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#yoongi fic
honeymoonjin · a year ago
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𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned
many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner
A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.
"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.
What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.
The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.
You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.
Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.
"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.
"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."
You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."
"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."
"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"
"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"
You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."
A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."
You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"
"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"
"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."
The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."
You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”
“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”
Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”
“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”
Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”
“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”
You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”
“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”
You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.
What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.
In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-
Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.
You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.
That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”
Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”
His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “ want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.
You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”
He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”
You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”
He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”
Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”
He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”
He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.
You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?
You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.
“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”
Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”
His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”
“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”
A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”
He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”
And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.
“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”
You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”
His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”
His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”
You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”
He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”
You sleep well that night.
Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.
It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.
The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.
“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.
The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.
“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”
“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.
“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.
“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.
After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.
The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y  L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.
You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.
When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.
He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.
In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.
“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”
You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.
“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, “are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.
“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”
Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”
You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”
“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”
A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.
Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”
“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”
Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”
His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”
“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”
He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”
You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”
He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”
“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”
He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.
He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”
“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”
All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”
He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”
“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”
A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”
Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”
A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”
You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.
That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.
You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.
“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.
“Not long.”
You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”
He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”
“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”
With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”
You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”
His smile falters. “We could.”
You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”
“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”
“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”
The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”
The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”
Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”
You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.
You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”
You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.
She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”
You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.
Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.
“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”
“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.
Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”
“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”
She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”
You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”
“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”
Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”
“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.
Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”
The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”
Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”
You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”
You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”
As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.
“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”
Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.
“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.
The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.
“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”
You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.
He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.
The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”
Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”
You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”
He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”
“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”
“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.
The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”
He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.
You don’t speak the rest of the way back.
You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.
It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.
You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”
He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”
“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”
He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.
You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”
You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”
He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”
You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”
“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”
He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”
As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”
“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”
Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”
The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.
“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.
The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.
It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.
“Do they fit a bit better?”
His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”
With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.
His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”
“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.
With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.
In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.
You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”
Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”
It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.
Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.
Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.
The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.
“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.
A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”
A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.
Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.
Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”
The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”
You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.
Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”
“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.
“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”
“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”
His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.
Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”
“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.
You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”
When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.
The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.
However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.
While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”
You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”
He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.
“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.
Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.
There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.
You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.
Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.
He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”
Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.
Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.
Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”
Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”
Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.
You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”
“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”
The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity.  The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.
It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”
You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”
He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”
“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”
He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”
You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”
He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”
Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”
He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”
You shrug. “And?”
He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”
In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”
A pause. “With you?”
You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”
His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”
You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.
Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”
“Goodnight, Y/n.”
You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”
“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.
Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”
“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”
He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”
You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”
He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”
You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”
He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.
Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.” 
Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”
“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”
Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.
“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”
The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.
“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”
You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”
Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”
You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”
The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”
In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.
As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”
You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”
Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.
With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.
“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”
You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”
You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.
“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”
You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”
You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”
Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.
Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”
“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”
He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”
You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.
When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.
You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.
They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.
Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.
You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.
Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.
The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.
Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.
Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”
It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.
“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.
“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.
You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”
He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”
You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”
A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, “don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”
You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.
“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”
You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.
Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.
You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”
“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”
Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”
Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.
The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.
Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.
When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.
Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.
Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.
“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”
You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”
You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”
Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.
Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.
Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”
Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.
He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”
At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.
The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”
“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”
You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”
“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”
He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”
“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”
“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”
Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”
Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”
You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.
Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”
You twist your head around. “You what?”
He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”
After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”
He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.
You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.
There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.
You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.
When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.
Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.
Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”
The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”
“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”
“Would you love me even if I was bald?”
“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”
The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”
Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”
“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”
Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”
You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”
The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”
Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”
“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”
“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”
He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”
Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”
That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.
“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”
Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.
“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”
You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.
You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”
He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”
There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”
The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.
They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.
Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.
You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.
Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.
The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.
When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.
In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.
Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.
He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.
Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.
But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.
It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.
Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.
“What are you doing?”
You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”
You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.
It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”
You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”
“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”
“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.
You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”
“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.
You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”
“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”
You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”
He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”
The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”
You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”
His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”
You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”
Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”
Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.
“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”
You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.
“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.
“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”
He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.
“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”
In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”
Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.
The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”
With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”
“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”
You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.
“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”
Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”
Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”
Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”
You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.
“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”
“Y/n,” you supply.
“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”
Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.
Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.
For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.
You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.
Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.
You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.
“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”
Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.
He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.
You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.
His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.
“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.
“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.
You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?
You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.
You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.
You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.
Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.
And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.
He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.
“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”
“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”
It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.
Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.
“Single room for one night?”
You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”
“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”
You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”
The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”
You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”
She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”
You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.
She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”
You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.
Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.
“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.
Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”
Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.
Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”
He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.
Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.
“Yoongi, what’s going on?”
He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”
You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”
“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”
“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.
“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”
You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”
Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”
You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”
His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.
A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”
His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.
He pulls you into a tight hug.
You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.
“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.
You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”
Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur,  your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.
He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.
You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.
You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.
It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”
He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”
You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.
He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.
You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”
Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”
“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.
Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.
Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.
“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”
He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.
“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”
“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”
"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"
He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"
"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.
It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.
In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.
After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart. 
You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core. 
“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers. 
“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”
He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.
“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.” 
You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering. 
With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over. 
You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips. 
“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much. 
When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze. 
He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry. 
Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth. 
“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?” 
He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”
You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”
He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.” 
“How do you figure that?”
He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.” 
You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?” 
“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”
You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.” 
He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!” 
You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.” 
In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton. 
Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”
You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.
He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.” 
You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.” 
He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings. 
“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up. 
His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.” 
You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.” 
His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly. 
“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.
He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads. 
You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace. 
He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation. 
Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love. 
True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep. 
You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars. 
You wake up before him that next morning. 
Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth. 
When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi. 
The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time? 
You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs. 
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taetaespeaches · a year ago
“I never would’ve thought Agust D would be so soft after sex.”
yoongi x reader (or oc) genre: smut; fluff word count: 3.1K
a/n: ok, so, Kid is ready to give Yoon that good good just after hearing like half the mixtape, our girl hasn’t even seen the damn mv yet guys, like, she’s ready to pounce after just seven songs from her man. And honestly, mood. I hope you lovelies enjoy this, I hope it lives up to your expectations lmao, and thank you for reading :))
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YOU paced back and forth from one end of your kitchen to the other as you waited for Yoongi to answer his damn phone. I mean, seriously, how long does it take to pick up the-
“Hello?” Yoongi’s low voice interrupted your thoughts through the phone’s speaker.
Gasping, you eagerly asked, “Can I start listening?” omitting a proper greeting.
“Oh hey, I’m fine, how are you?” He teased.
You rolled your eyes, fully aware he couldn’t see you. “You’re expecting a lot of self-control from me right now, Min,” you complained.
Yoongi allowed himself to chuckle before responding with a humored, “if you want, you can listen, Kid.”
You squealed in excitement, bouncing around in front of the oven. “You’re sure? I don’t have to wait for you or anything?”
“Nah, I’m almost there anyway,” he told you, and you could tell by the tone of his voice he was grinning. “Just no music video yet,” he said in a whiny tone which you knew must be accompanied with a pout. He enjoyed watching your reaction to his music videos.
“No music video, I promise,” you smiled, absolutely fond of the man. “Oh my god, I’m not ready for this am I?” You yelled out, Yoongi scoffing in response.
“Jesus, you’re ridiculous,” he groaned.
“Shush, I’m hanging up, I have a long-awaited mixtape to listen to, thank you very much.”
“Ok fine, fine,” he laughed, but before you could hang up, Yoongi added, “Hey, Kid?” You hummed in response. “Love you.”
You’ve heard the words a million times, but it never failed to make your heart pound. However, that didn’t stop you from teasing him a bit. “Yeah, yeah, love you, I gotta go, priorities, baby. I don’t know if you’ve heard but the Agust D just made a comeback.”
He chuckled into the phone once more before giving you a, “See you in a bit,” and then hung up.
Immediately, you were pressing play on the mixtape on Spotify, already having had it pulled up for five minutes.
The first song, ‘Moonlight’, started off soft before scratching records came in, and then your boyfriend’s voice. When he gave his iconic laugh with an “August D” you smiled in pride. That’s my honey boy.
You turned your attention to the meal you were preparing for you and Yoongi, one of his favorites, stirring the contents in a big pot on the stovetop. Bopping along to the music, you listened to the lyrics that talked about his story, starting in Daegu to flying high with his group, how he goes through feelings of confidence in his work to feeling untalented, the struggles of writing this exact mixtape due to the pressure from a larger audience, expectations, and self-doubt. You knew those struggles all too well. You were with him throughout it all.
You’d been given glimpses of the songs throughout the writing process, some tracks in full while others you only saw lyric scribblings on those yellow notepads he leaves around his studio and that littered your apartment. You first saw the chorus to ‘Moonlight’ written on one of those notepads that sat on your bedside table.
“I like this,” you told your boyfriend, holding the notepad in one hand as the other found its way in his dampened hair, his face resting against your bare chest.
“Huh?” He looked up at you, his hand gripping your waist as his eyelids fluttered. The sheets were in disarray around your still nude forms. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, is it for D-2?”
“Maybe,” he told you with a yawn. “Not sure.”
“I think you should use it,” you told him, your finger outlining the shell of his ear as his lips curved into a lazy smile. “It’s beautiful.”
“You really think so?” He asked, uncertain and a bit more awake.
“Yeah, definitely.”
He kissed the center of your chest before nuzzling his face further against your breasts. “You always know best, Kid.”
You felt your eyes prick with tears as you listened to the song, feeling immensely proud of your boyfriend. Of how hard he worked, of overcoming the doubt and fear, and just simply for the talent, passion, and artistry he shared with so many people.
As the mixtape played, you went through phases of dancing around, squealing in excitement, gasping at lyrics and phrasing, and more bouncing and dancing. You tried your best to focus on the lyrics, though you knew it would take a few listens to catch them all as you were too excited to comprehend everything just then.
Completely invested in the music, you didn’t hear your front door open, unaware of your boyfriend’s presence until he appeared in your peripheral, catching you doing a little strut that resembled Yoongi’s swagger walk he did on stage. Your head snapping to him, you were met with his gummy grin, his shoulders shaking in laughter as ‘Burn It’ continued to play throughout the kitchen.
“Are you leaving me for Agust D yet?” He teased, walking toward you.
“Do you realize how sexy you are? Like do you have any idea?” You asked accusatorily. “Like what the fuck, dude?”
“Jesus,” he huffed, a smile still plastered on his face. “You’re actually ridiculous.”
“Yeah, and you’re ridiculously talented, Min. You’re not told that enough,” you told him seriously. Reaching you, he placed his hands on your hips as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, stepping further into his arms.
“I’m told that plenty,” he dismissed with a bashful grin.
“No, you’re not,” you told him as ‘Burn It’ continued to play. Instead of responding to you, he kissed you which you immediately deepened, Yoongi stepping back a bit by the unexpected force behind your actions, though his arms wrapped tighter around your waist so your body was flush with his.
Pulling away, he chased your lips, making you smile. “I don’t even have the words right now to tell you how proud I am of you,” you told him seriously, tears forming in your eyes. You watched as Yoongi took a deep breath, keeping his own emotions under control at your sincere confession. “Just know I’m really proud,” you said as tears threatened to fall.
He quickly nodded just before bringing a hand to your jaw as he caught your lips again, giving you several quick pecks as he composed himself.
Letting out a breath that sounded to be one of relief, Yoongi peered around your frame, inspecting the food cooking on the stove, as well as the food that had spilled outside of the pot, with a grin. “That looks good.”
“Hopefully,” you said with a smile as Yoongi nuzzled his face against your neck, refusing to let you go. With the overwhelming pride and love you felt, mixed with the fact that the man on the mixtape was all yours, and he was standing in your kitchen, in your arms, pressing sweet kisses to your neck, you had a sudden desire for him.
As ‘People’ started playing, you were instantly struck with the memory of coming to his studio as he was working on that very track. It was just the instrumental then, but it was interesting and different from the other stuff he had been working on. Yoongi must have been thinking upon the same memory as he lifted his head, a gummy grin directed to you as his eyes found yours.
“I remember the night you wrote this,” you smiled, biting your lower lip. That night, you had spent about an hour of it sitting on his desk as Yoongi sat in his chair in front of you, his chin resting on your knees as you both discussed your ideas of life, and people, and changes, and what it all meant, if it even meant anything.  
You had already been dating for well over a year, but it was a moment where you and Yoongi felt a closeness between you both that hadn’t really been there before, becoming more mentally and emotionally attune with each other.
The conversation eventually faded out, the intense feeling of understanding between you both leading to you having sex on his studio couch.
“Trust me, I remember it very well,” he chuckled, his mind running through every moment of that night, from the feeling of closeness, to the warmth of your body underneath his as he pressed you against the couch cushions, the way you moaned his name and whispered ‘I love you’s’.
As the chorus of ‘People’ sounded from your laptop, your eyes widened at the sultry soothe of your boyfriend’s vocals.
“Since when do you sing like that, Min?” You teased with a smile, your eyes bouncing around his soft features. As he let out a breathy chuckle, you slid your your hands down his neck to rest overtop his collarbones as you leaned toward him and kissed him deeply.
The action took him by surprise though he easily found his rhythm, his hands slipping underneath your shirt, feeling at the bare skin of your waist.
As you began backing up, he quickly felt around to shut the stove off before following you toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss. Your hands found his waist as his moved to your face, taking control. You began lifting his shirt up, you both separating just long enough for you to pull it over his head and discard it somewhere in the hallway outside your room.
Eagerly, you unbuttoned his jeans, Yoongi helping you get the clothing off him as he released his hold on you to step out of them. Backing up, your legs hit the edge of the bed and you locked your eyes with your boyfriend’s. Smirking at him, you pulled your own shirt off before unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor at your feet.
Yoongi bit his lip, his eyes settling on your chest before slowly dragging them back up to meet your darkened gaze. Tilting his head at you, you quipped, “What are you waiting for?” Yoongi scoffed before approaching you and pushing your body so you fell against the mattress. He reached for the waist of your jeans, taking no time in unzipping them and tugging them down your legs, you lifting your hips to help him. Your panties were removed next, Yoongi dropping them to floor as he allowed his eyes to rake over your body, taking in every inch of you.
You sat up on your elbows, watching the man as he looked over your nude form. “For a man who brags an awful lot about being a king and a boss, you seem a bit timid, baby,” you teased in a sultry tone.
Your boyfriend scoffed again, a smirk forming on his lips. “Be patient,” he scolded, though he stepped toward you, nudging your inner knee with his leg, making you widen the gap between your thighs as he stared down at your center.
“My patience disappeared the moment I clicked play on that mixtape,” you smiled. “I want you.” With that, you sat up, your hands slipping underneath the waistband of his underwear, lowering them until they easily slid down his legs, pooling at his feet. You kept eye contact with him as you left a sweet kiss to his lower abdomen, just above his pelvic area.
He let out a quick breath as he smiled, lowering his body on top of yours, your back meeting the mattress. “If I had known Agust D would get you this worked up I would have released a mixtape two years ago,” he joked, your hands grabbing onto his sides as his lips found yours, kissing you passionately.
One of his arms was being used to prop himself up overtop you as his opposite hand slid down to your core, his fingers feeling between your legs. He groaned into your mouth at feeling how wet you’d become, and you smiled against his lips.
Not wanting to wait any longer, you used your strength to push against his body, rolling him over and straddling his hips. Yoongi’s breath was heavy and shallow as he anticipated being inside you, his large hands gripping your hips, his eyes eagerly taking in the sight of your form on top of him. He always did love you on top.
Placing one of your hands to his chest, your other found his hardened length. You stroked him a few times, Yoongi letting out a soft moan at the feeling, his hand sliding up your abdomen to your breast as he squeezed the supple flesh in his palm. At his touch, you guided him to your entrance, sharply intaking breath at the feeling of him slipping inside, letting the air out in a throaty moan.
“Fuck, Kid,” Yoongi breathed out, pinching your nipple between his fingers as you moved your hand from his dick to his chest, bracing yourself against him as you began slowly grinding atop him. Yoongi’s hand left your breast to your thigh, clutching the muscle as he bit his lip, watching your body move. “You’re so fucking hot.”
You held back a moan as you increased your pace, looking up to the ceiling before squeezing your eyes shut as he hit particularly deep. “Fuck,” you breathed out, lowering your gaze to Yoongi’s face, meeting his hooded eyes as he looked up at you in bliss.
His chest was like velvet underneath your hands and you wanted to feel more of his skin on yours. As if reading your mind, Yoongi moved his hands to your lower back, pulling you toward him so your chest was flush with his. He kissed you messily as he lifted his hips off the bed to move in and out of you as he held you to his body.
“I love you so much,” he confessed shakily against your lips, his breathing erratic due to the pleasure you were giving him.
“Oh my god, Yoongi, I love you,” you moaned, moving your face to his neck where you kissed and nibbled his skin lightly.
Wanting to treat him, you reluctantly pulled yourself away from him, sitting back up as you rocked back and forth on him, arching your back and placing a hand to his thigh to support yourself. Yoongi’s hands grabbed onto the sides of your legs as he watched you, looking more and more fucked out the longer you rode him.
Eyeing his thin but toned body, his smooth skin, and the flex of his abdomen as he took sharp breaths, you groaned. “You look so good,” you told him, admiring the man beneath you. Your man. All yours. “Feel so good,” you moaned.
One of Yoongi’s hands left your leg to find your hand that was pressed against his lower abdomen. He took your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours before bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly as he locked his gaze on yours.
The intimate action had your lower abdomen tightening. Sitting up straight, you brought your hand toward him which he grabbed with his other hand, helping you to support yourself as your motions atop him became hastier, approaching your high.
“Yoon, I’m gonna-”
“I know, baby,” he nodded, squeezing your hands as you neared your climax. “Me too.”
You let out a whimper, lowering your body to Yoongi’s again, your dewy chest meeting his, Yoongi wrapping his arms around your lower back as you both worked each other into your finishes. Yoongi buried his face in your neck as he let out small muffled grunts, you breathing out a moan in his ear. As he came, he hugged your body to his tightly, letting go inside you. The feeling of him releasing had you crashing into your own high, biting your lip as you moaned breathily, Yoongi kissing your neck sweetly as you came down.
You relaxed atop Yoongi, breathing heavy as his fingers toyed with the small of your back, soothing back and forth along the curve of your ass. You had a hand on his neck, slipping your fingers into his damp strands, your other hand on his chest, dragging your fingers along his pectoral.
“The mixtape is really good,” you assured him in a whisper, kissing his jaw. “Well, what I’ve heard so far.”
Yoongi let out a breathy chuckle, flattening a palm on your lower back. “Thank you, Kid.”
“No need to thank me, I’m just being honest.”
“No, thank you for always supporting me. In everything,” he clarified, emotion thick in his voice.
You lifted your head to peer at his face, catching the glassy shine in his eyes. “Always,” you assured him.
He nodded, looking at you with a soft smile. “I know,” he whispered, barely audible, giving away that he didn’t trust his voice, knowing it would break if he spoke louder. “It means- you mean the world.”
You lowered your lips to his face, giving his plush cheek a small kiss. “I never would’ve thought Agust D would be so soft after sex,” you teased with a big smile, Yoongi scoffing, though he couldn’t hold back his gummy grin.
He groaned loudly, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m starving,” he changed the topic, making you giggle.
“Well, lucky for you, your girlfriend made you a delicious nearly cooked meal that is probably very cold at this point,” you smirked.  
“Oh, lucky for me?” He questioned with a small smile.
“Mhmm,” you confirmed with a small chuckle.
Yoongi sucked air between his teeth, ticking his head to the side. “Remind me to wife you up later.”
You scoffed playfully, rolling off his body as you prepared to stand up and find some clothes. “In your dreams, Min.”
Scooping your t-shirt off the floor, you slipped it over your head before grabbing a pair of panties from your dresser drawer, all while Yoongi’s eyes followed your every move. Sending your boyfriend an air kiss from where he sat at the edge of the bed watching you, you walked toward the bedroom door. “Hurry up and get dressed, Gramps, I need your album commentary.”
You exited the room, turning toward the bathroom to clean yourself up. Yoongi shook his head with a chuckle. “Yeah, in my dreams,” he mumbled as he stood up to get dressed. Taking his sweet ass time, you walked back past the bedroom toward the kitchen, noticing him still stumbling around for a shirt.
