the preacher bellows for the guests to now take their seats. The ceremony proceeds, yet you wait for the preacher to say the exact words you are desperately wanting to hear. Lightheaded, you feel the blood drain from your body despite the hammering your heart is profusely beating against your rib cage.

Never in your life did you dream you were going to do what you are about to do. It is bold. It is courageous. And you could care less about what the aftermath will be. The only person whose reaction matters is Min Yoongi’s. The reverend seems to drag his sentences, but when he clears his throat, you straighten your back in preparation for what is coming next.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Here’s your chance.

Hands shaking, body trembling, you jolt from your seat,

“I. OBJECT!”

Dramatic responses of collected gasps reverberate to the ceiling of the building. Eyes turn to stare at you in congruent with the hushed whispers scattering amongst the pews wondering why you made such a bold choice; and, if looks could kill, you would drop lifeless by the dark daggers burning through your skull by the witch trying to be Yoongi’s forever. Fingertips numb, you try to tune out the raving murmurs, you hadn’t realized you closed your eyes for a few seconds to gather yourself, and when you open them, they instantaneously connect with Yoongi’s that enlarged in shock. His thin lips part and as you gaze at him, tears pool though you relentlessly try to fight them.

“Yoongi,” you speak between stammered breaths, “I know this is…. Sudden, and possibly the most insane thing I am ever going to do,” you put a quivering hand to your lips for a second then dropping it to your side, “But Yoongi, if there is anyone who deserves to spend the rest of their life with you, it’s me.” You cannot believe that sentence slipped from your mouth, but in your heart, you know it’s the truth. Just like that, without your knowledge, smiles begin to bloom from the men standing by Yoongi’s side. Not only do you see it, but so has everyone else who has been in each of your lives. Why else would his “bride to be” have been jealous of you since their whole relationship began a few years ago? She could even sense the chemistry you and Yoongi have shared and still share.

“Yoon, she will never see you the way I see you; the way your family sees you; or the way your best friends see you.” From your peripheral vision, you see a gleamingly proud Hoseok along with Namjoon whose hopes are flying as high as yours, but your gaze never once falters from Yoon’s. Wetting your lips, you continue, “I know you. I have always known you. And you deserve the world and so much more.” Yoongi steps forward then pauses to hear more of what you have to say, “And Yoon,” a tear escapes, trailing warmly down your burning cheek, “I am deeply, undoubtedly, and wholeheartedly in love with you.”

In that moment, Yoongi begins to walk down the stairs, Taehyung’s boxy smile lights up his face as he fist pumps excitingly in the air. You may not have used the exact words from his favorite script, but you know you are beyond words with how much you are in love with Min Yoongi. The horrified bride agonizingly tries to stop Yoongi, but he refuses to take his eyes off you, brushing past her, she lights up in prominent rage. You, with glistening hope sparking across your soul, you shuffle past the gawking people in the pew, ready to crash into Yoongi’s arms.

When he reaches you, his tepid palms cup your face, swiping away the tears that just keep falling as you stare into his umber eyes that mirror the emotions you have brought to him that he is finally seeing. Before you can take a breath, he leans in, capturing your kiss exactly how he has desired, but never found the courage to reveal, that he in fact would dream of you too on countless nights. Or when he felt uneasy or sad, he would relive the best memories that happened to be with you to give him peace. Everything you have ever dreamed of is coming true as the fireworks explode in every direction within your chests. He kisses you so passionately that you both forget about the world, your hands dig into the sides of his tuxedo jacket as he deepens the kiss, tugging him as close as he can be.

Namjoon starts clapping as he stands to his feet until the entire place erupts in a fit of cheers. Even though hundreds of people are encompassing the two of you, it still feels like it is only you and Yoongi within the vast universe. How long have you waited for this moment with the one person you have loved for so long? How many stars had you wished on to finally end up where the two of you are now?

Breathless, Yoongi rests his forehead to yours while the sensation of his kiss still lingers, dazed and filled with immense happiness, you gaze at him fully, he speaks, “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

316 notes · View notes

fireflyinsummer · 4 years

Text

Gymnopédie | myg

> pairing: min yoongi x reader

> genre: mostly angst, but a lil’ bit of fluff, too

> words: 8.3k

> warnings: blood, mentions of sex, car crash, violence, kidnapping, swearing

> summary: you had two options. number one: trust your desires and risk losing yourself. or number two: be rational about it and come to terms with the fact that, even though you’ve been dating for quite a while, he never uttered those three words, the ones you craved the most. and that’s not all he’s been keeping from you.

a/n: well, that’s a shitty summary. it’d be cool if you gave this a chance, though. i really enjoyed myself while writing it, especially towards the end. feedback is always welcome, it means a lot <3 anyways, thank you! hope you like it.

[11:32 PM]

You let the robe slip through your skin and immediately shivered. The bathroom was cold, and you were alone. Again. As your body sank in the hot, comforting water, you felt your muscles relaxing. It was like a hug, really. And you needed one. With a sigh, you went through the night in your head again. Every kiss, every touch. Sometimes it felt so meaningful, so real. So why didn’t he say it back? Why does he never say it back? You were exhausted from having to deal with those questions all the time. It was always at the back of your mind when you were with him, haunting, lurking. You never had the guts to be vocal about them, though. Wouldn’t be able to bear if you got the wrong answer, so it was best to give him time. How much more does he need, though? Maybe he just didn’t. That thought made you shiver again, but not from the cold this time.

“Angel”. Lost inside your own head, you didn’t notice when he entered the bathroom. He was so beautiful. Even when he didn’t mean to be – he hardly ever did, he was just so… himself. There was really no better way to put it. His dark hair was beautifully disheveled, covering his entire forehead. He wore grey sweatpants that hugged his hips perfectly. That sight alone made you want him again. “You’ve been there for a while now. Aren’t you coming to bed?”. It was so easy to pretend when he talked to you like this. To forget he never actually said he loved you, even though you’ve lost count on how many times that sentence had slipped through your lips. He’d always kiss you sweetly after that, but never uttered a word. For a while, you just thought he was having trouble expressing himself. He was never really comfortable when it came to opening up, letting his feelings on display. But as time passed by, you couldn’t find any more excuses. Deep down, you knew. You knew he couldn’t say it simply because he couldn’t lie. It has been that way for two years now.

And, as much as it hurt in the beginning, nothing could compare to the pang you felt in your chest now. Because you just couldn’t picture your life without him anymore. You loved him too much, you could never recover from that, you were sure of it. He could destroy you completely if he said the right things. Or if he didn’t. So, every time your whispered confessions were met with a morbid silence and a few pecks on the mouth, your stomach churned. Suddenly it was cold poison in your veins, not warm blood. But he never seemed to notice. He hadn’t noticed much lately, always busy with work, always too tired to even give you a chance to say it out loud. Angel, I don’t think I’ll be able to come to dinner tonight, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. He never did. He never tried. It was odd to have him home this time at night, really. For the past few months, you’ve hardly ever had time for each other.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be there in a minute”, you tried your best to put out a convincing smile. He nodded and closed the door again. “God…”, you muttered under your breath. That night, when you finally escaped your prison of a mind, you found him already asleep. Except he wasn’t. He hadn’t been able to sleep much lately.

[7:13 AM]

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed. His scent was still lingering, and it made you miss him even more. He used to wake you up with lazy kisses all over your face so you could have breakfast together – that often lead to the best morning sex, too.

But dreamland must be put on hold now, you were late for work. Realizing that, you kicked the sheets off your body and rushed towards the bathroom for a quick shower. There was an important meeting that day and you definitely could not be late.

You worked for a big publishing company as a personal assistant. Your boss, Michael Stewart, was a living breathing nightmare of and editor. And a jerk, but you were getting used to it by now. He liked his coffee black, no sugar. Suits him. His wife was the picture of perfection, but that never stopped him from crossing boundaries with some of his coworkers. Word on the street was that he was using his desk for shady purposes when a rather noisy Mrs. Daisy from the copy machine went to see him.

“Y/N? Wait!”, a breathless Brianna called out, causing you to stop on your tracks.

“Morning, B. What’s up?”, you offered her a heartfelt smile when she caught up to you.

“I’m good, I’m good”, she smiled mischievously. “So, how’s mister sunshine today? I bet the prospect of this meeting is eating the man alive. I feel terrible for you.”

“No, you don’t”

“I don’t. But only because I love seeing him nervous. Seems like he’ll suddenly combust any moment now”, she whispered while the two of you entered the conference room, earning a little giggle from you.

“Oh, the fine line between love and hate. I see right through you, miss B.”, you tried to taunt her.