“Hey, hustle, Min! I still have a music video to watch, my dude!” You called out to him as he looked to you with widened eyes. “Your shirt is out here, by the way.”
“Ah, what did I tell you about patience,” he whined out, a pout on his lips as he walked through the hallway, grabbing his shirt on his way, feeling full of appreciation and adoration for you.  
4K notes · View notes
fortunexkookie · a year ago
From the Ashes (M) | MYG
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Pairing: Yoongi x Reader | AU: Historical + Royalty AU + Star-crossed Lovers
Genre: Angst With a Happy Ending!!! / Smut / Drama 
Summary: Someone is sobbing ugly, wrecked sounds that shatter the silence in the room. You need them to stop; it’s distracting and you need to focus. You need to clean the ash from his skin. You need to comb the knots from his hair. You need to dress his beautiful body in something befitting the king you know he is… but the sobbing is too loud, and your vision is blurry. It takes Yoongi wiping your tears away for you to realize that the gasping cries echoing off the stone are coming from you.
Rating: Explicit / 18+
Word Count: 7.4k
CW: violence (pillaging, off-screen execution of non-named characters, mentions of weapons, insinuated non-major character death; wound-mention/Yoongi’s scar); sexual content (vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, creampie); other cw (pregnancy, vague historical/political/royalty drama)
A/N: This fic was commissioned by @athenakyle​! Banner and moodboard were made by @stutterfly​. Huge shout-out to @gukslut​ for helping me out with this piece so much. 😭 Historical AUs are hard, guys. Wow. 
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The night sky has always been beautiful, but it’s even more incredible when you’re in love. Even if miles of distance separate you from your beloved, there’s comfort in knowing he’s looking up at the same moon and stars as you. You try to quell the butterflies in your stomach by swaying from side to side and chewing on your bottom lip, but it’s hopeless with your wedding just around the corner. Finding that just the thought of stargazing with Yoongi makes you giddy, you stifle a giggle with the back of your hand and step out onto your bedroom balcony.
Falling in love has transformed a few of the places around your palace into something special, something more. Your balcony is one of them, and it’s the first place you go when you’re missing him. On nights when it’s dark enough and the weather is just right, the vantage point it offers allows you to see his kingdom’s lights. They look beautiful, sparkling along the mountainside like a second set of stars. They are what you are hoping to see tonight — what you’re hoping will connect you to him.
Instead you see something even more incredible: a vibrant gold light streaking across the night sky.
You curl your fingers into the silks at your waist and hum in amusement. Would Yoongi think you’re foolish for wishing on a shooting star? He absolutely would, but knowing him, he’d laugh and tell you to do it anyway just so he could ask what you wished for. Closing your eyes to make the wish, you imagine the way he’d smile and blush when you confess you wished for him.
But when you open your eyes, a second star cuts a path across the sky, and your smile fades. It’s improbable but still possible.
When a third star follows immediately afterward, your stomach drops. The fourth ‘star’ brings dozens more with it, and you finally realize your mistake.
What cruel universe would make flaming arrows look like shooting stars?
You want to spin on your heels and run away. You want to lay down and forget you ever saw this. You want to pinch your arms as hard as you can and wake up to a world that promises Yoongi will still be in it. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t move, you can’t look away, you can’t wake up from this. All you can do is stare, transfixed by the nightmare on the mountainside, until your legs buckle.
Morning doesn’t bring any peace — only hellfire and smoldering remains that blot out the sun with their smoke.
You never thought you’d watch wishes burn your future to the ground.
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Hurried footsteps from below your balcony snap you out of your daze, alerting you to the teartracks staining your still-damp cheeks. It’s the push you need to tear your gaze away from the wildfires across the way. Shifting in place, you focus on your bedroom door instead. As soon as you do, your thoughts hit as suddenly and violently as the sobs wracking your body.
Bolt it shut. Lock them out.
You crawl over to the door and palm your way up its frame. The force with which you need to pull yourself up causes your nails to crack and splinter the wood.
Even if you’re in mourning, you can’t afford to let your court or family see you as weak. They don’t deserve to see you cry.
With trembling fingers, you slide the lock into place.
A queen must wear her tears in her crown.
Still grasping the deadbolt, you freeze in place. Your crown — you might have greater influence over current events than you originally thought. You cross the room and run your fingertips over the decorative box atop your nightstand before opening it. Index finger hooking underneath the metal, you admire the teardrop gemstones set within.
If dead, Yoongi and his family’s remains are likely buried in the rubble of their fallen kingdom. With the fire burning that hot, would you even be able to recognize them if you found their bodies? And if, by some chance, they’re still alive, they’ve probably been captured by their enemies. If that’s the case, then you’ll likely never find them at all. Either way, you’ll never know the truth. No one would blame you for accepting things as they are — as they appear to be.
More than that, your family and advisors would never approve of the wasted resources and manpower you could invest into finding them. With Yoongi’s kingdom turned to ash, the Min family serves no purpose anymore. Your people would protest mobilizing your troops in search of them — with the threat of your kingdom being attacked next, there’s too much risk and not enough reward.
But is any of that enough to stop you from doing it anyway — from trying to find them?
After wiping your face clean with the heel of your palm, you smooth out the wrinkles in your gown and then lift your crown from its box. As soon as it’s set upon your head, you have your answer.
Nothing will ever stop you from finding him.
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“Alive!” Nari cries, shaking you awake. “They found him alive!”
The rest of your lady-in-waiting’s words are lost to you as you take off down the hall in your nightclothes.
Listening for familiar voices, you follow the sound to a small gathering of people just outside a closed door. You immediately recognize them: your parents, Yoongi’s mother, and one of his court’s advisors. They’re arguing in hushed, worried tones, but what strikes you the most is Yoongi and his father’s absence. As soon as they notice your approach, they drop into an eerie silence. All you can do is pray that Yoongi and his father are on the other side of the door, safe and waiting for you.
“Y/N,” your mother quietly warns, putting herself between you and the door. The way her voice wavers, cracking as she speaks strikes such visceral terror into you that you can feel it in your bones, and although the panic threatens to bring you to your knees, there isn’t a force in the universe that could keep you from pushing past her and into that room.
The door swings shut behind you with a soft thud, and after that, silence.
Golden light creeps in through the billowing curtains in the window. A guard you recognize as one of your own stands beside it, and another is stationed by the door behind you. There’s a servant you don’t recognize stacking logs in the fireplace, and a medic packing up their kit on a small table to the side. Despite your sudden entrance, no one makes a sound.
Your beloved stands hunched over the desk in the center of the room. His long, blonde hair hangs down his back in tangles that are matted with ash and debris. His clothes are filthy and torn. His bare feet are so thickly covered in soot that they stain the carpet black. It’s potent enough that you can retrace every step he has taken while pacing the room.
Yoongi doesn’t turn to see who came through the door, but he doesn’t need to. He can feel presence surrounding him long before your arms do. He shakes violently in your hold as adrenaline, fear, and heavy sobs wrack his body.
“Yoongi,” you call softly, pressing your face into his ash-covered hair. “Look at me.”
You nuzzle into him even more, frowning when you realize there’s no hint of the usual scent you associate with him. He smells of fire, of a kingdom burned to the ground, of ruin.
“Look at me,” you repeat, trying to coax him around. He doesn’t move, and the panic you felt before increases tenfold for every second he resists.
WHen he finally turns in your arms and meets your eyes, time stops, and you feel your world crashing to the ground. His face and hands are coated with as much ash as the rest of him, but it’s streaked through with sweat, tears, and worse. Dried blood stains his cheek in a clear line that extends down his throat. The neckline of his robe is colored dark where it pooled in the fabric. A raw gash cuts over his right eye, from just above his eyebrow to the apple of his cheek. The skin around the wound is angry and red; it weeps whatever salve the medic just swiped over it.
“Yoongi?” you whisper, reaching for his face.
He pulls away, letting your hands fall between you. For the first time since entering, you realize his father is nowhere to be seen. Behind you, another servant enters, carrying clean clothes and a basin of hot water. You barely see them from the corner of your tear-filled eyes; you’re too focused on the agony standing right in front of you.
Your future crumbles all around you like embers sizzling with the love they still hold.
A king can’t have scars. Yoongi can’t be your king.
“You need to leave,” he commands, turning his back to you again.
You step away and cross over to the servant with the basin in clothes. Scooping them up in your arms, you carry them back to the table yourself. You can fix this. You can wash him and dress him in the finest silk your family owns. Then you can go on, just like you planned. He will be your husband and rule beside you. You can fix this. You must.
“Please leave us,” you tell the servants. Anger flashes in Yoongi’s dark eyes when he turns to face you.
With the exception of the guard stationed at the window, the room empties. He turns his back when you glare at him, and then you reach for Yoongi once more. You can fix this.
“Don’t touch me,” he snaps, teeth clenched to keep the pain in.
“Shh,” you soothe, nudging him to sit in a nearby chair. Kneeling at his feet, you dip a clean cloth into the steaming basin and wring it out.
“Y/N, don’t,” he says, with less conviction. New tears track fresh lines down his cheeks. They skirt alongside the gaping wound in his cheek and drip down from his chin.
“I can fix it.” You cup his face in your hands and wipe it clean, carefully avoiding the tender red streaks on his cheek. You trace the damp cloth with your lips as you do so, kissing every inch of golden skin revealed. “I can fix it,” you repeat. “I love you. I can fix it.”
“Love can’t fix this,” Yoongi growls, grabbing your wrists in his shaking hands.
Someone is sobbing ugly, wrecked sounds that shatter the silence in the room. You need them to stop; it’s distracting and you need to focus. You need to clean the ash from his skin. You need to comb the knots from his hair. You need to dress his beautiful body in something befitting the king you know he is… but the sobbing is too loud, and your vision is blurry.
It takes Yoongi wiping your tears away for you to realize that the gasping cries echoing off the stone are coming from you.
“It can,” you insist, choking on the words. “I-I’ll prove it to you.”
“You need to leave.” He shakes his head, pushing his chair back and away from you. It screeches against the floor as you fall forward onto your hands.
“I won’t leave you,” you cry, prostrating yourself before him.
It breaks him to see you like this. Even if your words are strong, you’re still begging. He wants so, so badly to give you everything you could ever ask for — everything you could ever ask of him.
But he can’t give you this.
He can’t be your king.
A king can’t have scars.
“Y/N,” your mother calls, forcing you to realize that you’ve been so focused on Yoongi that you didn’t even notice her entry. “Get out of here.”
“No!” you growl, gritting your teeth. “I won’t leave him.”
“Go,” Yoongi says in the commanding, powerful voice of a king. It’s not the tender sweetness he normally reserves just for you. It’s an order.
“I will not. Yoongi, you are mine, and I am yours.”
Your mother reaches for your arm and tries to pull you onto your feet, but you remain rooted in place at his feet. “Yoongi,” you plead, reaching for him.
“Do you love me?” he asks, boring into you with his gaze.
Your mother’s hold on you tightens, and she calls a servant back in to finish the job you started. You don’t want anyone else to touch him; he is yours. With trembling hands, you clasp his ankles.
“More than my own life,” you answer.
“Then don’t make this harder,” he pleads. “Don’t make me watch your heart break. Leave.”
It’s only the threat of hurting him more that gets you to cave into your mother’s pull. Your eyes don’t leave his until the door closes between you, cutting you off from him.
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Hoarfrost dusts the ground you’re kneeling on. Clinging to grass and stone alike, it tempts you into swiping your fingers through it. If you wanted to, you could scrawl a message for Yoongi. A real one for once — something more than the vague symbols you string together in the pond using fallen leaves and plucked petals. You could write a revelation, a confession, a promise.
It’s early enough in the morning that only the first trickles of dawn have crossed over the courtyard. Although those pink and orange beams catch on the ice crystals, sparkling through the garden, they lack the warmth needed to melt them. You want to do it. You want to explain to him what happened and go over what’s going to happen, if only to ease the burden he shoulders. No one else is awake — Yoongi could read your message and wipe it away long before the new shift of guards make their rounds.
He could, but he won’t.
Your eyelids are heavy with sleep. Shifting your weight from one knee to the other reveals just how stiff your joints have gotten overnight. A poignant ache throbs across your knees, making you realize you’ve been kneeling long enough for them to bruise too. Long past the point of stinging from the cold, your fingertips burn.
There’s this incessant voice chipping away at your resolve to stay put. It tells you that you need to go inside and return to the safety and warmth of your bed. It tells you that if he hasn’t come by now, he won’t come at all. It tells you to give up, accept your fate, and move on.
It needs to be silenced.
It’s been a fortnight since you saw Yoongi last. He’s pulling away from you more and more with each passing day. If you don’t hold on, you’ll lose him for good. Forever. The increasingly familiar ache in your chest swells beyond capacity, growing until you’re clutching and clawing at the silks covering you as if you could burrow straight down to your heart and rip it out.
Yoongi descends upon you long before your nails ever threaten to break the skin. He heaves a sigh as he wraps his arms around your waist. “What are you doing?” he asks, gently gripping your wrists to tug your hands away from your chest.
Has he been here the entire time? Has he been here the entire time, night after night, just watching as you cry yourself to sleep?
Trying to shove him off, you roll your shoulders back. It only makes him hold you tighter.
“Please, Y/N,” Yoongi pleads, voice low and soft. “One mistake is all it takes.”
You go rigid in his arms but turn your head enough that you can watch him out of your peripheral vision. One mistake is all it takes. One mistake, one moment of carelessness, one second of letting your guard down, and everything you thought you had gets stripped away. But you know that already. You know what it takes to strip a king of his title and reduce him to a swordsman. You know it as well as he does.
“I’ve needed you, Yoongi.” Your tone is far more cutting and accusatory than you intend it to be. “I have needed you for weeks, and you’ve been missing as if you’re still out there, as if-” you choke up and squeeze your eyes shut. “I still need you. I need you, more than ever before.”
“What you need is to finally choose a husband,” Yoongi says, but his shuddering breath betrays his words.
You lean backward, pressing yourself into the firm wall of his chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t pull away. You pounce on the opportunity to sway him by folding your arms across yourself and making him hold you tighter.
“I already chose one.”
Instead of answering you right away, Yoongi covers your hand with his own and presses your palm to his cheek. You feel it — his answer — in the form of the angry, raised gash marring his perfect face.
“Someone else, my love.”
When another sob wracks your body, he buries his face in your neck and wraps his arms around you again. The softness of his lips as they move against your skin isn’t enough to distract you from the tight, desperate curl of his fingers as he bunches your gown into his fists. You know, now, why he hasn’t come. He was already just as broken as you — there’s no doubt that the pressure from your court to host a royal dinner and pick a new suitor has made things worse.
Tears — not your own — drop to your shoulders as Yoongi kisses along your jawline.
“You need to choose someone else.”
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Yoongi moves like a river flows.
Before his blade ever leaves its sheathe, he bewitches both your suitors and your servants with the strength of his presence — with the strength of a king — and no one in your court is unaffected. The air in the room is charged with static-like energy as they watch him through wide, eager eyes and bated breath.
Even before Yoongi lost his status, he was a gifted swordsman. Now, he's perfected his talent. They're in for a show — he fights like water.
Once he reaches the center of the room, Yoongi reaches up and curls his fingers around the grip of his sword. He turns his head as if looking for you, his queen, but keeps his gaze lowered, fixed to a spot on the floor beside himself. To anyone else, it looks as if he knows his place beneath you. He looks calm, composed, even serene.
You squeeze your armrests tight enough that your grip causes the wood to creak. His place is beside you, so if he thinks he's showing support for your new engagement, if he's waiting for your approval, if he's waiting for an order, then he can keep waiting. Even if he waited a lifetime, he'd never get it. He was supposed to be your equal. He is your equal.
Spurred to action by your silence, Yoongi glances up from the floorboards and unabashedly meets your gaze. The look in his eyes is as piercing as a river frozen over, but you know him too well for it to have any real impact. Yoongi's stoicism acts like a sheet of ice, masking the turmoil raging just beneath the surface.
He's either angry or hurt, but you want him to crack. You want to tear down his walls and break the dam holding back his emotions. You want to get swept up in the strength of his devotion to you just as you used to. You want your lover, your fighter, your king. You want him.
Instead of giving him an order, you say nothing. Nothing at all.
Whatever Yoongi is feeling, he hides it by clenching his jaw and drawing his blade. Lunging forward, he pours ferocity into every swath he cuts through the air and weaves his heart into every slow, deliberate pause. There's a warrior's soul inside him, and there always has been. He strips it bare just for you.
Though you've never seen it perfected like this, you know this ceremonial dance, and you know it well. You've memorized every step and flourish. Even if you blew out every lantern in this hall, painted the room in shadow, and begged the universe to pluck the moon and stars from the sky, you would still be able to see his movements perfectly. You know this performance like you know how to breathe. and you know Yoongi like you know yourself: intuitively.
Yoongi has a warrior's soul, and so do you. If things go as planned, he'll learn that for himself soon enough.
Despite the distractions preoccupying your mind and despite your familiarity with the blade dancer, he still enthralls you in ways your new suitors could never hope to match. You know it, Yoongi knows it, and now another wave of potential kings know it too.
The seat beside you is theirs for the taking, but your heart will never be.
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After Yoongi's performance, you gesture for your handmaidens to resume entertaining your guests. While you don't find them as captivating as your swordsman, they're loyal and undeniably talented in both the musical and social arts. It sends a loud, clear message to your suitors: you are powerful and wealthy enough that even your servants are highly trained.
The goal is for them to create enough of a distraction that you're able to slip away unnoticed, but you can't quite do that yet. There's a fine line between being proud and being outright dismissive, so you need to make smalltalk with each of your prospective suitors before you turn in — it'll smooth out the edges of your plan.
Eager to get on with the night, you don your most beguiling smile and make your way through the room. There will be an opening sooner or later, and when there is, you'll disappear.
Nari and your most trusted handmaidens will handle the rest.
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There's a shrine just outside the palace walls that's nestled into a grove of cherry blossom trees. It's a place of quiet reflection and prayer — a place where you can come to be alone.
Yoongi knows it very well. He has spent long hours on his knees just tracing the carved stone with his fingertips. He likes it here because no one ever bothers him; no one wants to interrupt a man in prayer.
And there is so, so much that Yoongi has to pray on.
You can tell from his posture that he's focused. The same sword he used during the ceremonial dance lies in its sheath at his side, and his shoulders are straight and firm. His hands rest palms down on his thighs as he kneels before the shrine.
Petals rain down on him like snow, plucked from the branches by the chilly spring air. That same breeze seeps through the thin silk of your gown. You shiver as goosebumps prickle your legs but take a step forward anyway.
He knows you're here. Of course he knows you're here. But he does nothing to acknowledge your presence.
"What are you praying for?" you ask, kneeling beside him.
Yoongi doesn't even open his eyes. Only his lips move when he answers, "you. Always you."
"I'm yours, Yoongi. I was promised to you," you remind him, laying your hand over his where it rests on his thigh.
Exasperated that you haven't given up yet, he sighs. You're endangering his life coming to him like this — especially now, the night of your engagement dinner. He could be killed just for touching you. "I pray for your safety, for your happiness, for a long and beautiful life. You're not promised to me anymore."
You count the petals caught in his hair. Their soft pink hue almost matches the scar over his cheek. They neither improve nor sully his appearance to you — they're merely decorations. He has never been anything other than ethereal in your eyes.
"It's not for anyone to choose but me. I have promised myself to you."
Yoongi opens his eyes and looks at you without turning his head. His silence speaks volumes. He's done talking about this, and since you know arguing is futile, you turn to action. His eyes track your movements as you untie the belt around your waist by tugging it free and getting to work at the knots underneath.
"What are you doing? he asks. His tone is irritated, but he can't hide himself from you. The hint of desperation there betrays his true feelings: you're breaking his heart.
"Answering your prayers," you tell him firmly. "I have always been yours. I will always be yours, and yours are the only hands I want to touch me for the rest of my life. You prayed for my safety? Protect me. You prayed for my happiness? It does not exist without you. You prayed for my long, beautiful life? It belongs to you, and without you, I won't live one."
You drag the sides of your gown open, letting them pool around you and hang in the crooks of your elbows. "Please, Yoongi. Take what was promised to you."