“Y/N, I swear to God…”, she seemed truly revolted by your words, but quickly recovered. “Well, it’s not my ass he eats with his eyes every now and then”, she teased. It made you want to regurgitate breakfast, but you let it go as soon as you saw him at the end of the table, looking quite pale and skittish.

“Good morning, Mr. Stewart.”, you greeted him and placed his coffee on the wooden surface. He tried to give you his usual flirty grin, but failed. Instead, it came out as an awkward grimace. It was fun seeing him nervous.

[10:47 PM]

It had been a long day. Michael had put you through hell because, apparently, it was your fault that he had forgotten to bring the signed papers to the meeting. He was stubborn and could never bring himself to plead guilty for something he’d done, so you were always to blame when things went south. You hated that. Specially ‘cause you knew you could do his job better than he did. But patience is a virtue, so you just called your business partners and rescheduled. Which was a shame, you were really hoping to see how’d that particular book deal go.

You entered the apartment with a deep sigh, dropping your keys on the balcony and getting out of your murderous shoes. Everything was dark, so you figured he wasn’t home. “Surprising”, you murmured to no one in particular.

“What is?”, the unexpected answer made you jump on your feet.

“Fuck”, you gasped, fear making it’s way to your voice and giving it a pitched quality. “Yoongi? Why are you in complete darkness? You scared the shit out of me”. You turned on the lights and finally situated yourself. He was sitting on his black armchair, eyes fixed on a glass of what you just assumed to be whiskey. Neat. Just how he liked it.

“Sorry, angel. Didn’t mean to frighten you”, he said as he got up, walking towards you slowly, elegantly, awfully like a feline predator. Maybe a black panther. He cupped your face with his unoccupied hand and you immediately felt little shock waves spread through your body. His touch was warm and inviting, leading you to let out a shaky breath. You hated how a simple gesture of his had such an impact on you. You hated it. “Have you eaten?”

“Um… No, not really. It was a busy day at the office. Have you?”

“I haven’t. Thought we could order something”, he mumbled as he went to fix himself another drink. Don’t go. Touch me. I miss you. Instead, you said something like “It’s a little late, let me see if there’s something edible in the freezer”. It was so out of character for him to be home before midnight these days. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. His white dress shirt was wrinkled, his hair was pushed back and you could just tell that he’d been running his fingers through it multiple times. He looked stressed.

“Did something… happen?”, you caught his attention while heating something up for the both of you. “I mean, you seem so tired, that’s all. I’m worried about you, baby”. Your last sentence was nothing but a whisper. He looked at you with a characteristic blank expression and opened his mouth a few times before finally speaking.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry”. It hurt a little, how dismissive he was. And you didn’t foresee the anger that sparkled within you after hearing his words. You were tired, so fucking tired.

“Bullshit”. The moment you said it, he snapped his head in your direction, surprised. Good. At least that kind of emotion he’s able to show. But before you could blink, he recovered his previous façade, and that made you angrier. Why the hell couldn’t he just open up to you? “Shit, Yoongi, it’s crystal fucking clear that you’re not telling me everything. In fact, you tell me absolutely nothing. What’s wrong? Don’t you trust me?”. You sounded defeated by the end of your little speech, and you could tell it got to him, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop, not now, not with all the pent-up hurt, anger and fear. Fear of the truth you’ve been trying to look past, but couldn’t. “Do you not want this anymore, is that it? Do you even care at all??”, you were purposely avoiding the four letter word because it hurt just thinking about it. You were not ready to hear the answer.

“Is that what you think?”, he was annoyed. “You think I don’t fucking care about this?”, a bitter laugh escaped him before he cupped your face with both hands and plunged his next words directly to your heart. “If I didn’t want you anymore, angel, it would be easier. Believe me, we wouldn’t be together a second longer”

That stung. His last words cut deep, making it impossible for your built-up tears not to fall. That’s when he knew he had made a mistake. He could see the hurt in your eyes and he couldn’t bear it. So when you rushed upstairs without sparing him a second look, he felt something inside him churn. He fucked up, he always did. He wouldn’t even dare try to comfort you in that moment because he knew you needed space from him. He was absolutely sure that he was only going to make things worse if he went after you like he wanted to. He wondered how much of his shit you would take before you packed up and left. You wouldn’t be the first to abandon him, hell, his own mother did; so he’d like to pretend he was prepared. With that in mind, he grabbed his jacket and his car keys. He was definitely getting wasted that night and would probably end up sleeping at one of his friend’s. Maybe Jimin’s. He didn’t care.

You couldn’t sleep. Not with the bitter taste on your tongue and the burning flame within your chest. You felt like falling apart. Hot, heavy tears tumbling down your puffy cheeks. It was tiring how you couldn’t stop your restless body from shaking, even though you craved some sleep, just so you could take your mind off it. Those exact words were thoroughly printed inside your mind.

If I didn’t want you, it would be easier.

Believe me, we wouldn’t be together a second longer.

You did believe him. Shit, you probably knew that way before he said it, but you still didn’t know why. Why was he still with you? Gathering from what he said, your relationship was a burden.

At some point, you were no longer crying, you were laughing. Hard. Maybe you were going insane, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Thinking about tomorrow morning, you went downstairs to pop some pills, just so you could get some sleep. Your steps were careful, quiet. But, as soon as you got to the living room, you realized there was no use to being silent. He wasn’t there.

[12:42 PM]

It was lunch time when it happened. You usually ordered something with your coworkers, but you decided to grab some sushi at that restaurant you loved. Mr. Stewart was being a pain in the ass all day, but he did give you some extra time off because he had an appointment that afternoon, he wouldn’t need you for a while. You had asked Brianna to come along, but she had to catch up with some papers. At the end of the day, you were glad she couldn’t make it. No one to witness what seemed to be your whole world tumbling down, every plan you had made with him slipping through your fingers in the blink of an eye. In the touch of a hand.

There he was. Through the glass wall, you could see he was tense, as if he was afraid of something or didn’t want to be there. You almost went over his table to check on him, willing to forget last night’s argument for a moment, to call for a truce, because you cared about him still. But then you noticed something important. He wasn’t alone. The woman in front of him was beautiful. Dark hair, olive skin, the prettiest red dress. She had her hand on top of his. That’s when you finally realized what was happening. In that moment, everything clicked. Why he had been so distant, why he would never confess. Why it was hard for him to stay.

For how long?

Suddenly, you felt the urge to throw up. The whole situation was making you nauseous. You had to get out of there, but your feet wouldn’t move. You stood still for god knows how long, trying to digest what you were seeing. You hadn’t even noticed the tears, couldn’t feel them. You couldn’t feel much, it was all just a haze, like you’d dissociated. You didn’t hear him at first, acknowledging his presence only when he touched your shoulder.

“Y/N?”, he said, confusion and concern lacing his tone.

“J-Jungkook”, you stuttered. “Kookie! What are you doing here?”. When you realized who it was in front of you, you immediately threw yourself at his chest and hugged him tight, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“What happened? Why are you crying?”, he couldn’t help the questions flying out his mouth. He hadn’t seen you in so long. He missed you. “Y/N, please… Talk to me. Are you hurt?”. The affection so raw in his voice, you couldn’t help but cry harder. You missed him, too. He pushed you slightly away so he could take another look at your face.

“Oh, god… Oh my god, Kook, this is so fucked up. I’m so fucked up”

“What are you talking about?”, his voice was soft, you could tell he was trying his hardest to soothe you.

“I-I need to get out of here. Can you take me somewhere else?”

“Yeah… Yeah, of course I can. Do you wanna go to my place so we can talk?”, you didn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded. “S’okay, noona. Look at me”, he cupped your face and brushed your remaining tears away. “It’s gonna be alright, I promise. I’m here for you, I’ll always be here for you”. It was reassuring, mostly because you knew it was true. He was safe. He felt like home.

[1:53 PM]

“He was… cheating on you? Y/N, you know I hate the guy, but that doesn’t sound like him at all. Are you sure?”

“Pretty much”. It was hard to tell him. You felt like an idiot for trusting Yoongi for years, for loving him even when he didn’t love you back. It was hard to come to terms with that, let alone tell Jungkook. But you thought you would die if you didn’t talk to someone about this. And he was still your best friend, right? “I’m so stupid, Kook”, you let out a humorless laughter. “I wanted us to work out so bad that I didn’t even see it coming. But it was staring right at my face, really. God, I just can’t believe this”, your voice wavered.

“No, don’t say that. Y/N, he’s a jerk. He’s the one who should be feeling stupid, not you. I knew I was right to hate him, I just knew it”, he seemed truly upset at this point.

You took a minute to contemplate his apartment. While your house with Yoongi was neat and clean, Jungkook’s home had so much personality that you would think about him immediately even if you didn’t know who it belonged to. He hadn’t changed much since six months ago. He was still the same caring, funny, protective friend he’d always been. Even smelled the same. You felt bad for the distance that grew between the two of you. It was just that you were both so busy with work and stuff, it felt only natural. You’d never admit to anyone, not even yourself, that it also had to do with the fact that he and Yoongi didn’t get along. It was like Sophie’s choice, and maybe you had made the wrong one.

“Kook, I missed you. I’m sorry for not trying harder to keep in touch”, you said before you lost the courage to do so. He seemed taken aback by your bluntness, like there was some secret agreement that neither of you would bring it up.

“I missed you, too, noona. A lot. We should’ve both tried harder”

“Yeah. It was stupid”

There was a moment of silence. You were sitting at one end of the couch, while he was at the other. He wanted to give you space, always so considerate. But you needed your friend, so you threw caution out the window and crawled closer to him, clinging to his black shirt. He let you ball up against his chest and held you close.

“Let’s watch a movie, shall we? And then I’ll take you home if you want to. If not, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. You know I’d love to have you”

“Thanks for offering, but I’ve got to fix this. I need to confront him”, your heart was beating painfully faster just thinking about it. “I’ll take you up on that movie, though. Pleasure first, duty later, isn’t that what you taught me?”

“You’re older. If anything, you’re the bad influence here”

“I am three months older than you, Jungkook. I don’t even think it’s okay for you to call me noona”

“Yeah, right. Whatever. Okay, so what do you want to watch?”

“F-“

“And don’t say Friends. I forbid you”

You pouted. “But you know it’s my comfort show, Kookie”, you figured he’d give in if you whined a little, but the boy seemed resolute.

“Yah, Y/N, how many times have you watched that?”. It was rhetorical. You didn’t even know and he was aware of it. “Have you seen Phantom Thread?”

“I have not. And I don’t wanna watch your movies, they’re boring”

“I resent you for that, by the way”, he scowled. “But you’ll like this one, I promise. I thought about you all the time while watching, it’s definitely one of yours”. You were touched that he thought about you in the past few months. If he could read your mind, he’d burst into laughter. Because you were always in the back of his mind, like a little ghost that kept him company even though he chose to ignore it.

“Okay, I’ll pretend to trust you this time. But if I don’t like it we’re watching Friends until I leave, no bathroom breaks”

“Sur-“

“AND-”

“Here we go”

“You’ll have to admit that Chandler is indeed the funniest”

“Hey, you know damn well that Joey is the funny one!”, he took his arguments very seriously.

“Don’t get on my nerves, Jeon. Put your excuse of an entertainment on so I can tell you how bad it is and we can watch my show, hm?”

“We’ll see about that”, he smirked mischievously.

You spent the entire afternoon curled up on Jungkook’s couch watching his goddamn cult movie. He was right, you loved it. Although you couldn’t completely forget what was going on and how you ended up in that situation, you were somehow calmer. The worst part about taking big, important steps was deciding what to do and how to do it. At some point, it was eating you alive. You had to make a decision, an important one, but you were completely torn. Because the thing is, you loved Yoongi so fucking much. You sincerely could not envision how life would be like without him. But when you realized that even saying his name out loud tore your heart apart, you knew that he had made that decision for you; things would never go back to the way they were. It was over. That thought hit you so hard that you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom, so Jungkook wouldn’t see how exasperated you were. It was like a hole had been carved in your chest, one that would never completely heal. So you twisted your shirt with both hands in the spot where your heart was supposed to be; you had to keep it together. You had to survive this, even if you weren’t exactly sure how to do it yet.

Thinking about it now, a couple of hours later, you felt relief. The hole was still there. The emptiness, the anguish, the excruciating pain, it was all there. The only difference was that you had already made peace with your fate. Not seeing him anymore was easier than being constantly reminded that you probably didn’t mean shit to him. That even if you did, it was not enough, it would never be enough for him to love you. You didn’t wanna fight it anymore because it was agonizingly painful and bitter. Maybe this is for the best. So when you left Jungkook’s apartment, it was with a placid sense of duty.

[1:09 AM]

When you arrived at home, you didn’t have the guts to turn on the lights. You calmly took your jacket and your shoes off, heading for the kitchen to get a glass of water; your throat was painfully dry. You leaned on the counter for a couple of minutes, heart rate through the roof, thinking that maybe he wasn’t even there. Either way, there was no point in stalling, you had to do it now. So you leisurely carried yourself to the bedroom, opening the door carefully. If he was asleep, you wouldn’t want to wake him up. If he was asleep, this… thing you were about to do would be considerably easier. Of course, luck was never your forte.

“Your phone is off”. He was sitting in the armchair, a drink in his had and a bottle of whiskey on the desk. His black dress shirt was wrinkled and he seemed worried.

“Yeah. It is”

“Look, angel-“, he was getting up when you cut him off.

“Don’t call me that”

He seemed confused, and you could see a hint of hurt in his black orbs. “I know we’re not in the best place right now, and I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt you the other night, and I know I did. I’m sorry”, he blurted out. He looked too sincere, and that caused your heart to constrict. Because you knew there was no way in hell he was being honest right now.

“Let’s cut this short, okay?”, you said sternly. Suddenly you couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. Your words must have surprised him, because he was looking at you with wide eyes, something just indecipherable about them. “I saw you today. I know what you did – or what you’ve been doing, I really don’t give a fuck about how long you’ve been at it. I saw you with her”. As soon as you uttered your last words, you recognized what was it in his eyes. Fear. He was afraid.

“No, it’s not what you’re-“

“Shut up. Just do us both a favor and shut the fuck up, Yoongi”, you whispered tiredly. He could see it in your eyes that you had given up on him, that you didn’t even intend to fight him anymore. That caused a chill to run down his spine.

“Please, just listen to me. I wasn’t cheating on you, I-“

“Have you fucked her?”

“W-what? No! Y/N, stop saying shit like that. I’ll explain whatever you need me to, but don’t jump into conclusions before I do so. I didn’t do it, I’d never do it”. He was closer now. You could smell the alcohol mixed with his scent, you could see how deep the dark circles under his eyes were. You could see honesty slipping through every word. Surprisingly, it didn’t change much. You wanted more. You wanted him, all of him. So in the last attempt to save your sanity (or ruin it entirely), you decided you had to ask. You just had to.

“Do you love me?”. He froze, hands in the air trying to reach you. You had never confronted him about this and he didn’t see it coming. His hands fell to his side, closed fists. His eyes were bulged, breathing was erratic. It was all the answer you needed. You immediately felt the hole again, and you didn’t even realize when your hands made their way to your chest, just like it happened in Jungkook’s bathroom. A sob escaped your parted lips; you couldn’t be strong anymore. Through your blurry vision, you didn’t notice the panicked, pained expression he was wearing. You couldn’t know about the pang in his heart, or how hopelessly desperate he felt at that moment. It said it all, but you just couldn’t know.

“I-I’m fucked, okay?”, he stuttered. “I’m fucked in the head, angel, it’s not about you”. You couldn’t process his words, didn’t want to. As you slid to the floor with a whimper, he grew desperate. “Please, you have to believe me. I’m begging you to understand, please, please…”. He wasn’t able to control himself and let out some tears of his own. Deep down, he knew why he couldn’t say it. It was not because it wasn’t true – he knew it was. Fuck, he was petrified. It’s for your own good, for your own good, I can’t do it to you, too. He didn’t know what to say anymore, so he just held onto you for dear life, hoping you’d give him a chance to redeem himself for all the shit he put you through. You just had to stay. You had to, he wouldn’t even dare to think otherwise. You didn’t know how long you stood in that position, scared to move a finger, but you knew what you had to do. So you got up. It pained you to look at his face and see how truly devastated he was, but you were too far gone.

“I don’t think we can get through this. I don’t know if we should”

“Don’t say it. No”

“I’m going to stay with Jungkook for a while. I ran into him today and he helped me a lot when I thought you were… you know”. Your voice was devoid of any emotion at this point. Too scared of being engulfed by the hole if you let yourself feel.

“What? No! You know I don’t trust him, right?”. He was standing in front of you now, voice pitched and tear tracks staining his cheeks. “Don’t do this, Y/N, I can’t… I can’t even… No.”, he shook his head a couple of times.

“It’s not up to you! Just looking at you is a constant reminder that you don’t feel the same as I do and I just can’t, I can’t do this anymore. Because, shit, I do, I love you so much, it’s killing me”

“That is not true. I never said I didn’t love you, don’t put words in my mouth”, he was very serious now. But it didn’t matter.