Yoongi stares, taking you in. He has seen you all his life; he has seen you at your best, worst, and everything in between, but he has never seen you bare. Not even his dreams of you could've prepared him for all the soft beauty you possess.
His hands curl into fists in his lap as he fights against the instinct to reach out and touch you. His fingers itch to cup the soft curve of your breasts, and his lips tingle with the need to taste you. He longs to drag you closer and feel your skin in his hands — to kiss and love and have you the way he was meant to.
But it's impossible.
"I can't," he says. That hint of desperation overwhelms him, painting his voice with agony. "Your new king would have me killed."
Moving closer, you push his folded legs apart and kneel between them. "Yoongi," you breathe, taking his hands into your own. "You are my king. You, and only you. If the world can't accept you as my king, then we'll make a new one."
His hands are so warm in yours. It's a beautiful comparison to the way he has always softened the sharpest parts of you. They're rough too — calloused and work-worn from their last few months spent with a sword. He lets you lead them towards your body. Closing his eyes shut, he wraps his arms around your waist and drops his forehead against yours.
"Let this be our vow," you whisper, guiding his hand between your thighs. "You are mine," you tell him, reaching for the tie on his robes. "I am yours. Take me, Yoongi. Take me."
Able to feel the heat radiating off of you as he cups your core, he keens a pained sound. It hurts him that you've waited — that you've saved this for him when he can never really have it. Once could never be enough. His heart hammers in his chest as he weighs the feel of you in his hands now against the reality of never feeling you again.
"Yoongi, please," you beg, grabbing at the fabric on his chest. You trace the scar on his face and follow your fingertip up with your lips. "We are wasting precious time. Take me."
All hesitation gone, he stands a moment later. Pulling your robes back over your shoulders, he leads you away from the shrine and deeper into the grove of trees. Petals continue falling all around you, blanketing the ground in white and soft pink as he presses your back against the widest tree he can find.
His lips find yours quickly, and he pours his heart out in kisses, deeper than you've ever felt and more desperate than you've ever imagined. He stops your hands from pulling at his robes.
"There's no time," he whispers, "anyone could be looking for you right now."
"I want to touch you," you whine, trying to slip your hands under the fabric. "I need to feel you."
He shakes his head and buries his face into the crook of your neck. Lips roaming across your skin, he covers you in kisses. Frustrated, you sink your fingers into his hair instead.
Spreading your thighs with his own, Yoongi dips his hand back between them and rubs lightly until you’re rocking against him. "Are you certain?" he asks, ghosting a finger over your entrance.
"I am," you swear, and then he pushes inside you. You squeeze your eyes shut at the intrusion as your walls clamp down around him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, not wanting to hurt you. "Breathe," he reminds you, dragging his finger in and out of you. "Breathe, my love."
You do as he says, and with every smooth pump, the stretch gives way to pleasure. When he slips another finger in alongside the first, you instinctually spread your legs open even wider, and he drops to his knees between them.
"I love you," you whisper, reaching down to touch his face. "I love you."
He doesn't say it back; it hurts too much. Instead, he licks a hot stripe over your slit, dipping his tongue inside you before swirling around your clit. It's hurried and frantic — it only goes on for as long as it takes to have you dripping for him, and then he stands again.
"You taste like honey," he whines, looking near tears. Heartbreak is written in every line on his beautiful face. "I could spend a lifetime on my knees for you."
“And I for you," you tearfully confess. "Please hurry."
It only takes a moment for Yoongi to free his cock from his robes. You barely have time to glance at it before he's lifting your leg over his hip and parting your folds with the tip.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pushing just enough to get it in place. “Breathe,” he reminds you once more.
He pushes in so slowly that you wouldn’t even realize he was moving if it wasn't for the overwhelming stretch you feel. He’s as gentle as he can be, and he keeps his hands on your waist and his lips on your neck.
Your bite your bottom lip in hopes of sparing him from the cries that threaten to spill out. They aren't the kind he wants to hear. This isn't the way you wanted to have him. This should be happening in your marital bed, his skin on your skin, his body over yours. This should be taken slowly and savored. Your tears are borne of the burning between your legs, but they carry the ache in your heart as well.
Keeping his face pressed to your neck, Yoongi stills once he’s buried fully inside you. He ignores your pleading to keep going, to move, to do anything. The threat of being found makes you frantic. He wishes it was only the need to feel him that drove you to beg instead of this agonizing mix of fear and despair.
When he finally moves again, it’s as though a new crack forms in his heart with every thrust of his hips. You are everything to him. He wanted this forever. How could he be so foolish to think that once could ever be enough? He knows unequivocally that he will spend the rest of his life remembering the sweet heat of your body, the wet warmth that pulled him in and held him tight.
“I’m sorry,” he says again when your head drops back with a quiet whimper.
“Look at me,” you whisper. “Please.”
Finally lifting his face to yours, he kisses your lips and quickens his pace.
“Tell me you love me,” you beg, cradling his face in your hands.
“You know I do,” he huffs out, reaching for your other leg. He lifts you higher and wraps your legs around his waist. His breathing is erratic, peppered with quiet grunts and gasps. He nuzzles against you and holds you tightly, as if saying what you ask of him with his body instead of his voice.
Wishing you could tear it from him, you grab at the fabric covering his body. All you want is to claim him with your teeth and lips and tongue. You work them over his neck instead. You can’t have marks from this, but he can. He can wear your bruises like an emblem, press his fingers into them later to feel the ghost of your kiss on his skin.
Hands slipping over your ass, he holds you up and kneads your flesh while he pounds into you. The stretch gives way to delirium as pleasure lights you up like the blaze that stole everything from you. You will take it back.
Hooking your ankles in the small of his back, you pull his hair free and twist it up in your fingers. Your hungry kisses move from his neck to his lips, and he moans so soft against them when you bite, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth.
“You are mine,” you tell him. It was supposed to sound strong, commanding, possessive, but it comes out a weak cry, buried in longing.
“Yours,” he agrees, dropping his head back to your shoulder. You notice the stutter in his rhythm, the swell of his cock inside you, and then you feel the warmth of his cum filling you. He growls, clenching the fabric of your robes in his teeth while he works himself through it.
For a moment after, the only sound is the wind rustling the branches above you. More petals rain down over you and float softly to the ground. Yoongi lowers your legs and wraps his arms around your waist again. His face remains buried against your neck where you can feel wet, hot tears stream from his eyes and run in a perfect rivulet down your collarbone. He shatters the silence with a sob, gripping you tightly in his hands. “I love you,” he weeps. “I love you.”
Your own tears are silent, resolved, determined as you hold onto your king, reminding him of your promise.
“We’ll make a new one.”
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Body spent and emotions running high, you allow yourself to sleep in a little bit later than usual. Eventually Nari comes to collect you from your room. There's an undeniable, palpable energy about her from the moment she enters your room. The air thrums with excitement, and there's a wicked glint in her eye.
Swallowing hard, you quietly watch her sort through your clothes and choose your outfit for the day. Your eyes widen when you see the silks she chose. Jumping to your feet, you cross the room and run your fingers over the fabric. Nari picked out your most expensive pieces, which can only mean one thing.
"Have you found me a husband?" you ask, lips slightly parted as you stare at her in awe.
Nari dips her head, nodding deeply. "We have, your highness. In fact, based on the details you provided us, I think we've found a perfect match."
Letting go of the gown, you clasp your hands over hers. Nari lets out a startled gasp when you drag her forward. Excited, she laces her fingers with yours and giggles.
"Lord Shiwoo," she answers, smiling like a shark as she squeezes your hands. As Yoongi's orphaned cousin, the Min family raised her for most of her life, and while she knew loss from before, her uncle's death has made her intimately familiar with it. As your best friend and lady-in-waiting, she might be the only person besides Yoongi who truly understands what you've endured.
"You're certain?"
Nari nods. "After last night, it's clear that Lord Shiwoo should be your husband. I think he'll make you very happy. His proposal still stands."
You match her smile with one of your own and snatch the gown off the table. "Then let's hurry and gather everyone into the main hall," you say. "We have a very important announcement to make."
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A month has passed since you first announced your engagement to Lord Shiwoo. In the hopes of capitalizing on every second since, you've poured every ounce of energy you have into playing the doting, blushing bride for him and the rest of the world to see. Your performance is so convincing, in fact, that Yoongi won't even meet your gaze whenever you pass him by. You hope he knows the truth — that you're doing all of this for him. You're afraid that by the time your plan finally comes to fruition, by the time you've finally secured a future with your king, there won't be any pieces of his heart left to piece together. But you can't let yourself fret on that for long; you simply don't have enough time to waste on it.
So you bury yourself in making arrangements for the wedding. You send hand-written invitations to hundreds of guests. You work closely with your chefs to create the courses for the royal banquet. You personally labor over wedding gown designs with your seamstress. You even plan an entire festival's worth of celebrations for your kingdom so that even the common folk can, in some way, partake in your special day. You've worked tirelessly to ensure that your wedding is one for the history books.
Of course, it's all a front to disguise what you've really been up to. There are countless pawns you've put in place, and all of them need to perform perfectly to ensure your success. You're exhausted and terrified but need to hold out for just a little bit longer.
For him, no task is too difficult. For him, no price is too high. For him, you can endure. For him. It's all for him.
You'll be with him soon enough.
That's the only thought that gets you through.
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There are no happy tears on the morning of your wedding. The tears you shed are done in secret or alone in your room with Nari. She doesn’t ask for an explanation as she helps you into your bridal robes — she doesn’t need one. By the time you meet Shiwoo for your ceremony, your tears have dried. Only you and Nari know that the smile you wear is a mask.
Your heart breaks as you light your unity candle and promise to be a fair and just queen with Shiwoo at your side. The vows you make taste like ash in your mouth, and Shiwoo’s kiss is even worse.
Is Yoongi somewhere in the hall? Is he aching how you’re aching? Is the anger you feel that he isn’t the one beside you matched by his own fiery rage? It should have been him. It should have been him! But you are far past that now… this is the first step. Yoongi will be in your arms come sunrise, and by then, not even the heavens themselves will be able to tear you apart.
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When evening comes, you’re meant to be preparing to consummate your marriage. Instead, you’re finalizing the details of your plan. Nari shakes her head when you approach your chamber doors. Checking that the halls are empty, she leads you away.
“Your bed is currently occupied,” she says, squeezing your hand tight as she leads you towards the end of the hall. “I’ll head for the stables now. You already know where you’ll find your king.”
Yoongi kneels before the shrine in a full bow with his forehead pressed to the stone ground. It’s impossible to miss the way his shoulders shake — the way his fingers claw against stone.
“Yoongi,” you whisper, quickly kneeling beside him. “Get up. We have to go.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he tells you, ignoring your urgency as he slowly rises. “Go to your king.”
“I am with my king,” you say with absolute conviction.
“Shiwoo is your king,” he insists, swiping angrily at the tears that roll down his cheeks. “Go to him.”
You shake your head, grabbing Yoongi’s hands and pulling him into the grove of cherry trees with you. The blossoms are gone now, and sweet ripe fruit has taken their place. “Shiwoo is a cruel, wicked man. I chose him for a reason.”
Feeling sick to his stomach at the idea of you choosing someone who would be cruel to you, Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Are you crazy?” he growls, masking his fear for you with anger, but you know him better than that. His body may as well be made of glass for how clearly you can see through to the heart of him.
“We are leaving here together tonight, and we are never looking back.”
“You need to go back inside and forget me, Y/N. You’re talking nonsense.” He pulls his hands from yours, but you grab them back immediately.
“Shiwoo attacked your kingdom. Shiwoo had it burned to the ground.” You give him a moment to let that sink in. Rage flashes in his eyes as he relives the memories. “Imagine how our people would riot if they found out he killed us both too.”
“What are you saying?” he whispers, finally understanding the weight of this moment.
“I’m saying that there are two very guilty bodies wearing our clothes in my bed right now: an arsonist and an archer. The moment we leave, they’ll be set ablaze, and no one but you, Nari, and I will ever know the truth. The rest of the world will think a mad king found his new bride in bed with her lover and killed them both is a jealous rage. A kingdom will fall, someone else will be there to raise a new one, and you and I will finally be free.”
Stunned, furious, and terrified, Yoongi stares at you.
“We don’t have time,” you tell him as you tug him along the stone wall until you reach the door you’re looking for. He goes willingly, letting you lead him forward in silence. The wind hits you hard when you pull the door open. Nari waits for you on the other side with a black horse and as much money, food, and plain clothes as she could carry packed on its saddle.
Yoongi spins you around when you move to climb on the horse’s back. “Is this our new world?” he asks, cupping your face in his hands.
You answer him with a kiss that bears all the love you’d held back since he last touched you.
Nari slips back through the door as you ride off. When you look back at your palace, you can see the fire burning through your bedroom window. In the darkness, it glows like the sun; somehow it’s even more brilliant than the flaming arrows you mistook for shooting stars.
Revenge burns brighter and more beautifully than you ever could’ve imagined.
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Far, far away from the horrors of your past lies a tiny village. Your kingdom has transformed from towering stone walls into a quaint, tidy farm. Instead of a crown, your king wears a simple straw hat, and the only weapon he wields is a scythe. You don’t miss his long, blond hair as much as you thought you would; in fact, you’ve grown quite fond of the short, jet-black locks that frame his beautiful face. Enough time has passed that his scar has started to fade.
With harvest coming, Yoongi has worked himself to the bone to prepare. You want to beckon him closer, but he looks so beautiful standing in the fields, bathed in a lovely orange glow as the sun sets, that it steals your breath away.
“Come inside,” you finally manage to call. “It’s late, and I miss my beloved’s company.”
Yoongi comes to you slowly and presses a gentle kiss to your lips and lays a warm hand on the swell of your stomach. You can feel the heat of his palm radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. Seeming to think better of his actions, he leans down instead and kisses your belly before leading the way inside. Behind him, the sun drops below the horizon in a blaze of golden light, and it becomes clear that this isn’t the life or kingdom you were promised.
It’s even better.
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main masterlist | yoongi masterlist
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A/N: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging so that other people can see/read it too. I would love it if you send a message (reply or ask box - I keep anon on if you’re shy!) too. I love to know what parts stood out to you, what you felt, etc. @athenakyle​ I hope you like the banner, moodboard, and fic! 
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© fortunexkookie, 2019 - 2020. Do not copy, repost, or modify. Do not translate without permission. Banner and moodboard by @stutterfly​.
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fantasybangtan · 7 months ago
something to hold on to (myg)
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❦ word count. 17.7k ❦ genre. parent fic, fluff, angst, a bit of boob action ❦ warnings. illness, mention of hospitalisation, mention of minor character death, yoongi is kind of a dick sometimes, accidental(?) flashing ❦ summary. it’s not that you don’t like your job. on the contrary, reading bedtime stories to a certified little princess is something you still can’t believe you get paid to do. it’s just that between all the school runs, snow days and secret second hot chocolates before bed, you may fallen a little too hard for those dimpled cheeks and gummy smiles.... worse still, you’ve fallen for her father too.  ❦ a/n. merry christmas everyone!! this fic is a collaboration with the wonderful @underthejoon​ @kpopfanfictrash​ @suga-kookiemonster​ @junghelioseok​ @bendthekneetobangtan​ @lamourche​ and @hobidreams​. it’s late, lame and cheesy (and probably under-edited) but I like it that way. I hope you’re all having a fantastic holiday, wherever you may be <3 
“...Can we talk?”
For the first time since blustering in through the front door, Yoongi actually stops to spare you a glance.
You’re standing in the entryway in a pair of high waisted jeans and a peach coloured blouse, hands clasped behind your back and a nervous expression on your face. If he notices your outfit is new, he doesn’t pass comment on it. He doesn’t mention the fact that you’re wearing makeup today either, nor that you seem to have taken a little more time with your hair than usual. Not that you’d expected him to. Your employer isn’t well known for giving compliments, much less understanding when a woman is trying to impress him. Yoongi probably wouldn’t recognise flirting if it hit him in the face with a brick. 
His face is impassive as ever when he drops his keys into the bowl with a shrug. “Sure. There’s actually something I wanted to discuss with you too.”
You nod, fiddling anxiously with his hands as he slips off the snow-smattered trench coat to reveal the suit jacket beneath. He looks tired this evening; more so than usual if the dark bags under his eyes are anything to go by. Even on his days off Yoongi works like a tank, often letting himself get so wrapped up in getting everything done he forgets to eat meals. It’s a coping strategy, of course - one that always tends to get a little out of hand when this time of year rolls around. 
Yoongi turns back to you, loosening the knot of his tie with a ringed finger. He raises his eyebrows.
You follow him through into the heart of the penthouse: a masterpiece of white granite and gold strip lights. The room is utterly spotless save for the mug of freshly-brewed tea that sits waiting on the island, steam spiralling upwards towards the vaulted ceiling. 
“Here,” you say, nudging it towards him. It’s a comfortable ritual between you at this point. Yoongi needs a hit of caffeine if he’s going to make it to dinner without taking his work stress out on whoever’s unfortunate enough to be in the room with him, but following a series of chest pains a few months ago, his doctor put a strict ban on drinking coffee past 7pm. Replacing the habit with a cup of white tea in the evening was your compromise. 
Yoongi takes it with a small nod of gratitude, lowering himself onto the bar stool. His eyes flutter closed for a moment when he takes a sip, and your chest feels warm inside when the tension visibly starts to drain from his shoulders. The man is always so tightly wound. It’s really no wonder he suffers from back pain, what with all the stress he carries around with him. You’ve been trying to convince him to see an osteopath, but Yoongi insists there’s only so much ‘voodoo medicine’ he can bring himself to splash out on per month, and the December quota was already filled by the VapoRub you made him buy for his blocked sinuses. 
He places the mug down with a quiet sigh. 
“How was she today?”
You snap out of your reverie, meeting his expectant gaze. 
“She was wonderful,” you say honestly. “Coach said he’s really proud of how hard she’s been practicing. Her toe double toe loop has come on leaps and bounds these past few weeks.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“The jumpy spinny thing,” you clarify.
“Ahh. So that’s what it’s called.”
A fond smile tugs at your lips. Though Yoongi never misses an opportunity to support his daughter on the ice, the ins-and-outs of the sport are often lost on him. Surprisingly, he’s far more adept at the hair and costume side of things than he is at giving his little girl feedback on her actual performances. Ever since the day her first ever coach had pulled him aside to tell him Dee had ‘a god given gift’ that needed to be nurtured, he’s much preferred to leave such things to the professionals. 
“So.” Yoongi laces his fingers atop the table. Though you remain standing, you can’t help but feel that you’ve entered in on one of his business meetings. He looks you up and down. “Do you want to go first or shall I?”
“Oh -” All at once the nerves return full-force, fluttering away in your stomach like a flock of migrating birds. You instinctively drop your gaze to the floor when you feel your neck heating up. “Y-you can start.”
Unsurprisingly, Yoongi doesn’t so much as bat an eyelid at your odd behaviour, and you wonder how on earth Mina thought you could do this. You wonder how you -believed- her. Holding a conversation with your employer without taking offense to his social tactlessness was hard enough, especially before you understood Yoongi’s deadpan honesty is something he genuinely doesn’t know how to reign in. But admitting you have feelings for him? 
That was a whole other kettle of fish.
“I got a call from Dee’s grandmother today,” he says, drawing your attention back to him once again.
You raise your eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Her grandpa’s been taken into hospital with a shattered hip.”
Your eyes go wide. “Oh my god, is he alright?!”
Yoongi waves off your concern, cringing slightly at the shrillness of your tone. “He’s totally fine. He underwent surgery last night and he’s stable,” he eyes you across the island. “...It does mean they won’t be able to have Dee for the run-up to Christmas though.”
As your panic ebbs, you think you catch a glimpse of something softer beneath Yoongi’s default unmoved expression. He’s not only tired, you realise, but exhausted, worn thin by the constant pressure he keeps himself under. It takes everything in you not to close the space between you and wrap your arms around him. You know he’ll only burn himself out if he carries on like this, and the thought makes your heart ache. 
“I know it’s a big ask,” he continues with a weary exhale, scrubbing a hand down his face, “but it’s too late to cancel on this work trip. Flights to Berlin are fully booked up until late January, and the company we’re doing business with has made it abundantly clear they plan to proceed with or without our input. I’d pay you overtime of course. Whatever works best for you. I just need someone to sit here for a few days and make sure my daughter doesn’t burn the apartment down while I’m gone.”