“You didn’t say you do, either. If you can’t even look me in the eyes after almost three years and say that you love me, I don’t think we can salvage this. So I’ll just take the hint before I get my ass kicked”

“How can you even say that? I don’t want to break up. You don’t understand, but please, trust me. Just trust me”

“You’re right, I don’t understand. But I can’t wait around until you figure it out”. You grabbed the bag that was on top of the wardrobe and opened the zipper.

“For fuck’s sake, just stay home! It’s almost two in the morning, we can talk about this tomorrow, please”, he tried to persuade you, but you didn’t listen. You picked out a few clothes and your toothbrush, closing the bag when you were done. “Y/N…”, he followed you to the door. It was obvious that he was crying, and even though it broke you to leave him like this, you felt like you would lose your mind if you stayed. So you just climbed down the stairs, bag on one hand and keys on the other. You tried to open the front door, but he stopped you.

He was a mess. Bloodshot eyes, trembling hands. So unlike him that you were a little taken aback by the sight. But you were sure you looked a lot worse, though. “Don’t leave me”. His voice was small. He seemed a bit smaller, too; like a child, scared of some imaginary monster. But he wasn’t a kid anymore, and the monster was real. Too real. “Angel, how am I supposed to live without you?”

“You’ll do just fine”, you said in a husky voice. You didn’t want to wait for a response, so you just closed the door in his face and ran to your car.

Already halfway to Jungkook’s house, you decided to just ignore your shaky hands and faltering voice and dialed his number, but your call went straight to voicemail. Which was strange, because he knew you were coming over. “Hey, Kook. I’m sorry if I took longer than expected, I hope I’m not waking you up or something. I’m on my way. And… Thank you so letting me stay a couple of days, really, it means a l-“, you couldn’t finish. It all happened so quicky, your mind wasn’t fast enough to keep up. A pickup truck had deliberately hit the back of your car, as if trying to get you off the road. You lost control for a second, the vehicle doing little zigzags, but soon regained it.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”. Your heart was pounding, almost hurting your ribcage. At first, you thought it had been an honest mistake, but that idea escaped your mind soon enough. Something was seriously wrong, and you didn’t want to find out why you were being targeted. The truck was still on your tail, so you didn’t have much time to think. You sped up, in order to put some distance between you and the stranger on the wheel, but they picked up the pace as well. “Shit, shit, shit”. The adrenaline was rushing through your veins like a drug, and you couldn’t keep your hands steady. You had dropped your phone when you startled, so you fumbled through the car floor trying to find it. That’s when they hit you again, this time a lot more brutally. You whimpered, trying to maintain control of the car even though you were scared to death. What the hell is going on?!

As you stepped harder on the throttle, you decided you had to contact somebody, anybody, a terrible feeling creeping up your spine. You fumbled again, only this time you were able to grasp your phone. The call had been cut off, so you searched for his contact. You needed him, no matter what happened earlier, you needed him. And you knew he would come. Your whole body was trembling and the truck was getting dangerously close again, you had to be fast. You held the phone to your ear with shaky hands. He answered almost immediately.

“Y/N?”, his voice was rough.

“Yoongi!”, yours was desperate. “Yoongi, something’s going on…”, in that moment, the truck hit the rear of your car again and you screamed. He sobered up instantly.

“What?! What’s happening, where are you?!”, he sounded hectic.

“I’m on the Fourth, someone’s after me. L-Like, a truck! A truck hit my c-car, I-“, you tried to make sense through heavy breathing.

“Fuck”, you heard him tripping through the bedroom, trying to put some clothes on. “Angel, listen carefully. Do you remember when we got lost near Target’s? We ended up in a wasteland, remember?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Good. I need you to go there, okay? I’m coming for you, baby. Okay? I won’t let anything happen, I promise”, you could already hear the engine starting and that soothed you a tiny bit. You trusted him with your life. It would be okay, he was coming.

“Y-Yeah, okay”, you couldn’t stop the tears. “Yoongi, what’s going on?”, the words left your mouth almost like a whimper.

“I’m sorry, love. I’ll get you out of th-“

But you weren’t listening anymore. This time, when they hit the rear again, you lost control. The car spun like crazy and you could hear Yoongi yelling something through your screams. You tried your hardest to get on track again, but couldn’t. All you could think about was how wrong this all was. You wished you had stayed home like he asked. Before you could have a reasonable train of thought, you hit something. Your head jerked towards the steering wheel and it all went dark.

[2:17 AM]

He was going crazy. He was absolutely losing his mind.

“FUCKING HELL!”, he hit the steering wheel an abnormal amount of times while making almost a hundred miles per hour. He had to keep his mind clear and sharp, he couldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgement, not with your life on the line. Still, all he could think about was how scared you sounded, how raw your screams were. How he stopped breathing right away when he heard the loud crash, how he shouted your name a million times asking what happened. He was sure he would go insane when you didn’t answer. You had to be okay, anything other than that was not an option. He wouldn’t let his mind go there, now was not the time to lose control. Yet.

He knew who it was inside that truck. It had to be her or someone doing her dirty work. If anything happened to you, he would kill them. He would kill all of them, and then he would kill her. He would take his time with it, too. You had never seen him this angry, he always kept himself together when he was with you. But now he was furious. He felt like he could burst in rage anytime now.

“Shit, fuck, fuck”, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut because it was all too silent. He lost connection with you after a few minutes and he just felt sick to his stomach. Lost in thoughts and trying to focus on the road, he startled when his phone rang. He hesitated for a moment before picking it up, the number was unknown. “Yes?”

“Honey, I already miss you”. He felt his blood boiling to the sound of her voice.

“Where is she?”, he roared.

“Don’t you miss me?”, she whined. It was disgusting.

“Mura, I am being very patient, but don’t mess with me. I swear to God, if you hurt her…”, the threat was evident in his tone, and anyone but her would be shitting themselves. But she loved him too much to care. He wouldn’t really hurt her, right? They were meant for each other.

“She’s here, darling. And she’s so annoying, too. Had to shut her up a couple of times”. He growled, knuckles white as he pressed the wheel tighter.

“Tell me where you are”

“Are you coming to see me?!”, she seemed thrilled as she clapped her hands and made happy noises. “I’m at the warehouse, honey. Where else would I be?”

“Don’t move. And Mura…”

“What is it, honey?”

“Don’t think I won’t kill you, yeah? I’m warning you, if she has as much as a scratch, you’re dead. I won’t think twice, you hear me?”, his voice was dark. There was no doubt he meant it.

“Oppa, you can’t talk to me like that! But I forgive you… I know she must have something against you, you couldn’t possibly love her. You already love me, darlin-“

“Shut the fuck up. I’m almost there”

He felt like he could finally breathe now. You were alive.

[2:27 AM]

Your entire body hurt. There was something hindering your vision, and when you realized what it was, your stomach churned. Blood. There was a deep cut near your hairline from when you hit your head. You were tied to a chair, the ropes too tight on your wrists and ankles. When you looked around with the eye that wasn’t completely covered in blood, your stomach sank. It was dark and humid, the cold punishing your sensitive skin. You were scared. Where was Yoongi? What happened and where the hell were you?

“Hi, there!”, a high pitched voice startled you. It was a woman, beautiful dark hair, olive skin… Wait, what?

“Wh-“, you tried to talk, but your voice was raspy and rugged. “Who are you?”, you tried again, barely succeeding.

“I’m Yoongi’s girlfriend. Who are you?”

“You’re w-what?”

“His girlfriend, darling”, she laughed melodiously. “My name is Mura, what’s yours?”

Your brain was operating a hundred miles an hour. What the fuck was going on? Had he lied? Had he been lying to you this whole time? It was too much, too overwhelming. You just wanted to lay on your bed and sleep forever. Every single part of your body was sore and cold, your head was killing you and you were emotionally exhausted.

“What am I doing here? Where are we?”

“Honey, you have so many questions. I intend to answer every single one them as long as you answer mine, okay?”. You hated her already. And not just out of jealously, but because she was so irritating, too. You wanted to shut her up with your fists, but you were in no position right now. Instead, you just nodded. “Alright. Now tell me, when did you and Yoongi meet?”

“Three years ago. A friend introduced us”

“I see. So you two are together now? You’re dating, is that it?”

Your answer hurt, you felt a pang in your chest. “No, we broke up”. She was silent for a moment, as if processing your words. And then she laughed.

“Is that so, darling? You shouldn’t lie to me. I’m trying to be good, but I don’t think I can hold back for much longer”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”. Just as you finished speaking, she made a move with her hands. Suddenly you notice a gigantic man guarding what you suppose to be the entrance. And he was walking towards you.

“Hirashi, the girl lied to me. Can you believe that?”

“That’s not good, ma’am”, his voice was deep, scary. Every cell of your body was telling you to run as fast as you could. But you were stuck. “Do I have your permission, ma’am?”

Permission for what?

“Yes”. You didn’t even have time to react before his fist stroke your face. You couldn’t breathe, all the air escaping your lungs as you lose your balance and hit the malodorous floor. You gasped, your head spinning and your jaw burning from the impact.

“Are you ready to tell me the truth now? Because I’m pretty sure he didn’t mention you two breaking up”

You tried to form a coherent sentence and couldn’t do much. You were in too much pain, your jaw was on fire. “W-we d-did”. At your words, she sighed.

“Fine. If that’s how you want it, that’s how it’ll be. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore. I was never gonna let you out of here alive anyways”, her words petrified you. You knew she meant them. “I’m sure Yoongi won’t mind. He doesn’t love you, after all”

He doesn’t love you

It hurt more than it was supposed to, because you already knew that. No, he didn’t love you. But he cared for your life, right? The thought made you laugh. If he cared for your life, he would be here. If he cared for your life, he wouldn’t let his… girlfriend kidnap you and have her way with you. If he loved you, he would’ve said so. So yeah, maybe he wouldn’t mind at all. Tears stung your eyes and you barely saw when Mura signaled to Hirashi again.

“Finish it. I want to go home and cuddle with my man”

Oddly, you weren’t scared. Hell, after all you’ve been through tonight, maybe death wouldn’t be so bad. But then he kicked you the first time. You let out a painful yelp, sure he had broken a few ribs. And then came the second. The third. You couldn’t take it, it was agonizing.

“P-Please, just… j-just kill me already”, you blurted out, praying for his mercy. Just do it. Do it quickly, please, just do it.

[2:35 AM]

As soon as he saw the abandoned warehouse Mura used for her… activities, he peeled out, leaving long tire marks on the road. He rushed out of the car, not caring enough to close the door. That’s when he heard the first scream. His heart was pounding in his chest, heart constricted and throat dry. He ran inside, not wanting to waste any more time.

“P-Please, just… j-just kill me already”. First, he heard your pleading. His blood was already boiling, fists closed tight, anger slowly taking over him. But nothing could prepare him for the moment he saw you all curled up on the floor, shirt ripped and bloody, your beautiful face starting to swell, a purple eye. He went livid and stopped on his tracks. That day, a part of him died. It was like someone had ripped his heart and stomped on it over and over again. His immediate reaction was to go for the son of a bitch who was doing that to you. He knew his name. Hirashi. A dead man walking. When his fist first collided with Hirashi’s face, he fell to the floor. In the back of his mind, he registered Mura’s gasp. He was a mad man now, growling and punching the other ruthlessly. There was blood everywhere, and this time they were not yours.

“Yoongi, you’re gonna kill him!”, Mura yelled.

“Yes”, another punch. “I am”, he was strangling him now. He was blind by rage, every ounce of his body seeking revenge.

“Y-Yoong-gi”. The angel said and he froze, loosening his hold on the other’s throat, making him gasp as he searched for air. He looked at you and the anger was overpowered by a lot of feelings. Guilt, sadness, fondness. Love. It should be him in that state, not you. Never you.

“I’m sorry”. He crawled towards you, splashes of blood all over his face and his shirt. You looked… broken. It devastated him. After untying you carefully, he held your upper body on his lap and removed a few hair strands of hair from your face. “I’m so, so sorry, angel. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, he chanted. “I love you so much”, his voice broke. “I really, really do”

“H-Home”, you whispered.

“Yes, love. Let’s go home, I’ll take you home, okay? I’ll take care you”, he promised. He took you in his arms and you whimpered. It all hurt so much. You don’t think you’ve ever been in so much pain before. He scowled, guilt plastered on his pretty face. “Sorry”. He had a lot to be sorry for, didn’t think this lifetime would suffice if he wanted to redeem himself. But he would find a way.

“Yoongi, where are you going?!”

“Mura… remember what I told you. I’ll come for you soon. Let Hirashi know that I’m not done with him either, will ya?”. She didn’t reason. Perhaps too scared, now that she saw that he wasn’t joking. He would come for her. And she had to make some arrangements to vanish for a while. Until his rage subsides and he can love her again, that is. In her mind, she knew he would. He just needed some time, and she had plenty.

After the both of you left, she made a call. It went straight to voicemail. Stupid boy, didn’t he know how to make business? Phones on at all times. She hated leaving messages.

“It didn’t work, J. They left”

[7:39 AM]

Your entire body hurt like hell, that was the first thing you noticed. The second was a warm hand intertwined with yours and a soothing breathing hitting your shoulder now and then. You opened your eyes cautiously, afraid of something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. He was sitting in a chair beside you, head resting near the crook of your neck, hands in yours. He was asleep, but as soon as you moved a little, his eyes shot open. He startled, correcting his posture immediately, and then he scowled. The position he had slept in wasn’t the most comfortable. He looked at you like you were his whole world, and you wonder how you never noticed it before. His feelings were crystal clear.

“How… How are you feeling? The doctor came by earlier when we got home. You were passed out, though. He said that you had a few broken ribs and a twisted ankle, but these were the most serious injuries. I mean, you’ve got a purple eye, too, and your jaw is a little swollen, but-“

“Yoongi”, you cut his blabbering off. You predicted the diagnosis, but it was still good to know. For a moment there, you really thought you would die. It was good to know you didn’t.

“Yes, my angel?”, his voice was soft, feelings pouring through them.

“Did you mean it?”

He didn’t have to ask what you meant, he already knew. “Every single word. I love you, Y/N. I have loved you since the beginning, I just… couldn’t say it”. Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You didn’t think he would ever know how much of a hold he had on you.

“Why couldn’t you say it?”

“Because… Because everyone I love leaves eventually, one way or another. I couldn’t lose you, too. And yet, I almost did”, his voice faltered near the end. He was being so raw, so honest. You could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth. He really was. But his words hurt you a little, too. You knew he was talking about his family. Yoongi rarely talks about them, but you know enough.

“I’m sorry, baby”

“No, don’t say that. It’s me who has to apologize. I shouldn’t have let you leave when I knew she had found out about us. I promised I’d keep you safe, but I couldn’t”. Suddenly, you remembered. Mura.

“Was she really your…?”

“No. Mura and I never had anything. We met six years ago on a business trip, but I didn’t… I never slept with her. When I rejected her, she became obsessed. She followed me around for a couple of years, but she had already left me alone when I met you. She came back… when she learned that I was with someone else. Her father is a very powerful man, and she is clearly spoiled, so I didn’t want to make things worse. I didn’t want to confront her because I was afraid of what she might do to you. Look how that turned out”, he laughed bitterly.

“Don’t blame yourself. Please”

“How could I not? You’re hurt because of me”, his face was twisted in an anguished grimace. You couldn’t stand it. Yes, he had hurt you. But what happened last night with Mura was totally different. You held his face with both hands and pressed your lips gently against his. He groaned. “I don’t deserve you”, he said, lips still lingering in yours.

“But you got me”. He smiled big, the prettiest gummy smile you had ever seen. God, you adored him. It was easier to understand him now that you knew his reasons. You couldn’t not forgive him. He was your whole heart.

“I forgive you, but you can’t keep secrets from me anymore. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t dare”, then he pecked your lips sweetly.

“And you gotta tell me you love me every day now. You owe me. For all the time I lost”. Sadness crossed his features, but he let it go soon enough.

“I love you, my angel”, he pecked your nose. “I love you”, your cheek. “I love you”, your forehead. “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou”, finally, your lips. You giggled.

“Thank you”

“You’re welcome, miss”, he said as he got up. “Would you like me to prepare you a bath?”

“Extra bubbly, mister”. He smiled and entered the bathroom.

After a few moments, he came back wearing a mixed expression.

“Y/N, I was thinking… How did Mura know where to find you? She wasn’t anywhere near the house when you left, I am sure of it”

“Uh… I don’t know”, you were confused. His question made sense, no one else knew where you were going, except for J-

His eyes bulged, so did yours. You could tell he had come to the same conclusion as you.

“Fuck”, you both said at the same time.

#bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #i guess #bts angst #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts you #bts fluff #just guessing #i don't know what to put here

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shina913 · 2 years

Note

OH MY!!!!!!

You said he would destroy me, and you weren’t kidding!

I may need 2-3 business days and a lot of cold showers to process all of it!