“Yoongi,” you say quietly, shushing him with a gentle hand atop his wrist. He stares down at the point of contact, and you hope to god he can’t hear the way your pulse is going crazy. “You know I’d be happy to do it.”
Tentatively, he meets your eyes. “Are you sure? Your family -”
“Can manage a few more days without me. Looking after Dee is never a burden. She’s…” you cut yourself off, unable to hold his gaze. “She’s the best thing in my life.”
It’s not a lie. But perhaps it’s only a half-truth. The other best thing is sitting right opposite you, after all. 
Yoongi has never been the type to smile much. He’s stoic and blunt, and doesn’t know when to loosen up when the time calls for it - but he never says anything he doesn’t mean. That’s why it makes your heart feel so full when he says a soft, “Thank you, Y/N. You’re really helping me out here.”
You extract your fingers from his wrist, suddenly too shy to maintain the proximity between you. 
“Don’t mention it,” you cough.
Completely oblivious, Yoongi picks up his mug again. “You wanted to talk to me about something too?”
“Oh, uh… well. I was just -” You scramble for the right words, your mind drawing a complete blank beneath the weight of his gaze. 
It wasn’t like you’d come unprepared. You’d planned this whole thing out with Mina over the weekend, even going so far as to roleplay the possible outcomes of your confession (a necessity when it comes to Yoongi, because the man has absolutely zero concept of letting someone down gently). You’d practiced exactly what you wanted to say several times over in the car before heading over to pick up Dee, and all the whole way back to the penthouse you were convinced you had it down pat. 
Right up until Yoongi walked through the door, that is.
With the air stolen from your lungs just looking at him, your confidence crumbles, and the fact that he’s clearly had a shit day doesn’t help any. The harder you will yourself to form a coherent sentence, the more your tongue refuses to do so. 
“I-It’s not important,” you manage eventually.
Yoongi quirks a sceptical eyebrow at you. “Are you sure?”
You pause, then jerk your chin in a nod. 
“I’m sure.”
Yoongi doesn’t push it. 
“Okay then.” He finishes off the last dregs of his tea and rises to a stand. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to -”
“I know I don’t.” He crosses over to the clothing hooks and grabs your jacket, holding it out to you. “Put this on. I need to check in on Dee first.”
Dazedly, there’s little else you can do but follow his instructions. It’s not an uncommon occurrence for Yoongi to see you through the parking lot outside his place, especially during the winter months when it’s dark out, but the gesture still never fails to make you giddy.
Next time, you say to yourself firmly when he returns, holding open the front door for you to slip out first. Next time, I’ll tell him.
Last Year
You slide your feet into your heeled boots, wincing at the way your toes pinch together inside. 
It’s a Saturday evening - one you’d normally spend watching curled up on the couch with a takeaway in your lap or running yourself a nice hot bath, had Mina not spent the better half of the week trying to convince you to go on a date with the IT guy from her office - and between running slightly late and the shot of Dutch courage you definitely shouldn’t have taken ten minutes ago, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself up in knots. 
“You need to get out more,” your friend insists. “It’s been literal years since you last had fun.”
You open your mouth to correct her but she fixes you with a warning glare before you can say anything. 
“Fun in the form of Hula Fit and pottery class don’t count, Y/N. And you should probably save the conversation about your weird hobbies until at least the third date. Preferably after sex too, or your chances of getting any will be slim to none.”
You sink down in your chair, scowling at her over the top of your ice cream cup. 
“I still have fun,” you mutter. “I just have a lot on my plate right now. This new job is taking up a lot of my time, and I’m really not interested in getting fired before the trial period is up.”
“Y/N, you pick a rich couple’s kid up from skate club five times a week, make her pasta and watch cartoons until bedtime,” Mina snorts. “What the hell could go wrong?”
“First of all Mr Min is a single father,” you say, pointing your plastic spoon at her accusingly, “and second of all, you haven’t met the guy. If you had, you’d understand why I’m so on edge.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s freaking terrifying, Mi!” You throw your hands up in the air to emphasise your point. “He barely spoke in my interview, just sat there giving me the dead eyes while his assistant asked all the questions! And he did exactly the same thing the first time I met his daughter. Just stood in the corner of the living room and watched, like he was assessing my ability to play with her or something.” 
“Well he must have liked what he saw, right? You got the job.”
“Barely. Apparently when he called the agency to let them know I was hired, he made a point of saying it was only because the other girl he’d been speaking with came down with pneumonia and he needed someone ASAP.” You pout sullenly, stabbing at your ice cream. “And since then he’s taken every opportunity to point out when I’m doing something wrong.”
“Maybe you’re just taking it too personally? That’s his little girl after all. He probably just wants to make sure she’s in safe hands.”
“I guess… I just wish he wasn’t so blunt about it,” you sigh. “Mostly I just feel sorry for Dee. I don’t get the chance to see them interact often because he usually gets home after her bedtime, but he doesn’t strike me like the type of dad who’s particularly involved, you know? She must only see him a couple of days a week.” You take another spoonful of ice cream, your gaze turning contemplative. “She must have one hell of a mother, wherever she is. I can’t think of any other way she could’ve turned out to be such a good egg, given that her father’s so emotionally constipated.”
“Okay, that’s it.” Mina lifts a hand to stop you from going on. “You think way too much about other people’s problems, you know that? It’s depressing. You need to stop getting stressed about the things you can’t change, and start focussing on the stuff you can.”
“Such as?”
“Such as your non-existent dating life.” She pulls her phone out and starts typing. “I’m sending you Jungkook’s number, and you will text him this week. Understood?”
Your phone vibrates in your back pocket.
“Mina -”
“Nope.” She holds up a finger. “I’m not backing down this time. Not until you agree to put yourself first for once.”
“...Fine,” you sigh eventually, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “I’ll text him. But I’m not promising anything more, okay?”
Though it physically pains you to admit it, Mina was right to an extent. You haven’t so much as given a guy your number in the past year, let alone one as hot as in the picture she’d showed you. Zipping up the tiny black skirt you’d borrowed from her closet, you realise with a sense of looming dread that the odds of making a fool of yourself tonight are decidedly not in your favour.
“Jungkook is a gentleman,” you recall her telling you, sipping daintily at her bubble tea. “He definitely doesn’t put out on the first date. Buuut -” she’d lifted a finger before you could chime in. “that does not mean you get the green light to wear your granny panties.”
“I don’t see why not. They’re comfortable and non-restrictive.”
“A girl should always wear her best lingerie when it counts, Y/N.”
“Says who?”
“Oscar de La Renta.”
“Ha, right. And what would he know about women’s underwear?”
She fixes you with a deadpan look. “Are you literally kidding me right now.”
“Mina, if Jungkook’s not going to see it then what’s even the point?” you mumble through a mouthful of ice cream, pointing the spoon at her to emphasise your point. “I’m not just gonna slice myself in half for nothing.”
If it were possible, you’re fairly certain Mina’s eyes roll all the way back into the back of her skull.
“It’s not for him, you loser, it’s for you. Sexy underwear is a confidence booster!” 
“It’s also expensive and a pain in the ass to move around in. Quite literally.” You tilt your plastic cup in an effort to dig out the last of the chocolate chips, but Mina reaches across to pluck the spoon from your fingers. “Wha-? Hey!”
“If you think I’m letting you pull a Bridget Jones on your first date in twelve months, you are sorely mistaken,” she says resolutely, ignoring your sullen expression. She raises a hand to flag down the server, muttering under her breath, “Clearly we have more work to do than I anticipated.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m taking you to Silky Fit, and we’re not leaving until you’ve picked something out,” she clarifies, pulling her purse out when the waiter came over with the bill. 
After sparing you a second glance, her expression softens somewhat. She tilts her head and sighs fondly at you, the same way someone might sigh at a helpless child, or a puppy covered from head to toe in mud after playing in the garden. 
“You have ice cream on your chin, babe,” she says, tossing a balled up napkin your way.
And thus, here you are a week later, teetering around your apartment in an outfit that’s two sizes smaller than anything you’d usually opt to wear, the string of your new thong pulling uncomfortably tight between your ass cheeks. 
Admittedly, glancing at yourself in the mirror before slipping your blouse on had left you feeling pleasantly flushed. Even despite the minor physical discomfort, Mina hadn’t been lying about the confidence boost. Your body looked good. The colour of the set you’d picked out provided a pretty contrast against your skin, and the bra had just the right amount of upward push to make your breasts look full and perky in their cups. Though ‘sexy’ was never typically a word you’d thought to associate with yourself, turning from side to side in the mirror almost had you reconsidering. 
Makeup done and hair styled into a loose updo, you snap a quick picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror, feeling surprisingly content with the end result.
Y/N: [image.png]
Y/N: all good ???
Despite being at a formal dinner with her boss and some company associates, it takes less than a minute for your friend to respond. You snort when an image of her disgruntled face comes through, clearly shot from beneath the restaurant table. 
Mina: stop trying to sext me ?? I don’t have time for this right now
Y/N: desperate times. need validation :(
Mina: you look so good I could eat you
Mina: ...are you wearing them?👀
You smile at your phone. Feeling emboldened by her praise, you pull up your camera again, this time shooting a quick video in which you turn slowly so she could see the full effect of your outfit. At the very end you tug your blouse to the side a little, flashing just the top of your lace bra with a comically over-exaggerated wink. 
Y/N: video.mp4 🤫
Y/N: enjoy your night baby x
Your taxi calls shortly afterwards to let you know they’re downstairs. 
Despite how busy the restaurant is tonight, it isn’t hard to spot your date. 
Jungkook is big. Far bigger than you’d imagined the stereotypical nerdy tech guy to be. He practically dwarfs you when he stands up to shake your hand, and you feel positively giddy when he rounds the table to pull your chair out for you. He even has the presence of mind to catch you when you inevitably stumbled over your heels on the way down, a gentle hand on your elbow stopping you from face planting in front of the entire establishment. 
“Careful there,” he murmurs, the amused smile on his face causing your neck to prickle with welcome heat. “You almost fell for me.”
When you let out a loud snort in response, clapping a hand over your mouth as a second too late to catch the unattractive sound, Jungkook doesn’t even bat an eyelid - just proceeds to tuck your chair in behind you and call the waiter over to take your drinks orders. You can’t help but wonder if Mina warned him about you beforehand. 
All in all, the date gets off to a good start. You’re relieved to learn that Jungkook is smooth enough for the both of you, seamlessly filling any lulls in the conversation before things have a chance to turn awkward. What’s more, he seems genuinely interested in learning more about you, listening attentively when you explain how you’re currently studying part time for your masters in education whilst nannying on the side. You flush with warmth when he praises your ambition. 
“It must be hard, juggling work with your studies,” he remarks. “It’s awesome that you’re so committed.”
“It’s not that impressive really,” you say, though your whole body is practically aglow from all the compliments. “Truth be known, the agency I work with deals primarily with parents from wealthy areas of the city, so most of us get paid a bit more than your average sitter would. It almost feels like cheating, really.”
“Oh?” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, raising his wine glass to his lips. “Any celebrities on your contact list so far?”
“Sadly not. I’m only two weeks into my first job so far, and my current employer flies a little lower under the radar than most rich people.”
“A businessman then,” Jungkook nods.
“Precisely. He used to run a tech company, which I think is how he made the majority of his wealth. Nowadays he just does marketing stuff though.”
“A tech company, huh?” Jungkook presses. “Would I have heard of him?” 
To your alarm, he almost spits out his wine when the name Min Yoongi comes out your mouth.  
“Min? As in Min Enterprises?!” he sputters. 
You’re quick to fill him a glass of water, which he accepts gratefully. “That’s the one. You know him?”
“Sure I do,” he says between gulps. “We use literally all of his anti-virus software at work. The guy’s a genius.”
You raise your eyebrows curiously. “Really? The woman from my agency told me his tech company closed years ago. I don’t know much about this stuff, but I would have thought any software they produced would be a little outdated by now...”
Jungkook snorts in amusement. “Closed down is one way of putting it.”
“What do you mean?”
“His programme was good. So good that none of the other tech giants compete with it,” Jungkook explains once his eyes have stopped watering. “Come 2010, Microsoft bit the bullet and bought him out for around fifteen million. They’ve been developing and expanding on his work ever since.”
“Fifteen million?” Your eyebrows shot up towards your hairline. “Christ! No wonder his apartment looks like the Louvre.” 
“I bet it does,” Jungkook laughs. “I’d kill to see what your Christmas bonus looks like.”
It certainly explains a lot, you think to yourself. Particularly Yoongi’s attitude. You’ve seen The Social Network, after all, as painstakingly boring as it may have been. Those matrix-minded, Zuckerberg type kids always grow up to be emotionally stunted. It’s like a trade-off they make with God for getting to be smarter than ninety-nine per cent of the human population. 
When the waiter comes back to whisk away your starter plates, you momentarily excuse yourself to go to the bathroom to check your teeth for wayward broccoli. After giving yourself the all clear, you fix your lipstick and pull your phone out to let Mina know everything’s going well. 
You’re surprised to discover you already have three new messages from her.
Mina: helloooooo ??
Mina: man. she goes on ONE date and already I’ve been dropped
Mina: after all I’ve done for you 😭
You furrow your brows in confusion, scrolling up in the chat. Your bewilderment only increases when you discover Mina’s previous texts have, indeed, gone unanswered. Your video clip is nowhere to be found, and you wonder absently if the Wi-Fi back at your apartment is screwing you over again.
No sooner have you exited the chat that another text comes through, this time from a different number.
We need to talk.
Your heart abruptly flatlines. 
Several things click at once after that, the first being that clearly, it was not Mina’s name you had clicked on to send that video to. 
With shaking hands you open up the chat with your employer, utterly horrified when all your worst nightmares are confirmed at once. 
There, staring back up at you from beneath a message asking if Dee is allergic to band aids, is your cleavage. 
Enjoy your night baby, is what you’d said to Mr Min afterwards. 
Mr Min, who could slice a grown man’s confidence to ribbons with little more than a look. 
Mr Min, your boss of merely two weeks. 
“Fuck!” you hiss, pressing the call button and bringing the phone to your ear. “Oh fucking, fucking fuck…”
Your employer picks up on the second ring. You suck in a shaky breath before speaking. 
“Sir, I -”
“Miss L/N.” 
His voice is ice cold. So cold that the sound alone sound has your apology catching in your throat. 
Not for the first time since you met him, you’re reminded of exactly why Yoongi is so revered and respected among those in the business world. You can’t imagine what it would be like to have him speak your name like that in a boardroom full of men in suits, but you’re pretty sure any shred of self-confidence you had would be all but crushed beneath the toe of his designer oxfords if he so desired. In all honesty, you’d probably prefer it if he were yelling at you. At least if he raised his voice, you wouldn’t be gripping the faucet right now for fear your knees might buckle beneath you.
Somewhere on the other end of the line, a door slams shut like Yoongi is just getting in after a long day. Or perhaps he’s taking this conversation somewhere more private. Either possibility has your stomach churning with anxiety. 
“What is wrong with you?” he hisses under his breath.
You swear you’ve never wanted the floor to swallow you up so badly as you do in this moment.
Screwing your eyes shut, you force yourself to respond. 
“Sir, I can’t tell you how completely sorry I am… th-the video was meant for someone else. I would never be so bold as to -”
“You do realise I’m entrusting my child to you?”
Immediately, your mouth snaps shut. The sensation that you’ve just been slapped across the face takes you by complete surprise.
It takes a few seconds for your brain to play catch up with what Yoongi just said, but when the words finally compute, you feel -hurt-. The suggestion that your personal life might impact on your ability to take care of Yoongi’s daughter stings like hell, and for all his lacking interpersonal skills, your employer didn’t strike you as the type to draw such conclusions until now. The notion doesn’t sit well with you at all. 
Swallowing tightly, you place a hand over your abdomen to ground yourself.
“I really am sorry, Mr Min,” you repeat quietly. “It was an accident. I never intended to put you in an uncomfortable position, and I promise it won’t happen again.”
On the other end of the line, Yoongi is quiet for a moment. 
You wonder if he could hear the slight tremble in your voice. If he can sense the fact that he just squashed your self-confidence beneath his thumb like it was nothing. 
“Make sure it doesn’t,” he mutters eventually. Then, after another short pause, “I’ll see you on Monday.” 
Before you can so much as thank him for not threatening to report you to the agency, you’re met with the tell-tale click of your employer placing the phone down on you, leaving you with an embarrassed lump in your throat and bottom lip wobbling with the threat of tears. 
As could probably be predicted, your date with Jungkook goes rapidly downhill from there. Apparently unable to enjoy a good thing without utterly humiliating yourself along the way, you feel sick to your stomach with anxiety for the remainder of the evening. You barely even touch your dessert, and when Jungkook walks you to your cab half an hour later, you brush him off with a forced smile and a handshake, already having accepted the fact that he wouldn’t want to see you again.
Only when you’re in the back of the cab and heading home do you allow the first quiet tears to fall.
Showing up to work the following Monday is one of the toughest things you’ve ever done.
Even Dee seems to notice something is off when you pick her up from practice. Shrewd as she is, she eventually settles for humming along to the radio when she realises you’re in no mood to talk. Try as you might, you can’t stop replaying her father’s words to you on the phone, and despite Mina’s insistence that he’s an unforgiving prick, a small part of you still wonders if he’s right… Are you even fit to look after a kid? Are you fit to do -anything- besides making a fool of yourself?
To make things worse, Yoongi arrives home early that evening. 
As nervous as you are to see him again, you can’t help but be momentarily distracted by the way he hoists Dee up onto his hip to greet her. It’s not that he’s smiling or anything - such an expression would probably look wrong on him, anyway - but the way he cradles the back of her head seems strangely affectionate for a man like him.
“You’re getting heavy,” he murmurs, pausing to sniff her damp curls. His eyebrows furrow slightly. “And you smell different.”
“Y/N put lime jelly in my bath,” his daughter responds in a sleepy voice, her voice muffled against his lapel. “The water turned green like a skeptic tank.”
“Septic tank,” Yoongi corrects quietly. Though his face remains as expressionless as ever, you don’t miss the way his aura grows soft around her - a detail he himself probably doesn’t even recognise. “Sounds like you two had fun.”
His eyes lock with yours across the living room and you drop your gaze immediately, your body flushing with heat like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t. 
“S-sorry,” you blurt reflexively, already moving to grab your satchel. “I didn’t realise you were coming home early. Let me just pack up my stuff -”
“Y/N.” Yoongi’s voice stops you in your tracks. “Can I speak with you for a second?”
Standing stock still like a deer in the headlights, a sense of impending doom floods through you. This is it. Clearly Yoongi’s thought it over and decided to fire you after all. And the worst thing is you couldn’t even blame him! How could he possibly see you as a professional again after witnessing you running your tongue over your top teeth like a hungry carnivore? You haven’t even had the chance to explain it was -ironic.-
“Sure,” you squeak, torn between accepting your fate and grovelling on your knees for forgiveness. Who the hell was going to hire the babysitter who got fired from her first job during the trial period? For sending -provocative images- no less!
Carefully, Yoongi sets Dee down on the floor again, nodding in the direction of her room. 
“Why don’t you go pick out a bedtime story?” he says.
His daughter peers up at him like he’s just sprouted a second head. 
“You’re going to read to me?”
“No, I’m going to hit you over the head with it.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Obviously I’m going to read to you.”
Dee doesn’t look convinced. She folds her arms over her chest. 
“Alice in Wonderland?”
“That book is long as hell, Dee. I’ll read two chapters.”
“With the voices?”
“What am I, a performing monkey? Get out of here before I change my mind, kid.”
Dee huffs, clearly dissatisfied. Nonetheless, she trudges off to her room, her ringlets bouncing as she goes.
The living room falls uncomfortably quiet again once it’s just you and Yoongi. 
You fiddle idly with your hands, unsure of where to look. The embarrassment of the situation hits you all over again when you accidentally replay the video in your mind, and despite the fact that you’re wearing two layers already, you can’t help but cross your arms protectively over your chest. 
As if sensing your discomfort, Yoongi clears his throat.
“May I offer you a drink?”
You pause. It’s not quite what you’d expected, but then again, rich people are weird. Maybe it’s customary to send your incompetent employees on their way with a glass of Chateau Petrus. Having skipped out on the whole making-millions-of-dollars-in-your-early-twenties thing, you probably wouldn’t know.