Have you thought about doing a part 2? You know, don’t let the jacuzzi go to waste? 😏

Not you needing 2-3 business days to process this 🤣😂

I haven’t thought about a sequel but this isn’t the first time I’ve been asked about it 😅

#norushtolive #churned x myg reblog

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shina913 · 2 years

Text

Churned | MYG

❃ Festivaled Away: Hot Boy Summer

Hosted by @bangtanbathhouse

⤞ Ticket: Traveling/Vacation ⤞ Main Event: Frostee (one night stand) ⤞ Games: Food play, temperature play

Pairing: BDE!Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: smut; pwp; one night stand; strangers to ?; NSFW

Rating: 18+

Summary: A long weekend away with your friends turns out to be more interesting when they invite an unexpected guest.

Word count: 4,989

Warnings: sexually explicit language; grown-girl talk; cussing; food play; flirting; sexual tension; riding; clit play; nipple/breast play; dirty talk; alcohol consumption; teasing; temperature play; unprotected sex (OC is on birth control but still--be safe); multiple orgasms; cunnilingus; fingering; hyperstimulation; pet names; soft!dom Yoongi; some manhandling; ass-smacking (once); creampie; bed-sharing; hints of aftercare

A/N: Just when I thought I couldn't dig any deeper--here we are! I really, really only intended for this to be a drabble...and it's gone completely off the rails. Grammys Yoongi still has a chokehold on me. Also...I may or may not have listened to The-Dream's Falsetto on repeat while writing this. Make what you will out of that. 😜

Anyway, I'm super excited to join my first network event! Thanks to Madame Ryen @kithtaehyung for the prompts! Enjoy!

It was a long weekend and your friend Lili, along with her boyfriend Hobi, have planned a relaxing cabin getaway out of town. The cabin rental was Hobi’s friend, Namjoon’s idea. The location was tucked away up in the mountains, overlooking a lake. Namjoon said that it was a great way to recharge and reconnect with nature and he planned many group activities around that–which his fiancee, Yeona, was all-too-happy to indulge him in.

“I thought you said you were bringing Kai?”

You groaned at Lili and waved her off. “Oh, I ended that shit days ago.”

Her eyes widened comically. “And you didn’t tell me?”

You shrugged. “Eh. It wasn’t really that serious between us so I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“I thought you said he was cute?”

“He was, but that boy couldn’t make me cum if he tried,” you say flippantly.

“Oh no,” she says gravely. “So…it didn’t get any better?”

You threw your hands up and shrugged. “Nope. I just find myself reaching for my vibrator more often than not. I thought to myself—what’s the point of having access to dick when that dick ain’t shit anyway.”

She hummed, while she organized the produce in the fridge. “True.”

“What’s worse is that he didn’t even really have that much of a personality so…I was really counting on the sex to be mind-blowing. 0 for 2 there.” You scoffed. “I mean…is it really too much to ask to get dick-whipped every now and then?”

Lili laughs heartily by the kitchen sink. "I think the term you're looking for is 'dicked-down'," she corrects.

"Whatever, Lil. The point is, I just want to be manhandled a little," you call out past your shoulder. You rounded the corner to walk back by the front door to retrieve more items that your friends have unloaded when you jump after seeing a stranger standing by the door.

“Holy shit,” you yelped in horror and threatened to throw a can of chicken broth at him.

“Woah, woah—please don’t do that,” he says in a soft voice. “I’m really sorry that I snuck up on you.”

You hung on to the can of broth. “Who are you?” You ask as you try to bring your heart rate down. “H-how long have you been standing there?”

“YN, are you okay?” Lili rushes over to you then gets a good look at the newcomer. “Oh…are you—Hobi and Joon’s friend?”

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. I’m—“

“Oh, good you’ve met Yoongi!” Hobi exclaims out as he walks into the cabin unloading more groceries, followed by Namjoon and Yeona.

After formal introductions and some explanations, you finally relax and put the can down.

“Nice to meet you,” he says in a low, gentle voice. His eyes linger on you.

“Anyway, the room assignments aren’t fixed but obviously, Hobi and Lil claimed the master bedroom. Yeona and I have the loft and YN has the other bedroom that has a double bed. So your options are either the couch or hammock by the deck,” Namjoon explains.

“I’m cool with taking the couch.” You hear Yoongi say as you walk back to the pantry to put away more snacks while Yeona shows Yoongi where the extra sheets and pillows are.

******

Yeona and Lili busied themselves around the kitchen while you stuck to watching them since you were a bit of a hazard—which Yeona was completely comfortable with since Namjoon was the same way at home…and well, pretty much anywhere.

You sat on the counter snacking on a tangerine while watching your girlfriends prepare lunch. “So, how long have they known this Yoongi-guy? I’ve never heard them talk about him before.”

“Yoongi just moved to town. They were all roommates in college, lost touch for a couple years then reconnected just recently,” Yeona explains. “He works in tech, I think.”

You hummed. “He seems pretty quiet.”

Lili chuckled to herself. “Or maybe he’s just intimidated by how loud we all are”

“He’s cute though,” you said, noncommittally as you chewed on a tangerine slice.

Lili and Yeona’s heads whip around in your direction, eyeing you suspiciously.

You suddenly find yourself uncomfortably shifting. “What? I have eyes! I’m not insinuating anything.”

“Babe, insinuate all you want. I hear he’s single,” Lili says.

“…And packing,” Yeona adds.

Now it was your turn to be shocked at your friend. “Yeona! You are an engaged woman!”

She laughed. “So? I have eyes, too. Not that I’m going to do anything about it because I’m fully satisfied with Joon, if you catch my drift.”

Your giggles ring in the kitchen.

“But how can you tell?” Lili asks.

Yeona motions over to the deck where the guys are hanging out, making casual conversation when Yoongi gets up to grab a beer from the cooler.

“See how low those shorts are slung?”

Your eyes slowly drift to his waistband.

“It’s not just the drawstring and elastic holding them up,” Yeona mumbles. “I would know because,” she clears her throat, “Namjoon has the same special skill.”

You and Lili tilt your heads almost in unison and hum in appreciation. Suddenly, Yoongi glances at the window and into the kitchen and you all turn your attention elsewhere, pretending that you were doing something important.

******

After lunch, the afternoon turned to be a scorcher so you all changed into your swimsuits and made your way down to the lake to cool off.

Yoongi turned out to be a silent observer, mostly. Fully content watching the banter between you and your friends. Hobi and Namjoon would occasionally rib him from their college days and he just laughed along while trading one-liners of his own.

You were perfectly fine enjoying the afternoon and taking a dip in the lake. But thanks to Yeona’s earlier comment, you couldn’t keep your eyes from drifting down to Yoongi’s boardshorts. You were pulled away from your daydream when he randomly splashes you with water.

“You okay there?” He asks.

You freeze and panic. “Uhh—fine.” You blinked then shook your head. This wasn’t going to work. You decided to extract yourself from this potentially dangerous situation. Otherwise, this was shaping up to be an extra long weekend. “Uhm, you know, what? I’m gonna head back up to the cabin.”

“Are you okay, YN?” Hobi calls out.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’ll go and relax and maybe read a book or something.”

“Want me to come with you, babe?” Lili asks.

“No, thanks. I’m fine, I swear. It’s just the heat. Don’t let me ruin your fun.”

You made your way up the wooden steps leading back to the cabin. It was still pretty humid so instead of taking a shower right away, you go into the fridge and grab a couple of ice cubes and hold them up to your neck.

You sighed, feeling the touch of coolness against your skin.

“YN?”

You gasp at the sound of his voice, turning to see Yoongi standing by the counter.

“Jesus, you’re really light on your feet,” you remarked. “Were you a cat or something in your previous life?”

He laughs. “So I’ve been told. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. You looked a little…flustered earlier.”

Flustered was right. Flustered with the thought of Yoongi’s dickprint mocking you through those shorts.

“You’re sweet but I’m okay. You didn’t have to come all the way up here to check up on me,” you say softly.

The ice cubes continued to melt and drip down your skin.

“Hot day, huh?” He says as he takes a couple of steps towards you, brushing up his soaked hair back with his fingers.

“Yeah,” you agreed, suddenly breathless while you watched him.

“Leave it to Namjoon to find a place with no air conditioning,” he jokes.

You both laugh, breaking the tension. And then it was back again when you both fell silent. You fidgeted then moved the ice cubes to the back of your neck, where the water continued to drip down your bikini top.

“That looks refreshing. Can I try?” He motions to the ice on your neck.

You raised your eyebrows. “S-sure. Knock yourself out,” you said.