“I’m fine,” you manage weakly, shaking your head. “Thank you, sir.”
Yoongi gestures towards the couches. “Shall we sit then?”
You gnaw at your lip anxiously. “... I think that depends.”
“Whether you’re going to fire me.” You force yourself to look up. “With all due respect, Mr Min, I’d rather just shake hands and go. I’m finding it hard enough to look you in the eye right now as it is.”
Yoongi blinks. Your words hang heavy in the air between you. 
“Miss L/N,” he says slowly, clearly taken aback by your forwardness. “If I wanted to fire you, I would have done so already.”
You open your mouth, then abruptly close it again. Your eyebrows tug together in confusion. 
“So you... aren’t?”
“Of course I’m not.” Yoongi shakes his head as if the notion alone is utterly ridiculous to him. “I only held you back tonight because I wanted to -” 
He cuts himself off suddenly, like there’s a physical barrier stopping the words from coming out. Then with a tired sigh, he leans back against the sideboard, carding his ringed fingers back through his hair. 
“Because I wanted to apologise,” he finishes.
If possible, your eyes grow even wider than before.
“...Huh?” is all you can manage.
“I shouldn’t have been so hard on you,” Yoongi clarifies simply. “I was out of line. I had no business speaking to you how I did.”
“Oh, n-no Mr Min,” you scramble for words, already raising your hands to stop him from going on. “Please don’t say that. What happened on Saturday was totally my fault. That message was -”
“A harmless accident,” he cuts in gently, and you pause at the unfamiliarity in his tone. “Please rest assured that I was the asshole in that situation, Y/N, not you.”
Lips parted softly, you gape at him from across the dimly lit living room. It’s beyond strange hearing such a formidable man issue such a humble apology, and you had absolutely no idea how to respond. 
Seeming to mistake your silence as a prompt for further explanation, Yoongi exhales heavily through his nose, his gaze momentarily dropping to his feet.
“I tend to get a little… short-fused around this time of year,” he says. “I lost Dee’s mother in early December. Yesterday was the four-year anniversary of her death.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. 
Of course, you knew there was a woman involved at some point. And in more than just an oven-for-the-bun kind of way, if the drawings on the fridge were anything to go by. But up until now, you’d assumed the two of them had simply parted ways - that she lived a few neighbourhoods away, and Dee visited her every other weekend. To learn that her absence is something far more permanent than that - to witness that purple stick-woman transform into a real, vibrant image in your mind’s eye - is something else entirely, and a thousand possibilities flash through your imagination at shutter speed. You see someone who took care of Dee when she was sick. Someone who encouraged her husband to pursue his goals and start up his own company. A mother and a wife, with hobbies and dreams and a presence that probably bled itself into every cranny of the apartment before Yoongi had stripped it bare in her wake. 
Someone who probably would have been utterly furious at you for all the bold assumptions you’ve made about him so far.
You wonder who the man standing before you might have been, had he not had the person he loved most in the world torn from him just as they were starting a life together. All at once, your gut burns with shame.
“Mr Min...” you say, your voice barely loud enough to make the distance between you. “I’m so sorry.”
Yoongi is quick to shake his head. “Don’t be,” he says, his tone kind but firm. “I’m a grown man. My grief is no excuse to treat people poorly. If I could take back what I said that night I would, but when your message came through it -”  He abruptly stops talking. 
If you didn’t know better, you’d think there was a hint of a blush on his cheeks. 
“It caught me off guard,” he finishes eventually, inclining his head in a small bow. “Please accept my apologies.” 
Feeling a little winded by the whole ordeal, there’s little else you can do but return his gesture, stooping low with your hands on your thighs. “Of course,” you manage. “Please, consider it forgotten, sir.”
Yoongi straightens up with a nod. His dark eyes skim over you with an unreadable expression.
“Just for the record,” he adds tentatively, “I never would have fired you for something like that. I’m afraid my daughter is already far too attached to you.”
You flushed at the sentiment, embarrassed for reasons you couldn’t quite place. “I highly doubt that’s true,” you mumble, glancing downward. “I’ve only been here two weeks.”
“On the contrary, there’s a bag of Christmas peppermint creams in the fridge that she made you at after school club,” says Yoongi. “I asked where mine were and she pulled my wallet out of my pocket, handed it back to me and told me to stop sponging off other people’s hard work.”
For the first time during a conversation with your employer, you let out a genuine laugh. 
Yoongi doesn’t laugh along, of course. He doesn’t even smile. You’re starting to figure at this point that his blank expression might actually be his happy one.
“Hey - will Dee be okay?” you ask a few moments later, when the room lapses back into a comfortable quiet. “I wasn’t aware that she might be going through a tough time...”
“I think she’s normalised it now,” Yoongi explains, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “She was too young back then. Her memories of her mother are abstract at best. The drawings she brings home from school, they’re just copies of photographs really. The stuff she knows from home videos or stories I’ve told her.” He pauses. “I think she can sense it though. How I get a bit funny around Christmastime. I think it upsets her.”
“You can’t help it,” you insist gently, the guilt of judging Yoongi too harshly causing your stomach to clench up once again. “Dee’s a smart girl. I’m sure she’ll come to understand it one day.”
Yoongi watches you from across the room, his head slightly tilted like he was trying to figure something out. 
“Thank you,” he says eventually. “For taking care of Dee. Things before… they were hard on her. I wish I could be there for her more.” He glances away momentarily. “I think you being here has made things easier.” 
Something warm and fuzzy unfurls in your chest at his words. 
“I’m happy I could help,” you say honestly. “She really is a great kid.”
“She is.” Yoongi nods.
“And she thinks the world of you,” you can’t help but add, because despite your previous assumptions about Yoongi’s parenting, it hadn’t taken long to cotton on to the fact that Dee never shuts up about him. 
“Right,” Yoongi snorts. He pushes away from the sideboard. “Tell me that again when the teenage years roll around.”
You grin, and he hesitates a moment for gesturing towards your raincoat.
“It’s dark out, and the light in the parking lot keeps flickering out,” he says. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
The offer takes you by surprise. You’re not used to seeing the kind side of your employer. Hell, you’re not used to much more than thinly-veiled criticism and blunt remarks.
Nonetheless, after saying a final goodnight to Dee, you let Min Yoongi walk you downstairs that day.
(You let him do it every day after that, too).
You’re sweating buckets by the time you reach the front door, your hair a wild mess from the unexpected bout of snow that had caught you on the way over. Panting like an animal, you raise your elbow to press the doorbell, taking about three tries before you actually manage to accomplish such a feat. 
It’s barely even finished ringing before Yoongi is standing before you, a disgruntled look on his face and cheeks pink from exertion. 
He’s dressed down - or as dressed down as one can be in a Ralph Lauren sweatshirt and comfy slacks, which in reality is about as close to loungewear as he’s likely to get. Up until now you were convinced the man slept in a full suit. 
Standing in the doorway with one hand on the frame, he gives you an unimpressed once over.
“You’re late.”
You roll your eyes. “Hello to you too.”
“What’s with the bags?” 
“Just a few things to get us through the week. Can I come in, or...?”
Begrudgingly, Yoongi moves out the way, though he’s still eyeing you warily.
“Exactly how much sugar are you planning to stuff my kid with while I’m gone?” 
You place your shopping bags down in the entryway with a sigh. “It’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake, what else are we supposed to do if not overeat until we pass out in front of the TV?”
Yoongi hums, his lips pursed. “Right. Just remember no sweet treats after eight. And no milk either for that matter, we’re trying her on -” 
“A lactose free diet to see if it helps with the stomach cramps,” you drone. “I’ve been here every weekday for a whole year, Yoongi. There’s no need to reiterate the rules every time I walk in.” 
“You might know the rules, but I know my daughter. She despises oat milk with a passion, and she’ll try every which way to get you to cave when it comes to hot chocolate.” He pulls out his wallet with a sigh, and your expression morphs into one of confusion. “How much do I owe you?” 
“O-oh! You don’t have to pay me back,” You hold your hands out in front of you, shaking your head. “These are a gift, and they barely cost anything anyway. It’s just gingerbread men and.. and colouring books and stuff.” 
Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. 
“Really,” he drawls. “So you’re telling me I won’t find the new Super Smash Bros game buried underneath all that junk food if I take a look?” 
“Shh!” You clap a hand over his mouth, eyes darting towards the living room. “Don’t spoil it!” 
Yoongi sighs, taking your wrist gently so he can speak again. “Snacks are fine, but that game is at least forty dollars. I can’t have you spending that much money on us.” 
“But I want to,” you insist, giving him the puppy-dog eyes. “Dee’s wanted it for months, and she’s been working so hard recently. I want to show her I’m proud of her.” You stick your bottom lip out. “Please let me.” 
Yoongi narrows his eyes at you. “Don’t look at me like that.” 
“Like what?” 
“You know what.”
You grin wickedly. You already know you’ve won.
With a reluctant grumble, Yoongi slides his wallet back into his pocket. “I’m only letting this slide because I’m running late,” he says, even though you’re both aware he’s not. He nods towards your grocery bags. “You need help getting those to the kitchen?” 
“I’ll be fine,” you wave him off. “You finish packing, boss. I’ll go say hi to the little monster.” 
Unsurprisingly, Dee is still in her pyjamas when you find her. She’s curled up on her side at the foot of the Christmas tree, Home Alone playing on the TV for the umpteenth time. You know it’s her favourite. She and Kevin have a lot in common when left to their own devices.
“Hey, bug,” you say in passing. “You getting into the Christmas spirit?”
Dee barely even lifts her head to look at you. “How can I?” she mumbles into the carpet. “I’m being abandoned. Again.”
You tut, opening the fridge so you can unload the goods into it. “Hey now, it’s not all bad. You have me, remember. And I have gingerbread men.”
You hold up the box and shake it, but Dee merely blinks at your efforts to raise her spirits. 
She sighs forlornly, her gaze sliding back to the TV.
Your eyes soften as you watch her. She looks so small like this, rolled over on one side with her knees tucked up against her chest. It’s hard to believe this is the same little girl whose performances explode like dynamite when she hits the ice, the energy she exudes reaching every corner of the rink. 
In these smaller, quieter moments, you see more of her father in her than ever.
“Dee,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “Look at me, bug.” 
Reluctantly, she peels her eyes away from the TV screen to meet yours.
“You know your dad doesn’t want to go any more than you want him to, right?” you say. “If it were up to him, he’d be staying right here.”
“I know...” Dee mumbles, playing with her fingers. “I just don’t like it when he’s gone.”
“I know you don’t, bug.” You smile sadly. “And that’s totally okay. But we need to make sure we don’t make this any harder on him than it needs to be, right? That means no tears this time.”
Dee rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing. 
Yoongi had been called away on a weekend business trip in Paris a few months ago, and for whatever reason, the kid had had a meltdown like nothing you’d ever seen before when it came time for him to leave. It had taken all your strength to pry her arms from around his leg, and at the time it had been heart-breaking to witness. 
Her separation anxiety always tends to show its face at some point when Yoongi goes overseas, but never before to that extent. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man look quite so torn as Yoongi had in that moment. If you hadn’t been there, you’re convinced he would have cancelled the trip altogether. 
Thankfully, the farewell goes a lot smoother this time. When Yoongi returns from his bedroom with suitcase in tow, Dee stands up and hugs him with little fanfare, burying her face in his stomach. He lifts a hand to smooth over her hair. 
“Be good, okay?” he says. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Love you,” Dee mumbles when she pulls back, and you send her an encouraging nod Yoongi’s shoulder. 
“Love you too, kid.” Yoongi bends to kiss the crown of her head, and you observe the exchange with the familiar ache of longing in your bones.
You see him to the door afterwards, the two of you loitering in the threshold as you go through the usual routine of checking he has everything.
“Boarding pass?” you say.
“In my bag.”
“Phone? Wallet?”
He pulls both out to show you. You smile fondly, leaning up against the doorframe with your arms crossed. 
“Text us when you land, okay?” you say softly.
“Yeah.” Yoongi nods. “If you have an emergency while I’m gone -”
“Call Namjoon, his number’s on the fridge under the banana magnet.” You roll your eyes, absentmindedly reaching out to fix his collar. “Again, been here a whole year, Yoongi. I know the drill.”
Your brain catches up a few seconds too late, and by the time you’ve realised your error Yoongi is already blinking down at your fingers, frozen in the process of smoothing down the hem of his sweater. 
Your eyes go wide in panic.
“Um-!” You retract your hands as if you’ve been burned. “H-have a safe flight, okay? I’ll see you soon!”
Yoongi merely hums, staring at you from beneath hooded lids with an unreadable expression.
You all but slam the door in his face, leaning your back up against it and pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.
“...fuck!” Yoongi hears you curse on the other side.
Last year
The first time you realised you’re in love with your employer, it’s the evening of Dee’s first regional skate competition.
At the request of the little princess herself, you wander into the changing rooms fifteen minutes before the show to give her a good luck hug, finding her perched on a bench in a sparkly blue costume. Her skates are already done up, feet swinging back and forth and her entire body seeming to buzz with energy. Smiling, you begin to make your way over. 
Then you spot him.
Perched on one knee, his hair swept back off his forehead and the sleeves of his work shirt rolled up to his elbows, Yoongi wields a makeup palette in his left hand and a brush in his right. When he murmurs something soft under his breath, Dee responds by closing her eyes. You watch on in quiet awe as Yoongi leans up to brush the glittery powder over her right lid with feather-light strokes. 
When he’s satisfied with the blending, he swaps out the eyeshadow palette for a pack of rhinestones, even going so far as to use a pair of tweezers to apply them seamlessly to her lash line one by one. You can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this before. He must be the only father in the room right now, and something about the way he owns that fact makes your chest swell with something warm and unidentifiable. You wonder if the braids on her head are his handiwork too. If it was his idea that she wear her mother’s necklace over her costume tonight.
In this moment, you know with certainty there was no one in the world Min Yoongi cared about more than his little girl. 
When he just so happens to glance your way a moment later, Yoongi’s expression barely shifts from his default glower.
“Oh, good,” he remarks drily, tossing you a can of hairspray. You barely managed to catch it without fumbling. “She’s got some flyaways round the back. There’s a comb in the front pocket of her gym bag.”
He goes straight back to work without sparing you a second glance after that, firmly instructing Dee to stop wriggling lest he poke her eye out by accident. 
You swore your heart has never felt so full. 
Biting back a smile, you wordlessly locate the comb and start smoothing out her hair. 
“Hold it… hooold it…”
“Dee, babe. I really don’t think -”
“Hold it, Y/N!”
You exhale heavily through your nose, arms trembling as you struggle to maintain the downward dog position you’ve been forced into. Dee isn’t having nearly so much trouble, her forehead lightly touching her yoga mat when she arches her spine. She wiggles her bottom playfully in the air.
“That’s, guys. You look great!” chirps the annoyingly perky young woman on your iPad screen. “Now we take our right leg and extend upwards, pushing down hard into our heel so we can really feel that stretch in our hamstrings.”
“Trust me, I’m feeling it,” you grunt, barely managing to raise your right leg thirty centimetres off the ground. 
Dee giggles, her leg already extended to its full height as if her body were made of elastic. 
Your core contracts with the effort of keeping you upright, knees threatening to buckle beneath you.
“How is this fair? You’ve been skating since before you could walk and I haven’t moved this much since high school.”
“Tina says each new day is an opportunity to improve yourself.”
You roll your eyes. “Tina sounds like a hoot.” 
“That’s the spirit, ladies! Other leg, let’s go!”
You groan, switching sides. It’s the third day in a row that Dee’s had you do stretches with her, and you’re starting to feel more like you’ve signed up for a week of boot camp than a week of babysitting. 
Dee squints at you from beneath her armpit. 
“Y/N,” she sighs.
“You’re dropping your hips.”
“My apologies, Drill Sergeant Min. Won’t happen again.”
She returns to her position, shaking her head like a disappointed school teacher. “You’re worse than dad, you know.”
You do a double take. “I’m sorry - Yoongi does this with you?”
“Sometimes.” Dee moves gracefully into a side plank, facing away from you. “When he doesn’t have work.”
“And you’re telling me I’m worse?”
“It’s considera-bly,” you correct her with a huff, more out of indignation than anything else. 
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Dee shrugs.
You let out an amused snort, though your mind is still reeling at the thought of Yoongi willingly assuming the lotus position and breathing out for eight counts. Scratch that, your mind is reeling at the thought of Yoongi wearing anything other than slacks. What kind of power does this kid wield that she can get the human robot himself to break a sweat? 
You continue on with the routine until you can’t any longer, at which point you collapse onto your back with little ceremony. 
“That’s it,” you pant, waving the metaphorical white flag in the air. “I’m done. No more.”
“But we haven’t even got to the headstand part yet!”
“Go on without me, bug. I’ll only hold you back at this point.” You manage to sit up despite the dull ache in your abs, glancing over at the wall clock. “Man, it’s getting late. I should get started on dinner.”
No sooner have you spoken it that Tina’s bouncing breasts disappear from your screen, replaced by Yoongi’s caller ID. 
“Dad!” Dee gasps, already lunging forward to press accept before you can think to stop her.
When Yoongi’s expressionless face appears, he is confronted with the image of you kneeling on your yoga mat in a ratty pink sports bra and leggings, frozen like a deer in the headlights with your brow glistening with sweat and an eight-year-old’s halloween headband holding your hair back from your face. 
You freeze. Yoongi blinks at the velvet cat ears sticking up from atop your head.
“Good morning,” he says in a low rumble.
In the next second you’re diving off-screen with a muttered curse, grappling for your T-shirt where it sits bundled up on the floor. 
None the wiser to your panic, Dee scrunches her nose up. 
“Morning?” she says, settling on her stomach with her chin in her hands. “It’s like five p.m.”
“Different time zones, kid. It’s almost lunchtime here.” Yoongi reclines in his fancy armchair, which is presumably in his hotel suite. “You two have been working hard I see.”
“No pain, no gain,” Dee tells him matter-of-factly, even going so far as to flex her bicep for the camera.
Yoongi hums. “Just don’t go pushing yourself too hard, hm? One of these days you’re going to twist yourself up into a pretzel position you can’t get yourself out of, and when that happens -I’m- the one who’s going to end up carrying you around.”
“Tell that to Y/N,” Dee snorts. “She looked like a drowning octopus when we got to the backbends.”
“I was not that bad,” you hiss, your face heating up with embarrassment despite being off-camera. Then, as an afterthought, “And how the hell does an octopus drown?”
Nobody is listening to you. It might just be a trick of the light, but you’re convinced you spot the corner of Yoongi’s mouth give a slight twitch of amusement.
“Be nice, Dee,” he says, though he doesn’t sound particularly worried for you. “The only bad workout is the one that didn’t happen, right?”
You pause, giving Dee the side-eye. “...Did he just quote Tina?”
She fixes you with a serious gaze. “Careful. Dad is a big Tina fan.”
“Ugh, I bet he is,” you mutter under your breath, pulling a face as you recall the way Tina’s cute little glute muscles had contracted during the standing pigeon. 
“Feel free to let me know when you’re done talking about me like I’m not here,” Yoongi drawls dispassionately, taking a sip of his coffee. “I need to speak with Y/N.”
You can’t help the way your stomach flutters at that. Hesitantly (and having disposed of Dee’s cat ears), you lean back into frame. 
“What’s up?” you say with an awkward wave, already cringing at yourself internally.
Yoongi blinks languidly, passing no comment on your previous state of undress. 
“I’m expecting a delivery to arrive at some point this week,” he says. “I need you to sign for me and put it somewhere safe. Preferably out of reach for anyone below four-foot-two, if you catch my drift.”
“Ohh,” you nod slowly, giving him the thumbs up. Clearly this delivery was Christmas-oriented. “Gotcha. Don’t worry, boss, I’ll make sure no prying eyes see anything they shouldn’t.” 
You shoot him an exaggerated wink behind Dee’s head.
The smallest of smiles works its way onto Yoongi’s lips, and the sight is nothing short of stunning. Just like clockwork, the sight has your chest aching for him to be home. You open your mouth to speak again - perhaps to ask how Berlin is treating him, or some equally lame attempt to keep him on call for a little longer - but before the words can form there’s a sharp knock on the door of Yoongi’s hotel suite.
“Come in,” he calls gruffly.
Fortunately (or perhaps not so fortunately) the angle of the camera is just right that you can see the reflection of the door in the mirror behind, swinging open to reveal his guest. 