You were baffled seeing him walk up to you instead of the fridge. He was now inches away from you. You then gestured at the fridge and tell him, “There’s ice–”

“I said, I wanted to try this.” Before you could stop him, he dipped his mouth onto your neck and sucked hard.

You gasped as you felt the alternate sucking and licking patterns he did. When he squeezes your hip bone, you let out a deep, ragged moan.

But it was short-lived as you both jump and quickly separate the moment you hear Hobi’s cackles approaching the doorway.

“Hey, I thought you were gonna lie down?” Lili says.

“I was–uh–but…” You scrambled. “I…I just wanted to cool off a bit more,” you held up the ice cubes as some measly proof that you weren’t up to anything scandalous. You glanced at Yoongi whose hands rested on the counter, looking cool as a cucumber. As if he wasn’t just trying to give you a hickey seconds ago. You try to casually flip your hair to try and cover up in case he left any obvious marks.

Your friends don’t seem to suspect anything.

“Namjoonie, you think we can get the grill going?” Hobi says, breaking the tension.

Before Namjoon can answer, “Hobi–” Yeona scolds him. “Do you know who you’re talking to and what you are asking him to do?”

“I’ll do it,” Yoongi volunteers. “I think I’m cooled enough,” he says before prying his eyes away from you and walking back towards the deck to set up the grill.

Everyone else retreats to their room to get changed while you rush over to the bathroom, immediately desperate for that cold shower you had initially intended on getting.

******

After dinner, you, Namjoon, and Yeona played some board games in the dining room while Hobi, Lili, and Yoongi sat out on the deck by the firepit. It distracted you momentarily from this afternoon’s close-call. You excused yourself to grab a beer from the fridge and decide to glance out by the deck.

To your surprise, Yoongi was already looking your way. Your breath hitches and you turn away. You fumble with the kitchen drawers, trying to look for the bottle opener.

“Looking for something?” You look up to see him standing in the kitchen.

“Uh–just…looking for the bottle opener,” you smile nervously. He unnerved you–there was no question about it. And this was only the first night! You wondered how you’d be able to get through the rest of the weekend thinking about Yoongi’s possibly gifted crotch-area.

“Here, I keep one on my key ring, just in case.” He offers you his set of keys, holding up the bottle opener separately and handing it to you. You flinch when his hands touch yours during the exchange.

“Uh, thanks,” you mutter after you crack the bottle open, then quickly drop the keys into his palm before you walk away from him wordlessly, to return to your board game. You were intent on avoiding him for the rest of the night–for your sanity.

The night went on and one by one, each of your friends started to turn in.

You laid in your room, tossing and turning. It was late but you craved something. You weren’t sure whether you were thirsty or hungry, or both. You pad over to the kitchen and rummage through the snack bin. You didn’t find anything of interest.

You look into the freezer then find a pint of cookie dough ice cream. That should hit the spot, you thought. You grabbed a spoon, and dug in–not even bothering to scoop a bit into a separate bowl. You’d probably finish the whole thing in one sitting.

“Can’t sleep?”

You are startled again as you spot him leaning against the wall by the kitchen.

“Oh my god!” You said as you clutched your chest. “Stop scaring me like that!”

He chuckles. “Sorry! I can’t help how I move. Or maybe you just need to relax a little bit. You seem a bit tense.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s the heat. I can’t stand it. I just get really agitated,” You said, spooning another bite of ice cream into your mouth.

“Sorry I woke you…I forgot you were out here,” you said apologetically, suddenly remembering that he chose to sleep on the couch.

“Nah. I couldn’t sleep either. I have a weird sleep pattern.”

You nodded wordlessly.

He walks over to the counter to reach for the bottle of whiskey then searches for a lowball glass up on the cupboards. When he couldn’t find one, he settled for one of the plastic cups set out and poured himself a shot. “Want some?”

You shook your head. Whiskey wasn’t really your thing…though watching him toss it back and swallow makes you want to get into it.

“I was thinking,” he started after setting the cup back down on the counter. “Since we’re both up, maybe we could finish what we started…you know, before we got rudely interrupted.”

“What makes you think I’d want to finish it?” You’d sound more convincing if the fluttering in your belly would just quit.

He smirks, then saunters towards you. He rests his hand on your hipbone and squeezes it gently. You gasp at the contact.

“One thing you need to know about me is that…I’m very observant. I also like to pay attention.”

He was closing in on you—your lips barely touching. You were panting softly into his mouth. He decides to tease you by darting his tongue out to lick your bottom lip.

“I know you liked it when I touched you here.” He was massaging your hip now. Your hands gripped the kitchen counter, unaware how much longer you’d be able to stand upright.

“And you liked when I did this,” he dipped his head and sucked on your neck. You stifled a moan. When he pulls away, you suddenly feel bereft.

“I want to try something.” You follow his line of sight as he glances over at the pint of ice cream that you were just snacking on. His eyes are dancing with delight as you telepathically work out what he was planning to do.

“Do you—“

“Okay,” you say a little too eagerly.

His lips curve into a slow, sexy smile. “Alright then.” He grabs your spoon and dips it into the tub. He brings it to his mouth for a taste. “Mm…what flavor is this?”

You watch his tongue lick the back of the spoon. “Cookie dough,” you say softly.

“Hm.” He dips the spoon into the tub once more. “I’m more of a chocolate guy but I think I might learn to like this.”

You gasp as he lets the ice cream drip down to the swell of your breast. As the drop slides down to your skin he catches it with his mouth, suckling on the skin. You immediately feel your panties soak through the gusset.

He pulls away once more, licking his lips clean.

He motions over to the counter. “Hop on,” he commands and you do as you’re told.

He takes the pint again and tells you to scoot down to the edge of the counter. Once you do, he drops another scoop of ice cream on your thigh. You watch it slowly drip down further into your leg.

Yoongi dips his head down and you could have sworn that you heard him inhale and take in your scent before he drags his tongue from your inner to your upper thigh. You stifled a moan when he began sucking on the flesh for a few seconds.

“Y-Yoongi, wait—“ You gripped his shoulders.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No, but—“

His eyebrows knit in confusion.

“I think,” you panted, trying to get your head straight after his oral assault. “I think we should move this somewhere else? I-I just don’t want anyone to walk in on us. Maybe you’re into that but I’m not.”

“I’m good with whatever you’re comfortable with.” He gives you a small smile.

“Bedroom, then?”

“Sure.”

You hopped off the counter and started to walk back to your room when you paused then turned to him. “Bring that, will you?” You nodded at the tub of ice cream.

As soon as he shuts the door behind him and sets the ice cream down by the dresser, you turn your head and pull his mouth towards yours for a long, deep kiss. His tongue explored your mouth, licking, tasting.

You felt him backing you up until your calves hit the side of the bed before lowering you onto it. You scoot back further and he starts working on pulling your bottoms off. As soon as he pulls your top off, his mouth quickly wraps around a nipple while his other hand pinches the other.

He pulls away to retrieve the ice cream that he left on the dresser.

You leaned back, your weight balanced on your elbows. Your heartbeat quickened as you anticipated his next move. His gaze was hot, lips parted as he dropped another scoop down to your pelvis. He drags his tongue downwards, until he goes past your mound and finishes with a light flick at your folds.

You gasped audibly. When he leans back, you dip your finger into the tub and swipe it at his mouth. A low growl escapes him as you licked it off hungrily. His eyes were so completely dilated by lust, they were black.

You lifted his shirt. You pulled it up and over his head, his shoulders strain with the hard stretch of fabric. You take the ice cream from him and dip your fingers into the tub once more and drag it across your chest.

His head turned, mouth latching onto your nipple and suckling, easy, gentle tugs of suction on the sensitive point. You whimpered when his teeth caught the hardened tip, completely trapping you.

Your head bowed, eyes entranced at the sight of his hollowing cheeks. Inside the heat of his mouth, his tongue fluttered at the tip, his throat working as he swallowed. Your core tightened and pulsed, echoing the rhythmic pulls. You feel him slide two fingers in you–working and stretching you for him.

Having had enough, he takes the tub and tosses it by the nightstand haphazardly.

He slots himself between your legs and settles there for a bit, tasting, and licking you. Your back arches, lifting your hips to his mouth as he sucked and fluttered his tongue over your clit. He sits up, stopping short of your orgasm–which, surprisingly, didn’t even make you mad.

Frantically reaching between you, you untied the drawstring of his waistband and pushed the elastic down enough to free him. You gasped not just at the size but the girth. This was why you weren’t mad at him for stopping.

“What did you say you wanted earlier?”

You swallow hard as his voice brings you back to reality. “W-what?”