“Aha! There he is,” a sultry female voice sounds through the screen. “I’ve been looking all over for you, mister.”
Your heart sinks right to the pit of your stomach. Lower, if it were possible. 
There’s no doubt in your mind that the woman standing in Yoongi’s doorway is anything short of a goddess in a pinstriped skirt. You’d have to be blind not to see how gorgeous she is, all long limbs and softly curled red hair that falls in waves about her shoulders. She leans up against the doorframe with her hip cocked, a playful smirk on her face as she looks at your employer.
“Sofie,” Yoongi acknowledges with a polite nod. True to form, his expression betrays precisely nothing of what’s going on in his head. “Did you need something?”
“I just wanted to ask if you’re coming to lunch. We’ve made reservations at the restaurant downstairs if you’d like to join us.”
Your eyes skirt away, seeking out something better to look at. Anything really, so long as it’s not the obscenely beautiful woman who's hitting on the man you love in a swanky hotel eight thousand kilometres away.
“That’s very kind of you,” says Yoongi, and you wish for once that his voice was anything other than a monotone drawl. There’s absolutely no way of deciphering whether he's into this woman when he talks to her the same way he talks to you, and Dee, and noodles on the damn stove when he wants them to hurry up and boil. “I just need to finish up this call. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Perfect.” Sofie pushes away from the door with a coy smile. “I’ll see you there.”
She turns on her heel, hips swaying like a pendulum as she slinks out of the room. When the door closes behind her, Yoongi returns his focus to the camera, totally nonchalant. 
“Looks like I’m out of time,” he says.
Dee props her chin on her hand, pouting sullenly. “Are you gonna be home soon?”
“Four days, kid, then I’m all yours.” His gaze flickers over to you. “You two take care, okay?”
“You too,” you nod quickly, determined not to let the internal battle you’re having right now show up on your face.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Dad.” Dee waves.
“Enjoy your-”
The call ends abruptly, cutting you off.
“... Night,” you finish lamely.
The lovely Miss Tina returns to your screen, and Dee blows a gust of hair from between her lips. The sound startles you somewhat.
“Man,” she says, flopping down onto her stomach. “I hate that B-word.”
“Dee!” you shriek, your eyes almost bugging right out of your head.
She blinks up you innocently. “What? I didn’t curse.”
“I - God, who even taught you that?”
“Family Guy,” she shrugs.
“Right, that’s it. I’m revoking your TV privileges for the rest of the week.” You stand up, waving your finger at her so she knows you’re serious. “Just because it’s a cartoon does not mean it’s suitable for kids.”
“Fine. I’m sorry,” she mutters. “But Sofie really -is- annoying. She’s a froo-trarian, so we had to eat this really weird meal with papaya and stuff when she came over. And she said figure skating is basically just a style of dance!”
You freeze halfway to the kitchen.
“A froo-trarian,” Dee repeated, with extra emphasis on the ‘froo’. “It’s this religion where you don’t eat anything with a face, or anything that came out of something with a face, or anything green unless it’s a kiwi.” 
“No,” you shake your head jerkily. “No, I mean - Sofie came here? To the apartment?”
“Yuh-huh.” Dee’s already distracted, rewinding the workout video to where you left off. “She was doing some work thing with Dad. They were in his office for hours.”
Immediately, your stomach tightens with anxiety. Something about that doesn’t sit right with you at all. Yoongi hardly ever has people from work around, much less for a meal. The man can barely even feed himself when the recipe calls for more than a microwave.
A selfish part of you wants to press the matter with Dee. To ask her more questions about Sofie, and what was said over this illusive dinner they had together. How Yoongi had acted with her. But you know it’s not your place to pry. 
Yoongi deserves his privacy, and you refuse to let your paranoia infringe on that.
“I’ll get started on dinner,” you murmur, continuing on your way to the kitchen.
The feeling of unease stays with you for the remainder of the evening.
Last year
You’re filling in for a friend at the university library when the call comes through. Not on your mobile, because that’s been off all morning, but via the landline you didn’t even know the place had. Your supervisor hands you the phone with raised eyebrows, looking slightly rattled by whoever’s on the other line. 
“It’s for you. They say it’s urgent.”
‘They’ turns out to be an uncharacteristically flustered Yoongi. You’ve barely managed to greet him before he’s rushing to speak over you in a garbled voice, his tone simultaneously exhausted and frantic. 
“Dee’s sick,” he blurts, followed by the distinct sound of rooting through his cabinets. “The doctor said it was just a cold but - I don’t know, Y/N, her face is so hot and she can’t keep anything down, not even plain toast -”
“Okay, deep breaths.” You hold a hand up as if he were standing in front of you, doing your best to placate him. “Panicking won’t solve anything. What’s her temperature like? Is she drinking okay?”
“She was at a hundred last time I checked. I managed to get her to drink a little water, but she could barely even finish the glass.” He pauses to suck in a sharp breath. “Fuck, I think I’m having a heart palpitation. Should I give her a whole painkiller or half?”
You blink, taken aback by this new side to your employer. Eternally unmoved, it’s strange to hear his stress manifest itself in anything other than reclusiveness and a sharp tongue. You have to remind yourself how scary it must be to have your child fall sick - especially when you don’t have anyone to support you in taking care of them. 
“Hey,” you say, assuming a more gentle tone, “try to calm down a little, yeah? She’s only just pushing a fever. Her taste buds are out of whack right now, but you can put a dash of fruit syrup in her water to make the taste more bearable. One painkiller should be fine if you can get her to eat a snack with it.” You reach for your coat, shoving your free hand through the sleeve. “I’m heading to my car now, okay? I’ll be with you in twenty minutes. Just hang tight until I get there.”
Yoongi releases a shaky breath on the other end of the line.
“Shit,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” you say, signing yourself out. 
Things come to a head two days later, when the delivery guy shows up with enough parcels to fill Santa’s sled. 
You’ve managed to wrangle Dee into the living room while you find a spot to hide them all, but it’s no easy feat. You know she’ll sniff them out if you’re not careful enough. Thus, you find yourself in Yoongi’s home office, shoving the final few boxes under his desk. Due to the electrical work he’s in the middle of having done, there’s a strict policy on Dee entering this particular room unsupervised. 
“Finally,” you huff, the last package jammed tightly into the limited space beneath the desk like the final piece in a game of Tetris. You stand up and brush yourself off, feeling pretty pleased with yourself. 
The feeling is quick to dissipate, however, when you turn around to find you’ve somehow managed to miss one of the gifts. 
“Oh for goodness sake,” you mutter, glaring at the unassuming white shoebox atop the filing cabinets. “How many pairs of skates does one kid need?”
There’s no room left under the desk, so you figure one of the larger drawers will have to suffice. Crouching down, you root around in search of one empty enough to store it. 
Later, you’ll muse that it’s funny how something so small can flip your entire world on its head. You probably wouldn’t even have noticed the palm-sized box in Yoongi’s bottom drawer had your sleeve not got caught in the slide mechanism. You yank at it unceremoniously, somehow managing to dislodge the entire drawer in the process. 
“Fucking hell,” you mutter under your breath, the miscellaneous contents strewn all over the floor. 
Setting aside Dee’s gift, you start putting things to rights with a heavy sigh. Only then do your eyes fall to the dainty turquoise box that’s fallen between an old roadmap of Busan. Topped with a pearlescent white ribbon, the branding is unmistakable. 
You pause for a moment, blinking down at it like it might disappear if you stare long enough. When it doesn’t, you pick it up with shaky fingers.
You’re not sure what possesses you to do what you do next. Perhaps you need to see it with your own eyes. With your heart in your mouth, you flip the box open to peek inside.
There’s no denying that the necklace inside was designed for a woman. It’s custom made; dainty and romantic, everything about it practically screaming with intention. It’s almost comical, in fact, how very Yoongi it is. Who else could pull off a courting gift in this day and age if not him?
You laugh at the thought, ignoring the lone tear that slips down your face as you slide back onto your ass with a thump. The realisation that you’re actually crying over something like this makes you feel beyond stupid, but once you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop.
Nonetheless, you can’t bring yourself to peel your eyes away from the necklace either. You imagine Yoongi wandering into the shop during his lunch break and browsing the options - discussing her tastes with the clerk. Despite its beauty, you don’t have the stomach to take it out of the box. To open up the pendant and look at the photo. You think you might be sick if you read whatever beautifully intimate inscription he’s picked out to go inside.
You press your free hand down against your chest with a soft grunt. 
It hurts so much more than you thought it would. It hurts like a bitch.
“As if you thought he’d want you back,” you whisper, your voice thick. You bark a sharp laugh at your own idiocy. “Fuck. I’m such a loser.”
“Y/N?” Dee yells from the living room, and you almost drop the box to the floor in surprise. “The gingerbread men are burning! We gotta take them out!”
“C-coming!” you shout back, your throat tight.
You set the drawer to rights, shoving both the shoebox and the necklace back inside before slamming it shut. 
Last Year
“She really scared you, huh?”
Yoongi’s slumped over on the sofa, his head resting in his hands. With Dee finally asleep in bed having vomited, cried her eyes out, and clung to him like a limpet all through bath time, it’s no wonder he’s feeling worn out by this point. A quick glance at the clock tells you it’s almost midnight.
“Mm,” he groans into his palms, lacking the energy to even lift his head.
“Can I get you anything?” you offer, your voice soft. “Coffee? Something stronger, perhaps?”
He waves a hand vaguely. “Tea will do. I’ll be with you in a minute.” 
You round the corner into the kitchen area, flicking the kettle on before moving over to the fridge. As per usual, it’s covered in Dee’s drawings - more so now, given her recent interest in sea creatures. In between the rough sketches of sharks and jellyfish, there’s countless portraits too - you and Yoongi. ‘Uncle Joon’. Their car Freddy, who sadly found a new home before you could meet him. A self portrait. Yoongi again... ‘Mommy.’
You pause, looking over the picture for the umpteenth time. It’s the only depiction of Dee’s mother you’ve been given - a wobbly purple stick figure in a ruby red dress, with curly black hair that stops at her shoulders. She’s smiling. Her little stick hand is attached to Dee’s on one side, and Yoongi’s on the other. Much to your amusement, Yoongi’s mouth has been drawn as a characteristic straight line.
Apparently some things never change.
You’re so busy examining it that you don’t catch him padding in behind you.
“She’s quite the artist,” he remarks, leaning back against the counter.
You turn around, offering him a soft smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Yoongi shrugs. “They’re up there for a reason.”
The kettle reaches boil, and Yoongi observes quietly as you set about making the tea. He accepts his mug with a nod of thanks, but doesn’t drink it immediately. Instead he slides his finger contemplatively over the rim, catching a lone drip before it can roll down the side.
“Thank you for coming over tonight,” he murmurs, staring down into the dark liquid. “I really appreciate your help.”
“It’s no bother,” you say honestly. “You barely needed me at all, by the looks of things.”
Yoongi huffs a small laugh, but the sound falls just short of genuine. “It’s okay. I know I’m shit at this stuff. Elle always took care of the coughs and colds when Dee was small.”
You feel your heart skip a beat, only just stopping your tea from going down the wrong way.
He’s never said her name before.
Yoongi is watching you carefully, like he’s trying to gage your reaction. His dark hair shrouds his eyes. 
“It’s okay,” he confirms quietly. “You can ask.”
“What happened to her?” you breathe, like it’s something you’ve been holding in all this time. You didn’t even realise you wanted to know until he said it, but for some reason it feels like there’s so much hinging on his answer. 
You realise belatedly it’s because you want to know Yoongi. You want to understand the little intricacies that make him the man he is, and the woman who played such a big part of it. 
You want to earn his trust. 
“It was four years ago now,” he says, bringing a hand up to work the kinks out of his neck. “She fell ill out of the blue, and the doctors told us it was a lung infection. A rare one, especially given her age, but not incurable. Unfortunately, her body didn’t respond well to the treatment.”
You shake your head. “Oh, Yoongi...”
He nods. Places his glass down with a small sigh. Despite the fact he doesn’t open up often, it’s clear to see he’s made peace with his story now. There’s no anguish in his words; only the fleeting sadness of someone who’s known more loss than they should. 
“She spent her last six months in hospital, and during those last few weeks when she was sick… I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. I think that’s why it was hard today. With Dee.” He seeks out your gaze hesitantly. “I get scared seeing her like that.”
“Anyone would,” you say assuredly, secretly wanting nothing more than to close the distance between you and comfort him. You hold yourself back on principal. “But I promise you, Dee is going to be just fine. It’s just a stomach bug. Some kids are more prone to them than others.”
“I know.” He nods, sweeping his hair back. “I know, I just... get caught up in my head sometimes. Especially this time of year.”
“Totally understandable,” you nod. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Yoongi.”
Slowly, as if part of him is still waiting for you to press for more information, Yoongi picks up his tea again and takes a tentative sip.
“...Thank you,” he says after a long pause. 
You raise your eyebrows at him. “For what?”
“For loving Dee,” he clarifies. 
You smile at him softly in the dim kitchen light.
“Thank you for letting me,” you say, raising the mug to your lips.
Yoongi arrives home on Saturday evening, just as the second smattering of snow meets the ground. You hesitate when you hear him come through the door, staying behind in the kitchen as Dee skids into the entryway in her socks. You can hear the surprised grunt she forces from his throat as she flings her little arms around his midsection. 
“Oof. Hi there, kid,” he says, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice after a long night of travelling. You imagine him lowering himself down into a squat so she can hug him properly. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Y/N said I could wait up for you.”
“Is that so?” he hums. “And where is Y/N?”
You sigh quietly, understanding that this is your cue. Steeling your nerves, you hike your duffel bag up higher on your shoulder and head out into the hall, your boots heavy against the hardwood floor.
Yoongi’s eyes sweep upwards when you round the corner, trailing all the way from your shoes to the hem of your coat, already buttoned to the top. You pause somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, and he rises to a slow stand. Despite having practiced three times in the bathroom mirror prior to his arrival, your attempt at a casual smile falls miserably short of hitting the mark. 
“Hey,” you say softly, wondering if you look as drained as you feel. You had next to no rest last night, woken at 2 am when Dee had knocked on your bedroom door claiming she’d had a nightmare.
“I can’t sleep now,” she’d said tearfully, clutching her stuffed rabbit to her chest. It was a gift from Yoongi when she was small - something she’s always kept extra close whenever he’s away.
“You and and me both, bug,” you sighed, picking her up gently to take her back to bed.
Yoongi’s coat is still on as he watches you. He eyes the bag on your shoulder warily.
“Hi,” he says, his tone somewhat tentative. 
He knows something’s up.
“How was your flight?” you ask, your gaze skirting all over the place in an embarrassed bid to do anything but meet his eyes.
“Tiring,” Yoongi nods. “It’s good to be home.”
“I’m sure,” you hum.
It’s uncomfortable. Even Dee seems to sense it, burying her face in Yoongi’s stomach again. He settles a hand on the back of her head, but his eyes never once leave you.
“You aren’t staying,” he says slowly, and it falls just short of a question.
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers tightening around the strap of your duffel.
“I can’t. My family... they’re expecting me.”
“I thought you said you weren’t headed home until Monday now.”
Finally, your gaze shifts upwards to collide with his. It’s not like Yoongi to call you out, but he can sense there’s something awry here. You’ve never been so quick to head out before, always sticking around to put Dee to bed or discuss how she’d been while he was away. Yet here you are - practically two seconds away from shoulder-checking him against the doorframe in your haste to leave.
When you speak again your voice is quiet, but there’s something in your tone that implies you won’t be taking further questions.
“Thing’s change.”
Yoongi blinks. Unable to formulate a response fast enough, all he can do is watch as you lower yourself down to kiss Dee’s head, murmuring that you’ll see her soon. When you straighten up, the small, closed-lip smile you offer him is tinged with sadness. 
“Enjoy your Christmas, Yoongi,” you say before moving towards the open door.
“Y/N, wait -”
“I really have to go,” you sigh, pausing with your back to him.
“Evidently,” Yoongi nods. “But I need to talk to you first.”
“Can’t it wait?” you grit out.
“I’m afraid not.”
You’re at war with yourself when he tells Dee to go sit in the living room for a minute; too distracted to be surprised that she goes without a fuss. Clearly, your weird behaviour is more obvious than you thought. 
Yoongi ushers you wordlessly into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind you both. 
“Y/N,” he says in a low voice, fixing you with a look.
You raise your eyebrows at him.
“What?” you say, crossing your arms defensively. You wince internally at how stand-offish you sound, but Yoongi does little more than quirk a brow. He slides his hands into his pockets.
“Explain,” he says levelly. 
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do.”
“Yoongi -”
“You know exactly what I mean, and you’re taking advantage of the fact that I’m shit at reading people’s emotions,” he cuts across you, an underlying note of warning in his tone. “Talk to me, or I can assure you we won’t be ironing this out any time soon - whatever this is.”
You blink, momentarily taken aback that he managed to work that out so easily. Then again, maybe you shouldn’t be. Yoongi’s always made a habit of observing more than he speaks.
“Is it Dee?” he presses, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
“What?” You shake your head. “Why would it be Dee?”
“I’m just throwing out options here,” Yoongi raises his shoulders in a shrug. “Is it me?”
“Yoongi, please…”
“Okay, so it is me,” Yoongi nods. “Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me what I’ve done, and I’ll fix it.”
“Christ,” you mutter, raising a hand to massage your temples. 
Ever the businessman, Yoongi’s answer to everything is cut and dry. He locates the problem and he fixes it. He despises leaving things up in the air like this, and if you didn’t feel so sorry for yourself over the fact that he’s screwing his work colleague (or at the very least, will be in the near future), you’d almost feel guilty for doing it to him. 
It’s better this way, you remind yourself. This way, no one else gets hurt.
Unfortunately, your employer has a knack for throwing salt in the wound without even realising he’s doing it. 
“Is it the money?” he asks out of nowhere, ticking his head to the side to look at you. “If you feel I’m underpaying you for your time, all you have to do is say so, Y/N. I can’t read minds.”
You open your mouth, then close it again without saying anything. 
For the second time since meeting Yoongi, the force of his words make you feel like you’ve been physically slapped. You glance away as the familiar lump starts to form in your throat.
“You know what?” you choke out. “Forget it.” 
Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow slowly. “Y/N -”
“Tell Dee I said merry Christmas.”
With that, you turn on your heel and make for the elevator, your eyes blurry with tears as you punch desperately at the dial.
Yoongi doesn’t call after you. 
Last year
“I’m really not in the mood for this, Mina...” 
“Just one more round!” your friend begs, clasping her gloved hands together with a pout. “It’s unfair of you to waste your god given talents like this. I need that plushie, Y/N!”
You narrow your eyes at her, your expression largely hidden behind the chunky knit scarf which obscures half of your face. Christmas Pikachu smiles at you mockingly through the glass.
“Fine,” you cave eventually. “One round. And you’re paying.”
Mina claps her hands in delight before pulling her purse out, shoving her coins merrily into the slot.
Around you, the Christmas Eve fair is in full swing. It’s an annual event, complete with ice rink and arcade games, the food stalls crammed with families and friends who are practically rolling in the festive spirit - something you can’t quite bring yourself to get into the swing of this year. 
You haven’t spoken to Yoongi since you left his apartment a week ago, though admittedly, this was not for lack of trying on his end. He’s texted you twice so far - once to ask if you’d made it to your parents’ house okay, and a second time to let you know your overtime payment had been transferred to you. Which, in hindsight, might not sound like much if you didn’t know Min Yoongi like the back of your hand. Getting him to respond to his messages, let alone send one -first-, was nigh impossible if it wasn’t a matter of business.
“So…” says Mina, leaning her shoulder up against the glass as the claw machine whirrs to life. “You’re really just gonna keep ignoring him?”
“Are we still talking about this?” you hum, fiddling with the levers. 
“I just want to know where we’re going from here, babe. You were in bits when you called me the other night.”
You sigh heavily. “There’s nothing to discuss, Mi. He likes another woman. He’ll be dating her by the new year, if he’s not already. The only thing I can do is suck it up and move on.”
Mina nods slowly, watching your side profile. “And what about your job?”
You gnaw the inside of your cheek, hesitating for a moment. Your voice is tentative when you say, “I’ve been in touch with the agency.”
Mina straightens up. “Y/N…”
“Don’t,” you murmur, your eyes remaining fixed on the claw as it descends. “Please don’t lecture me. I know it’s not ideal, but they said there’s a couple of girls on book who can take my place on short notice. They also said they get an influx of requests for sitters around new year, so I shouldn’t be out of a job too long if I play my cards right.”
Your friend’s expression softens. She reaches out to touch a gloved hand to your forearm.
“You know I only want you to be happy, right?”
You nod stiffly. “I know.”
“And if resigning is going to make you happy, then I’ll be right behind you the whole way. It’s just…” she pauses, biting her lip gently. “I know how much you love that kid, Y/N. And I can only imagine how much she loves you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that, Mi,” you mutter, just as the claw drops Christmas Pikachu an inch from the chute. “And I’m pretty sure this shit is rigged. Let’s move on.”
“Giving up so easily?” says a familiar voice behind you.
You freeze. 
Turning slowly, your stomach sinks at the sight of Yoongi hovering a few feet away. He stands with one hand in his pocket, the other clutched tightly around Dee’s mitted fingers. The dark feathers of his fringe stick out from beneath the woollen beanie on his head, and you can’t help the way your heart clenches up painfully at the sight.
“Y/N!” Dee exclaims, breaking away from her father to close the distance between you. 
You open your arms to her on autopilot, your breath catching in your throat when she wraps her arms around your middle. She rests her chin on your stomach, cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold as she looks up at you with imploring eyes. 
“Where have you been?” she says, showcasing the gap in her front teeth. “Uncle Joon’s had to pick me up from practice three times now, and he’s so much worse at it than you. He doesn’t even let me listen to the radio,” she adds sullenly. 
“I’m sorry, bug,” you say softly, placing a hand on her hat. It’s shaped like a panda head, complete with button eyes and two fluffy black ears. “I’ve been... busy.”
“Y/N,” Mina prompts, not unkindly. Her eyes flicker warily over to Yoongi. “Are you going to introduce us?”
“Uh - right. Sorry.” You clear your throat, gesturing vaguely between them. “Yoongi, this is Mina, my friend from college. Mina, this is Min Yoongi, my -” You cut yourself off, embarrassment coiling in your stomach. “Dee’s father,” you settle for in the end. 
Yoongi steps forward to shake Mina’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Mina hums, though her tone is sceptical at best. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Yoongi nods. He steps back with hands in his pockets, and you fear another awkward silence might be coming on until he glances sideways at the grab machine. 
“Anything I can help with?” he says, raising his eyebrows.
If Mina is taken aback by the proposal, she doesn’t show it. She’s the complete opposite of you when it comes to social situations. (Meaning she’s actually good at them for the most part).
“Only if you’re better at this stupid game than Y/N,” she sighs forlornly, pressing her finger to the glass. “Christmas Pikachu won’t stop staring at me. Fancy taking a stab at it?”
Panicked by the prospect of being around Yoongi any longer than you have to be, you’re quick to wave her off. “Yeah, I really don’t think -”
“Sure,” Yoongi cuts across you with a shrug, already pulling his wallet out. “How much is it for a spin?”
Dumbfounded, you find yourself standing awkwardly on the sidelines as the three of them crowd around the claw machine. While Mina leans up against the glass with her arms folded, Dee jumps up and down on her toes, cheering her father on as he works the controls. Yoongi barely spares you a glance, already far too absorbed in beating the machine before his time runs out.
Not twenty seconds later, Dee is squealing with delight as Christmas Pikachu dives down the chute with three seconds to spare. 
“Woah!” Mina exclaims, dusting the plushie off as she examines him. “Nice skills. You learn that in business school?”
“Of course,” Yoongi blinks. “They’re big on the fundamentals.”
Mina snorts, but you know she’s not won over just yet. She holds Christmas Pikachu out to Dee.
 “There you go, kiddo. Consider it an early Christmas present, hm?”
Dee’s eyes go wide, her lips forming a surprised ‘o’ shape. 
“Really?” she says in a small voice.
Mina shrugs. “He’s all yours. I don’t really rate guys who play hard to get anyway.” 
She shoots a pointed smile at Yoongi, and you elbow her hard in the back.
None the wiser, Dee accepts the gift with a happy little noise, hugging it hard to her chest. “Cool!”
Yoongi places a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“What do we say?” he prompts.
You can feel your heart thawing when the little girl blushes, realising her error.
“Thank you,” she says shyly, looking down at her pink snow boots.
Mina pats her affectionately between the panda ears. “No problem, kiddo.”
“Right. Well.” You clap your hands together. “It was wonderful seeing you both, but we should be heading back now. Mina and I have a thing.”
Your friend quirks an eyebrow. “Do we?”
“Yes, we do,” you hiss through your teeth, and the message seems to go through. Turning back around, you open your arms to Dee. “Got a goodbye hug for me, bug?”
To your surprise, Dee doesn’t indulge you. Instead she shrinks back behind Pikachu until only her eyes are showing, big and round and hopeful. 
“Aren’t you going to watch me skate?” she says in a small voice, the question muffled by his fur.
Your heart sinks. -Of course,- you think. There’s an ice rink at the fair, and Dee never misses an opportunity to get on the ice. She also never forgets a pinkie promise, and you’ve sworn to her on several occasions that you’d always be there to support her if you could. 
Not about to break your word like that, you sigh inwardly before forcing a smile. 
“Of course I am, bug,” you breathe, straightening up. “But just one round, okay? Mina and I will be watching from over here -”
“Y/N,” Yoongi cuts across you softly. 
Startled, you meet his eyes. It’s the first time he’s addressed you properly since his arrival, and there’s an expression on his face that you’ve never seen before. He peers at you tentatively from beneath his bangs.
“I was actually hoping we could watch from over there,” he says, nodding to a cluster of secluded benches over by the hot chocolate stand. Clearly he’s trying not to make things weird in front of Dee, but you have no trouble picking up what he’s putting down. 
Yoongi wants to speak to you. Alone.
You open and close your mouth a few times as you try to come up with a subtle way to reject him but (as she seems to be so fond of doing these days) Mina beats you to the punch.
“What an excellent idea,” she says, a firm hand on your lower back. “Y/N and Yoongi can go be boring grown ups over there, and in the meantime -” she holds her hand out to Dee with a smile, “- us two will hit the ice and have some real fun.”
Dee flashes her gummy grin, her tongue poking out through the gap her missing tooth left behind as she accepts Mina’s hand. Your friend glances at Yoongi with raised eyebrows, waiting for permission. 
“Fine by me,” he shrugs. He flips his wallet open again, but Mina waves him off.
“Ah, ah, ah. You’re not the only one with money, Mr Marketing guy. This one’s on me.”
Yoongi snorts at that, but he doesn’t protest when Dee tugs both Mina and Christmas Pikachu off towards the ice rink. As he slots his wallet back into his pocket, your friend tosses you a supportive smile over her shoulder.
“Sorry about her,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself. You stare at the frozen ground beneath your feet. “She can be a little… hard to please at first.”
“Don’t be,” Yoongi shrugs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I’m actually glad I ran into you both.” 
“You are?”
He hums lowly in affirmation. “It’s been a while.”
You bite your lip in embarrassment, suddenly unsure of what to say. There’s not much point in trying to defend yourself. Both of you know you’ve been ignoring him, and the fact that Yoongi’s acting otherwise right now is a professional courtesy you definitely don’t deserve.
“Come.” He says, jerking his chin in the direction of the benches. “I’ll buy you a drink.” 
He’s already walking away when you look up, and you have little option but to follow. 
Yoongi gently insists that you take a seat while he queues for your drinks, and returns five minutes later with two mugs of mulled wine. You accept with a quiet thank you, raising your eyes at the saran-wrapped cookie he slips into his coat pocket.
“For Dee,” he explains. 
The two of you lapse into an extended quiet as the new skaters take to the rink. Dee and Mina appear together, laughing as Mina nearly stumbles over right off the bat. They appear to have pawned Christmas Pikachu off to a good-natured attendant, who lifts the plushie’s paw in a wave every time Dee passes by. 
You can’t pretend the sight doesn’t hurt your heart a little. Dee is easily one of the best things that’s ever happened to you, and the thought of not seeing her as much come the new year feels just as painful as the alternative. 
You sip your drink, keeping your eyes glued to her even when Yoongi clears his throat. 
“So,” he says.
“Did I do something wrong, or?”
“N-no? Why would you think that?” you try.
Yoongi pins you with a look.
“Seriously?” he says, though his tone is not unkind. “You’ve been ignoring my texts for a week now. Dee said she emailed you an invite to her New Year's showcase and you still haven’t got back to her. She got Juliet by the way.”
You smile ruefully at your lap, thumbing at the rim of your mug. “I knew she would,” you say quietly.
Yoongi watches your side profile carefully. 
“Y/N,” he says, and you know there’s no wriggling out of it when he takes that tone. “Whatever it was I did, I can’t make it better unless you tell me what’s wrong. You know I’m not good at this stuff.”
You sigh, your breath spiralling upwards in a cloud of white. At this point, you feel utterly defeated. 
“Would it be cliche to say it’s not you, it’s me?”
“Then I’m sorry,” you shrug. “It’s the best I’ve got right now.”
Yoongi stares at you a while longer, his expression carefully blank. Then he turns back to the ice rink.
The pair of you sit in loaded silence for a few moments.
“So that’s it?” 
You shrug. “That’s it.”
Yoongi leans back in his seat. He says nothing.
You’re acutely aware that anyone passing by right now would think you’re a couple. You certainly look the part - sitting side by side in comfortable silence, watching your daughter having fun on the rink. And maybe in another life, in some alternate dimension, that’s exactly what you are. Just the three of you, with no hang-ups or baggage or strings attached. No complications. Just happy.
You almost jump out of your skin when Yoongi speaks again.
“You remember when you sent me that nude by accident?”
You choke a little on your mulled wine, your hand flying to your mouth.
“I - it wasn’t a nude!” you exclaim.
You stare over at him with wide eyes, but Yoongi keeps his gaze firmly on the ice rink.
“I blew up at you over the phone afterwards because I felt guilty,” he goes on, his voice a low murmur. “I don’t think I ever told you that.”
Your eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Why would you feel guilty?” you mutter. “I sent it, not you.”
Yoongi shakes his head minutely, still not looking at you. “The timing was all wrong. It was the anniversary of my wife’s death, and I was… I was confused.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “I felt like I was disrespecting both of you at once. It fucked with my head.”
“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you murmur.
“How many times are you going to apologise for my misgivings?” he says forcefully, and you shut up immediately at his tone. “You’ve done more for Dee in the past year than any school teacher or single parent support service has managed to achieve in five. You cook meals for her, watch every single one of her practices even though you don’t have to, and read to her in those stupid voices she’s always begging me to do.” You chuckle wetly at that. “Not to mention her confidence has shot up from having a woman around the house. She misses you like crazy now that you’re not around.”
“I miss you like crazy.”
You freeze. He’s looking at you dead in the eyes now, and his gaze is burning.
You flinch when something touches your hand, your throat constricting when you glance down to find Yoongi’s fingers wrapping tightly around yours.
“Come back to us,” he implores softly.
“I don’t think I can,” you whisper, your voice thick with unshed tears.
“Because I love you.”
The silence seems to stretch on forever. Your heart beats in your throat. 
When Yoongi retracts his hand, your heart shatters into a million pieces all over again.
“I love you, and you’re in love with someone else,” you say, cursing yourself when your bottom lip starts to tremble. You turn your face away, unable to meet his eyes as you continue. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have been snooping, but I was looking for a hiding spot for Dee’s presents, and then the necklace fell out and… and when we called you Sofie was there, and Dee let slip that she’d been at the apartment to see you so I put two and two together, and I felt so awful, Yoongi... I felt awful that you’re trying to start this thing with someone new, and here I am wishing it was me instead. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to Dee.” You scrub the sleeve of your jacket under your eye. “You deserve to be happy. Dee deserves to see you happy.”
For a man known for being chronically unreadable, every emotion under the sun seemes to flicker over Yoongi’s face in that moment. Eventually, he settles on utterly bewildered.
“Shit,” he breathes. 
You laugh sardonically. “Yeah.”
“You... love me,” he says flatly.
“Please don’t make me repeat all that.”
He swallows. “And you found the necklace.”
“That’s what I said, yes.”
“The necklace for Sofie.”
You glare at him. “Are you trying to rub it in? Yes the necklace for Sofie.”
“Right.” Yoongi nods. “Just to clarify -”
“- Oh for god’s sake.-”
“- You mean this necklace, right?”
You pause mid-sentence when he pulls the box from his pocket, before narrowing your tearful eyes at him.
“I - Why on earth are you carrying it around with you?”
He thumbs over the ribbon gently, resting the box in his lap as he peers down at it.
“Dee and I are headed to her grandparents’ after the fair,” he hums. “I shoved it in my pocket because I was planning on returning it tomorrow.”
Your eyes flicker up to meet his face. 
“Why?” you dare to ask.
“Because last time I saw the girl I intended to give it to, it was as if she couldn’t even stand to look at me. How could I think I stood a chance after that?”
“Yoongi... what are you talking about?”
He passes you the box. “Open it.”
“I’ve already seen -”
Yoongi pins you with a deadpan look. “I won’t ask twice, Y/N.”
You open the box, and the necklace stares back at you. Even though you’ve seen it before, it’s delicate beauty still steals your breath away. 
“Look inside,” he prompts.
Tentatively, you do as you’re told, snapping open the silver locket with gentle care. It takes a few seconds for your brain to compute the image inside, but when you do, you’re clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the pathetic sound you make. 
There, in the left hand side of the locket, is a picture of you, Yoongi and Dee, snapped by Taehyung shortly after that first skating competition you ever attended. You’re crouching at the side of the rink with your hands on Dee’s shoulders as she holds up her medal, the two of you grinning like idiots. A little further back in the shot Yoongi leans against the railings, his eyes fixated on the pair of you with an uncharacteristically soft expression on his face.
Your heart thuds dully when you realise he’s smiling. 
Your gaze shifts over to the inscription on the other side of the locket, written in simplistic cursive.
Because of you, I have something to hold on to.
Abruptly, your vision blurs with fresh tears.
“I don’t understand,” you croak.
Yoongi shrugs, leaning back against the bench. “What is there to understand?” 
“I… When did you even -?”
You look at him through wet eyes. 
“Paris was three months ago,” you whisper. 
He nods once, decisively. “I figured if I could make it to December without losing my nerve, then the timing would be right.”
You hold each other’s gaze. 
“You want... me?”
“Do you see anyone else here?” 
“But Sofie -”
“Is happily engaged, and came over to the apartment a grand total of once because she was phenomenally behind in her reports and needed the help. I have no interest in her,” he says frankly. “You on, the other hand, are pretty much all I’ve been able to think about for the past year.”
You sniff thickly, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re going to have to spell it out for me. I tend to read these things completely wrong, and I don’t want -”
“I’m in love with you, and you’re in love with me,” Yoongi states plainly. He nods towards the necklace. “Are you going to put that on at any point or just sit there blubbering over it?”
“Can’t we just have a moment for once?” you sob.
“I’m sorry, what else have we been doing for the past five minutes? All these emotions are exhausting me now. Please just put the necklace on so I can kiss you.”
Your eyebrows tug together pathetically. 
“You want to kiss me?”  
He rolls his eyes. “No not really, I just said that for dramatic effect.”
“Yoongi- mmph!”
You’re cut off when he slides his hands around your waist, tugging you forward to meet his lips. His mouth moves over yours softly, as if you’re something precious, and you practically melt into him. Placing a shy hand on his chest, you shudder as a languid heat seeps through every fibre of your being.
Your mind seems to still as the two of you kiss amidst the frigid night-time, and when you break apart a fraction your mingled breath is warm between you. Then Yoongi’s lips are at the corner of your mouth, and on your cheek, and your jaw, and finally hovering gently by the shell of your ear, causing shivers of anticipation to run through you.
“Listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once,” he whispers. “There is never a time when I don’t want to kiss you. I drive myself crazy just looking at you. You’re simultaneously the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and the stupidest woman I’ve ever known because you have absolutely no idea what you do to me.” You bite down hard on your lip, eyes fluttering closed as he presses you closer against his chest. “You’re all I want, every second of the day. You’re it for me, Y/N.”
You feel overcome. The tears have barely ceased, but already you feel like you might start choking on sobs again. 
Unsure of how else to express how much his words mean to you, you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him.
“Say you love me again,” you whisper.
“Do I have to?” he murmurs back, holding you close.
“I love you.” 
“I love you.”
You hold him tighter, turning your face into his neck. “I love you too.”
“Mm. I think we established that earlier when you were -”
“Don’t think I won’t still throttle you,” you whisper softly against his pulse.
You can’t see it, but this time can practically feel him smiling.
You’re not sure how long you stay like that, wrapped up in one another’s embrace as the Heavens open up and a light snow begins to fall, but you can only assume it’s been a while. By the time Dee returns with Mina and Christmas Pikachu, she’s somehow acquired a tub of cotton candy. 
“Why are you crying?” she says through a mouthful of finely-spun sugar, totally nonplussed. 
“Hay fever,” you and Yoongi respond at the same time, quick to extricate yourselves from one another when you realise you’re no longer alone. Yoongi clears his throat awkwardly, his cheeks visibly pink beneath the overhead lights. 
“It’s December,” Dee hums.
Her father pins her with the look. “No one likes a smartass, kid.”
Mina smirks, her eyes flitting shrewdly between the pair of you. 
“All good?” she says.
You and Yoongi steal a shy glance at one another. 
“I think so,” he hums, the corner of his lips curving upwards slightly. 
When he slips his gloved fingers between yours two minutes later, with Dee skipping a few feet ahead of you belting Christmas carols and the cool touch of his locket against your heart, you know without a shadow of a doubt that he was right. This winter miracle - this strange new family you’ve built for yourselves - has finally given you something worth holding on to.
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stutterfly · a year ago
Tricks of the Trade | MYG (M)
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Shared as part of the Similarly Sequestered game with @kpopfanfictrash​, @underthejoon​, @fortunexkookie​, @gukslut​ and me!
Rating: M (Explicit 18+)
Word Count: 24.1K Prompt: “The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences.” {Body Swap AU, Soulmates AU}
Genre: Fluff, humor, smut, oneshot
Summary: The convenience store across the street from your apartment carries your favorite energy drink. That's why you frequent it. It's definitely not because you have a big fat crush on the owner you've been flirting with for the better part of a year. Of course your brand of flirting can also be misconstrued as bickering. When a strange man wanders into the store, he thinks you need a little nudge to embrace the strings connecting you. Next thing you know you're waking up in a body that definitely doesn't belong to you. You can't decide if it's the best or worst thing that's ever happened to you.
CW & Other Tags: Anxiety attacks, language, oral sex, unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering, Agent of Chaos Jin, shopkeeper Yoongi, idiots to lovers, frenemies to lovers, bodyswap shenanigans
Pairings: Yoongi x Reader
Posted on June 23, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to this or any other platform, including YouTube.
The bell at the top of the door jingles as another customer walks into the store, but you pay them no mind. You’re already scanning the refrigerated drinks section for the third time, scouring the rows of cans and bottles for your beverage of choice. There’s only one kind of energy drink you want but its usual location is barren. Desperate to find what you’re searching for, you squat down to look behind the other drinks in the fridge.
“You’re not going to find any.”
The familiar, disinterested drawl of the shopkeeper has you popping up from the floor to look over at him. He wears a green apron over a black tee and a pair of faded jeans. His back is to you so he doesn’t have to see your face when you complain. He reaches up to take off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through thick locks of ebony hair before returning the cap to his head. He spares a glance over his shoulder at you, knowing you’re watching him. He sighs loudly as he continues to stock nearby shelves with boxes of cereal.
When he opened this tiny shop across from your apartment about a year ago, you thought he was cute, but he’s always seemed cold to you. The gossips around town say he’s a bit scrawny, monotone and boorish, but you like his voice and you like his style. He must be intelligent if he started this business from nothing, especially at his age. Not many people in their late twenties can say they are as independent as Yoongi.
He has confidence and pride in his values. You’ve seen him tell rude people off without a second thought and kick people out for being racist towards other customers. He puts on a front to seem unapproachable but you’ve seen him give a carton of milk to a mother who didn’t have money to pay for it, and free candy to a group of kids on a rainy day. While he pretends to be an old grump who shuffles around his shop all day, you’ve seen him get the energy to sprint around the block after a shift and then collapse at the cafe tables next door. He’s weird. He’s honest. He’s kind-hearted. It’s easy to admire him.