“Earlier, when you were in the kitchen.” He was pumping his cock slowly, stopping to squeeze the tip…teasing you while you salivated.

“I…I don’t–” you struggled to find the words.

“You wanted to get–what was it? Dick-whipped? Or dicked-down?”

Your eyes almost bulge out of your sockets as he repeated your supposedly throwaway comment from this morning–when he walked in on you and Lili in the kitchen.

“If that’s still on the table then you’re in for a real treat,” he says with a devilish lilt to his voice. You didn’t protest when he took your hand and pulled it towards him. You instinctively wrap your hands around him, fingertips tracing the thick veins coursing along his length. The tip was dripping with precum, your thumb captured it, hands gliding, spreading his slick all over him.

He pulls away and sits on the bed, urging you to climb on top of him. Once your legs settle on either side of his hips, you lift yourself slightly then align the tip to your opening. “Take it slow,” he ordered gruffly. “I want to be inside you all night and we can’t have you sore,” he says, running his hands down your arms.

That sent shivers down your spine, goosebumps covering your skin. You couldn’t take your eyes off it. “What if–what if I can’t–” you struggled to find the words. You weren’t sure if he would fit–if you could make him fit. Sensing your apprehension, Yoongi reached up with both hands, pushing the hair back from your face. “Trust me–” He kisses you. “You can,” he says confidently.

You were the one positioning him, lowering onto him, taking a moment to rub the wide head of his cock back and forth between your already dripping folds.

He groaned at the feel of your warmth, his hips lifting slightly, pushing demandingly into you. He grabbed your hips firmly, pulling you down, spreading you wide open for him.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” Your eyelids grew heavy as you sank onto him, taking him inch by inch inside of you.

He lifted you slightly. You sighed, feeling his length glide out of you until he stopped right at the tip. He held you there, hovering for a few seconds then lowered you again, making you take more of him in. The veins in his neck stood out as he strained to maintain control.

You pushed up, then slid back down. Over and over. Working him deeper each time, until your ass sat atop his thighs. He was deliciously thick and long. You whimpered as he throbbed inside you.

Tilting your head, you kissed him, savoring the slow slide of his tongue against yours.

With your hands on his shoulders, you fucked him with rhythmic pumps of your hips. He was delectable and absolutely irresistible. The feel of his cock moving inside you. That low, rumble in his chest gave away how turned on he was. A sheen of sweat coated his chest and his forehead. The way his biceps and pectorals clenched when you dropped down and his cock pushed deep. You were shamelessly needy for it and couldn’t get enough.

“Mm–so fucking good,” he growled, making your walls clench at the compliment.

He put the pad of his thumb to his lips and ran his tongue across it in a slow, sensual lick, his eyes never leaving your face. Reaching between you, he rubbed your clit in hard, quick circles. His ministrations turned out to be too much–pushing you over the edge. You felt a scream building up but you also didn’t want to wake the whole cabin. You instinctively bury your face between the crook of his neck and shoulder before you came with a cry, your cunt milking his cock in euphoric ripples.

Not even a few seconds after the contractions slow, he springs into action and flips you on to your stomach.

With one hand at the small of your back, holding you down, he cupped your wet heat and rubbed, massaging your arousal all over you. He spread it around, coating you with it. Your hips circled, seeking that perfect bit of pressure to reach another orgasm.

The pounding in your clit and the needy clenching of your empty cunt was driving you mad. He pushed two fingers into you and your nails dug into layers of sheets. He finger-fucked you leisurely, sliding lazily in and out, keeping you on the edge.

“Yoongi, please,” you sobbed, the sensitive tissues inside you rippling greedily around his digits. You were coated in sweat, barely able to breathe.

His fingers pulled free and then his cock was pushed into you. Your pussy spasmed around him, sucking him deeper. You heard his breath catch in a muffled groan.

You mewled helplessly with the pleasure of it, your entire body shaking as he fucked you thoroughly, his cock rubbing and tugging at tender, hyperstimulated nerves. The pressure built and built, brewing like a storm.

“Oh, fuck, yesss,” you gasped, stretched tightly with anticipation.

Then he pulled out at the first grip of your core and left you hanging on the precipice again. Only to slip himself all the way back in, filling you, stroking rhythmically into your trembling core.

His thighs kept yours spread wide so he could sink deep. Over and over. The tempo of his thrusts were relentless.

You let out a sudden yelp when he gives your ass a good smack. Bending over you, he gasped in your ear, “Are you dicked-down enough yet? Hm?”

You had nothing left to fight with, barely able to whimper when he reaches under and rolled an aching nipple between his fingertips and slides down to your splayed legs. His hips began to lunge, his cock pumping upward into you as he pinched and swiped at the folds around your throbbing clit before rubbing the swollen bud.

You came again with a hoarse cry of his name, the sheets and mattress muffling your screams. Your entire body convulsing as the relief exploded through you. The orgasm lasted, what felt like forever and Yoongi was tireless, extending your pleasure with the perfect thrusts you’d craved for earlier.

You collapse onto the bed, panting and soaked with sweat. He pulls out of you carefully and turns you over with your back to the mattress. You were in a complete orgasmic daze–incapable of stopping him when he pushed your thighs apart and put his mouth on you. He tongued and suckled on your clit until you came again. And again.

Your back arched with each orgasm, your breath draining from your lungs. You lost track of how many times you climaxed after they began rolling into each other, cresting and waning like the tide.

Climbing over you with one knee on the mattress and the other leg extended to the floor, he pushes himself into you one more time. You shoved at him, “Wait–I don’t know if I can take any more…”

“I know, baby.” He slid into you, his eyes on your face as he pushed carefully through swollen tissues. “I’ll go slow,” He says soothingly.

Somehow, it occurred to you that he hadn’t cum yet. Hypersensitivity be damned, your hips moved of their own volition and met his thrusts.

“So good…can’t stop,” he says sighs. Like clockwork, you feel another orgasm slowly building up.

“I don’t think I can pull out–you feel too fucking good,” he moans as he drags his cock in and out of your cunt.

You didn’t want him to, either. “S’okay–implant,” you managed to assure him, referring to the contraceptive implant in your arm.

He rolled his hips, stirring his cock inside you, pulling you onto him until you gasped in pain at how deep he was. Your cunt clung to the base of his length, spread wide for him. He filled you to the brim and you loved every bit of it. Throwing his head back, he gasped and jerked inside you. He spurted hotly, groaning, his hips still thrusting, staying true to what he said…that he just couldn’t stop.

******

The next morning, you awoke with the sun peeking through the blinds. You roll onto your back as your eyes adjust to the natural light that starts to fill the room. Vague memories from last night also began to flood in.

Yoongi.

“Fuck,” you sit up abruptly, suddenly aware that you were naked under the covers. The door slowly opening startles you and you instinctively pull the blankets tight around your chest. He walks in with a big, piping hot cup of coffee. You accept it and mouth your ‘thanks’ before taking a sip. You hummed in appreciation while he sat on the mattress next to you.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get enough of hearing that sound,” he says as he shyly scratches the back of his head.

You smiled as your face started to heat up. You cleared your throat. “Uhm—did you…did you sleep here? I don’t remember.” Yes, the multiple orgasms practically rendered you comatose.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I managed to grab a towel from the bathroom across the hall after…for you–but then after that, I, uh…didn’t think I could walk back to the couch,” he laughed nervously, “So…I just knocked out. I hope you didn’t mind.”

“No, I didn’t.” Truthfully, you didn’t remember much but you vaguely recalled a warm body next to yours. You weren’t much for cuddling but it didn’t seem to bother you.

You both chuckled awkwardly. “Anyway, I woke up before everyone else and made breakfast. Thought you’d be hungry.”

“Oh.” That was nice of him. “Y-yeah…I just–need a minute to get changed.”

“Sure. Take your time,” he says casually before leaning in, intending to give you a peck on your cheek but you suddenly turn your head and he ends up landing on your lips instead.

Okay…this, you remember. His velvet tongue slips into your mouth, stroking yours in long, languid licks. He pulls away first–and you’re both breathless. Knowing full well that you were bare under the sheets, he’s fighting every instinct in him to rip the covers off you and fuck you senseless this morning.

"So...I’ll, uh, see you in a few minutes? Namjoon says he wants everyone to go on a hike later so you might need some fuel for that.”

You made a face. You weren’t much of an outdoors-y person but you also didn’t want to be the party pooper. “I guess, yeah.”

“Or,“ his finger brushes your bare shoulder. "I can tell him that we're allergic to hikes and we can just chill in the jacuzzi out back. It’d be a shame not to put it to good use this weekend,” he says offhandedly.

You bit your lip at the sound of that.

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