He bends down to pick up more boxes, and you cock your head to the side to stare at the way his ass looks in those jeans. He’s also insanely attractive. It’s no wonder you still come in here every day.
The more you see of him, the more you feel you know him, and the more you’ve grown to like him. The problem is that your relationship with the shopkeeper has shifted into a weird territory you’re not sure how to escape from. It’s not that you hate each other, but it seems you can’t hold a conversation without getting on each other’s nerves. Either you’re always saying the wrong thing or he’s pressing all the wrong buttons when he teases you.
At first you read his teasing as awkward flirting but for someone so blunt, you’ve convinced yourself he would have been straightforward and said the words out loud. I like you. Let’s get a drink. It would be easy for him to say, wouldn’t it? Despite trying to convince yourself he’s not interested, you can’t help but flirt with him at any opportunity to do so. However, you seem to forget how the moment he looks at you. It’s like your flirting skills took an exit down a shitty highway and now you’ve lost the GPS signal to navigate back to civilization.
Talking with Yoongi has become an ache you can’t seem to give up so you’ll take whatever excuse you can to keep doing so. That usually takes the form of you poking fun at one another until you hurt your own feelings. Sometimes you spend the remainder of a day thinking about the ways you can fix tomorrow’s fictitious conversation. You forgot how being infatuated with someone can make you feel so stupid. He’s not your life, just a part that you wish could be more prominent. It’s fine.
All you have to do is get your morning beverage and pastry before working your shift. Then you can focus on how nice it will feel to do nothing all weekend and catch up on TV shows.
“So…. What did you do with it? Are you hiding them from me today?” You quickly snap your eyes to his face as he twists his body to look up at you.
He scoffs. “Not me. College kids came through last night and cleared them out.”
“But you know I always get one,” you pout, crossing your arms like it’s going to make a difference.
He turns his attention back to his task, slowly stacking the boxes in silence before he clicks his tongue. “So? I can’t just hide stuff for you, you know.”
“Don’t you have more in the back? You’ve never run out of Hot6 before.”
He laughs to himself. “This isn’t a warehouse. I have to wait for product to arrive before I can restock. Just get a Red Bull. It tastes the same.”
You crinkle your nose at him. “It does not.”
He crosses the store with a roll of his eyes and a loud sigh. Before long he’s back at the register and sipping on his iced americano. “Whatever. Why do you care? It’s easier if you develop a taste for espresso. Then you don’t have to worry about that kind of thing. Besides, energy drinks aren’t that great for you, you know.”
You make a sound of disgust as you sulk your way over to the pastry cabinet. “Jeez. Do you always have to have such a stick in your ass? You act like coffee is so much better for you.”
“More caffeine, less sugar. I guarantee you it’s better,” he says with a smack of his lips against his straw.
“Whatever, Grandpa. Hmm... Muffin, muffin, muffin…” you quietly chant to yourself as your eyes rake over the racks in search of your daily pastry fix. Today seems to be against you: no muffins.
“We’re out of those too,” he says. “You know you could stand to change up your routine. Don’t you get sick of getting the same things every day?”
You bite your lip and look over the case of pastries, grabbing a simple croissant. “I like my routine, but I guess I could always stop coming here.”
“If that’s what you want.” He sighs dramatically as he leans over the counter, resting on his elbows as he surveys the store. “Well, I could enjoy a quiet morning for once.”
You roll your eyes.“Pfft. You like to argue, so I know you’d miss me.”
There’s a squeaky laugh from behind one of the shelves and as your attention shifts to the sound, a young man with dusty pink hair pokes his head up. He must be rather tall if he’s able to look over the aisles. You quirk an eyebrow at his strange laughter and wonder what kind of stranger could be so entertained by the pair of you.
“Sorry. It’s just…” He holds up a card that neither of you can really make out at this distance. “On the front it says ‘It’s Your Birthday?’ and inside it says ‘Alpaca my party hat!’. Ha! And there’s this pop-up of the alpaca with a bandana and party hat.” He giggles again as he opens and closes the card a few times and waves his hand. “Sorry. Sorry. You can continue flirting now.”
“This is not—” Your breath catches in your throat and you have to take a moment to swallow down your embarrassment before turning back towards Yoongi. “Can you believe this guy?”
He’s in the middle of taking a bite from a half-eaten muffin when your eyes meet his guilty ones. Your jaw falls open as he slowly chews and rings you up, placing the remainder of the pastry back down on the counter.
“You took the last one?”
“I had a craving.” He shrugs.
“You knew I would want it and you took it so I couldn’t have it,” you guess in a playful tone. “Was your aim to make me suffer double today? You’re so cruel, Yoongi.”
He pauses to poke his tongue against his cheek as he handles your change. “It’s not like I planned it. Don’t make me out to be some bad guy.”
“Bad guy. Tch. No, I wouldn’t go that far.” You lean forward, planting your hands on the counter and ensuring a clear sightline into your shirt. “I think you just like getting under my skin.”
He bristles at your words, taking the bait and dropping his gaze to the lace exposed for his eyes. He licks his lips and lazily lets his eyes drift back to your face, his expression unreadable. “Maybe that’s true.”
You cock your head and smirk as you stand up straight, your ego slightly inflated. “Is it really so hard to be nice to me? I’m nice to you.”
“Hah!” He breaks into an amused grin. “When?”
You’re taken aback by his response. Surely you’ve been obvious with your infatuation up to this point. You scoff. “Wha- All the time!”
His brows furrow and he crosses his arms with the change still trapped in his palm. “So complaining is a form of politeness now? Then I should be grateful for how often you shower me with kindness.”
“You know I do more than complain! I complain because you complain to me!” you pout, pointing your finger at him. “Maybe we could talk about something meaningful if you ever cared enough to ask.”
His eyebrows raise with the pitch of your voice. It’s not a big deal. This is stupid. You’re overreacting because you like him. You know he’s fucking with you so why is your face still getting hot? Even if he’s joking, he’s planted the seed in your mind that he sees you as a grumpy customer. He’s clearly never thought of you as anything but a negative start to his day. You’ve seen him be sweet but right now he feels as bitter and cold as the coffee he drinks.
“What do you think of this?” the pink-haired stranger asks, donning a pair of thick black frames with orange-tinted lenses.
The man cuts the tension from the room for a brief moment. Yoongi stares at him, his lip curled up in disgust as he slowly shakes his head. When his eyes travel back to yours they seem full of apprehension. Your name rolls off his tongue as though it’s an apology.
“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me. Just give me my change,” you grumble, reaching up for his palm.
His grip is impossible to penetrate. He smiles as you struggle to work your fingers beneath his, shaking his head like you’ve revealed some embarrassing secret. Heat builds in your face the longer you stand there fidgeting with his hand. You feel like a fool.
“You’re obnoxious. Let me count it out first,” Yoongi sneers while trying to pull his hand back.
“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes and yank his hand towards you. “I don’t need you to count it.”
“You know what I think you need?”
The other customer leans beside the counter, a new pair of glasses on his face that are twice as hideous as the first pair. As you turn to look at the stranger you can see the pair of you reflected in hues of red and yellow in those disturbingly 90s opaque lenses. It almost looks like you’re holding hands. You stiffen at the sight but keep your fingers locked against Yoongi’s calloused ones as you focus on the pricetag dangling across the man’s nose.
The stranger slowly moves a closed fist above the place where your hand and Yoongi’s meet. He waits a few seconds until you’re both focused on his hand before a flash of silver falls from his palm. You almost mistake the shapes for identical necklaces until they untangle and rotate to reveal two halves that form a heart.
The fluorescent lights of the store highlight the engraved text on each. One says ‘BEST’ while the other half reads ‘FRIENDS’. The faux-metal irritates your neck the moment you think about it touching your skin. The chains appear fragile and cheap, like they might break at the slightest amount of tension. If this guy thinks you’re going to take these he must be delusional.
You exchange a quizzical look with Yoongi as the necklaces dangle between you. He’s distracted enough that you’re able to pry your change from his sweaty palm.
“Uh. No thanks,” you say, shoving the coins in your pocket before grabbing your croissant. You take a moment to regard Yoongi with a scowl, cocking your head to the side. “See you, Grandpa.”
The stone in his gut sinks as he watches you leave but he forces his attention to the pink haired stranger in the obscenely reflective glasses.
“You know, I think she likes you,” he whispers with a wink.
It’s been a long day but at least you don’t have to go out tomorrow. You’ve already changed into your favorite pair of comfy shorts but as you move to unbutton your work shirt something smacks against your chest. Did something get trapped in your cleavage?
“What the fuck?”
As you look down your stomach does a somersault. There’s a necklace draped around your neck with a half-broken heart pendant, etched with the word ‘BEST’. How did that guy sneak this ugly thing onto you? How did you not feel it until now? Maybe he’s some sort of street magician. Your shock is accompanied by a chuckle as you reach behind your neck to fidget with the clasp. Spinning the chain between your fingertips, you soon realize there isn’t one. This thing feels like a dollar store trinket, so you curl your fingers around the charm and pull down with all of your might. It remains secure around your neck no matter how hard you tug.
Your mind begins to break into a panic. What the fuck? What the fuck. What. The actual. Fuck.
You quickly throw on a pair of sneakers and nab the keys hanging near the door on your way out of the apartment. It's hard to believe the speed at which your feet carry you down the several flights of stairs. A couple scrambles out of the way as they watch your frenzied descent. Before long you're pressing the entirety of your body against the familiar door of the convenience store across the street.
The clerk looks up from his phone, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise as you stumble past the threshold. Your body nearly folds in half as you plant your hands on your knees and struggle to catch your breath.
"Are you alright?"
You force yourself to stand up straight to address the man standing behind the counter. The word is devoid of conviction as it leaves your mouth. "Yeah."
You know him as Tae, one of Yoongi's part-time employees. Yoongi offered him a job when he heard him say he was looking for work to supplement his endeavors to put himself through art school. You’ve seen him a lot, spoken a little here and there, and he even knows you by name now. If he's here, it's probable that his boss is not. You sigh loudly in an attempt to relieve some of the panic and frustration built up in your brain. It's not like you can just ask Tae to give you Yoongi’s number.
Tae’s wide-eyed stare indicates his concern for your well being but it’s not until he drags his gaze across your body and purses his lips that you feel something is amiss. It's at this point that you realize how much the air conditioner billows the fabric of your work shirt. Goosebumps form along your calves as all of the blood in your body rushes to your face. You quickly cross your arms over your chest to conceal the half-unbuttoned shirt and the bra that pokes out from beneath it. There’s little you can do to cover the expanse of your legs while wearing such form-fitting shorts.
“I was just… checking to see if you have any Hot6,” you say with barely a glance in the direction of the refrigerator section. “But it’s clear you’re still out.”
Tae raises his eyebrows and grants you a subtle, uncertain nod as your eyes settle on the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’
“Is your boss here?” you blurt, reaching for the chain around your neck. “I’ve got a—”
Your stomach drops. It’s gone. Both of your hands instinctively smack at your collarbones, like frantically patting against your flesh will cause the necklace to reappear. You hold your shirt open wide enough to peer down at the skin of your chest with a concentrated gaze, eyes begging for any trace of the tacky piece of jewelry to resurface. Was it really just a figment of your imagination? You swear it was there. You felt it. You pulled on it. It had to be real.
You swallow hard and quickly bounce your eyes to the uncomfortable-looking cashier. All you can offer is a weak chuckle as you try to play it off by shaking out your shirt. “Sorry… I thought there was a bug."
There's an awkward, heavy silence between you as he nods with pursed lips. There's no way this poor guy believes your delusional ass. "Bossman's gone for tonight. Seemed kinda beat."
Your eyes settle on the countertop as your brain tries to rationalize what kind of unresolved issues at work are causing your mental breakdown. You stand there while spacing out, barely blinking. You can't believe you imagined that. Not knowing what to do, Tae walks his fingers towards the miniature cans of Red Bull stacked on the counter. He gracefully sweeps his hand around a can and offers it to you. That breaks you from your daze.
"It kinda tastes the same." He attempts to cut the tension with an endearingly awkward, close-mouthed smile. "My treat?"
If it were Yoongi saying such a thing you might scowl and tell him that he must be delusional if he thinks they're the same. Tae is a much kinder soul. You find yourself softening at his suggestion and shake your head.
"You know I should probably lay off the energy drinks now that I think about it," you say. "Have a good night, Tae."
"Goodnight, Y/N!" he calls after you as you wander back through the door. He leans over the counter. "Oh, hey wait! Do you want me to let bossman know you were looking for him?"
"It's fine!" you shout back on autopilot. You're already sinking into a pool of your own thoughts as the door closes behind you.
It was not fine.
Sleep does not come easy despite your exhaustion. You find yourself tossing and turning all night. When the light begins to stream through your blinds it seems to strike at the perfect angle to blind your fluttering eyes. You pull the blankets up over your head even though you know it’s of no use; you’re already awake and there’s no going back to sleep now.
You stretch out with a yawn as you sleepily shuffle from the bed to the tiny bathroom around the corner of your room. It’s easy to apply toothpaste to your toothbrush on autopilot, taking a moment to rub your knuckles against an eye before glancing up towards the mirror. How bad is the bedhead today?
The sight that greets you causes you to drop your toothbrush in the sink and stumble back out of the doorway. Your fingers grip the frame to keep you on your feet, your attention quickly drawn to the thick digits situated there. As you force yourself forward, you support yourself with one hand on the counter and bring the other up for inspection. The foreign hand trembles as you turn it back and forth while trying to catch the breath that keeps running away from you. Anxiety sinks its teeth deeper into your lungs, causing a puncture that has you gasping for air.
Calluses adorn your fingertips, accompanied by scratches and scars from moments you've never experienced. Your nails are jagged and short, devoid of the pleasing pink color you applied to them two days ago. You dread the journey your eyes threaten to make towards the mirror once again but you find that you are unable to stop them. The face staring back at you with saucer-wide eyes is none other than Min Yoongi.
Your head feels light. This face is fake. You gasp for the air you can't seem to get enough of and stumble out of the bathroom. The walls seem to wobble in place as you race towards the living room where you can feel the breeze flowing through the window you left open last night. This world is fake. Nothing is real. Air will fix this. If you could just breathe like a normal person everything would be okay.
You fall to your knees within spitting distance of the window. For all the air your body greedily sucks inward, your mind feels bereft of any. Your vision goes dark.
Yoongi does his best to make his way up the stairs with poise, but he's almost sure it looks like a waddle more than anything. His thighs --your thighs-- are chafing from the run here and each step is a painful reminder of the irritated flesh still rubbing together beneath these sweatpants. At least one of your neighbors was kind enough to let him into the main entrance. They must have recognized the face he mysteriously woke up with. Luckily your mailbox has your last name on it and as much as you might disagree he does pay attention when you talk.
He tries to wipe the sweat from his brow as he bends down to plant his hands on his knees. Even as his breath recovers, he grows increasingly frustrated with how heavy his chest feels. He repeatedly pushes the hair from his face with a groan, wishing he had taken the scissors to it when he had the opportunity earlier. He takes off the cap atop his head, runs his fingers through his hair, and places it back on his head. Everything is too much. You need to fix this. Take it back.
The faster he tries to ascend the stairs, the more he aches. He finally gives up on looking civil when he decides there's no one else in the stairwell to judge him. After all they'll only remember you anyway so what does it matter? He rolls the sweatpants up above his knees and cups the breasts hidden beneath the oversized sweater for support as he scrambles up the last few floors.
He grimaces at the dainty pink fingernails before curling his hand into a fist and rapping his knuckles against your door. He puffs his cheeks out and expels a long breath. What could you possibly be doing? You have to be in there. He tries the handle to no avail. Are you still asleep? He quickly abandons the need for subtlety and places both palms on the door and drums loudly against it. The sound of the deadbolt unlocking tells him he shouldn't hesitate. He's through the door before you can even properly get off your knees.
Somehow you knew what would be waiting for you on the other side. The sight before you has your mind reeling. That's your body, but it's not you. Could it really be Yoongi? You did not get Freaky-Friday'd with him. There's no fucking way this is reality. You can feel yourself panicking again as you back away from the figure, falling back on your ass. You watch yourself look down at you with a look of disgust.
"What are you doing?" That's definitely your voice.
Your body takes slow steps towards you as it crosses one arm over the other. You lean back on your elbows and groan. It's a deep sound, deeper than anything that's come from your throat even on your sickest day. This isn’t happening.
"Oh my god. I'm fucking dying," you murmur while tilting your head towards the ceiling. "Everything is fake. Nothing is real. I’m going crazy. Please let me rot."
The figure bends down and leans over into your field of vision. The image of your face frowns back at you and pokes you in the chest with a pointed fingernail.
“Stop that.”
“I can’t,” you whine between heavy breaths. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out again.
“Y/N. Look at me.”
Those perfectly manicured hands reach out for your shoulders in comfort but you fall flat on your back and your arm flies up to cover your eyes.Tears sting at them as reality warbles around you again. Seeing your own face hovering above you definitely isn’t helping you feel more sane.
"I don't know what's happening," you sob.
With each breath you suck between your quivering lips, your chest aches. Suddenly that pair of hands is cupping your jaw and pushing your arm aside. You look into the eyes you are already so familiar with, but they seem far more caring than you’ve ever managed to display.
"We need to undo whatever is happening right now," he says calmly. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to tell me you're okay. But I need you to sit up and pull yourself together long enough to help me figure this out. Can you do that?"
You swallow hard and nod slowly as you take the hand offered to you. A half-smirk appears on his lips; it's strange to see yourself reflected with such warmth, especially knowing it's coming from Yoongi.
"Good. Now please go change. I can't look at those shorts anymore.”
You look down at your attire for the first time and realize how absurd Yoongi’s body looks in the clothing you wore to bed. The skimpy tank top clings to the muscular, flat chest you now possess. Worse still, you can see bits of flesh poking out against that hairy inner thigh below. You squeeze your eyes shut and pretend like you can forget what you just saw sticking out of your shorts.
You take a deep breath as your face burns with embarrassment. “Okay. Give me your pants.”
He stiffens at your demand and scoffs. “What?”
“I don’t have anything that will fit you— er, I mean, me. Us?” You gesture at your body and stare at the floor, trying to will yourself to not dissociate. “This. You can’t be comfortable either.”
There’s a sigh before he plops down on your couch with legs spread wide open. “My back hurts and my thighs rubbed together so much I don’t want to move anymore.”
You can’t help but laugh at the admission. At least he feels your pain. He looks up at you while reclining his head on the cushion behind him. You’re not hyperventilating anymore so distraction seems to be the key to keeping you relatively calm.
“Why you, of all people?” he wonders.
You roll your eyes and stomp across the room and disappear into your bedroom. “Hmph. I was about to ask you the same thing. This is bullshit.”
You come back with a handful of carefully selected clothes and strappy undergarments that you know for a fact flatter your shape. If he has to walk around in your skin the least he can do is make it look good. You pause halfway down the hall and swallow hard as it dawns on you that he’s going to have to get naked in order to change, which means he’s unavoidably going to be looking at your body without any barriers. You decide you’re going to be strong and you simply won’t think about it or acknowledge it as a possibility.
He’s busy chewing one of your nails when you reach the living room again. You hug the clothes close to your chest and storm across the room.
“Do you bite your nails?! Ew! God, no wonder yours are so jagged and gross,” you complain, thrusting the clothes into his lap.
He offers an apologetic look before glancing down at the attire you’ve supplied with raised eyebrows. He picks up the bra with one finger and grimaces at the way it dangles off his digit. He’s looking up at you with pleading eyes shortly after it falls back in his lap. It’s hard to avoid his gaze. You feel those pupils boring into your skull as you dart your eyes away to focus on the floor.
You clear your throat and muster every last bit of courage you possess. “Um… Your clothes, please?”
He inhales loudly through his nose and you watch the grey sweatpants pool around the toenails you just painted last night. You swallow hard and scramble to pick them up when they slide across the wooden floor to you. You clutch them to your chest, quickly catching the scent of your sweat and arousal on them. Maybe he hasn’t noticed? Trying to suppress the mortification growing in your chest, you purse your lips and trail your gaze back up to his face--your face. Thankfully the hoodie covers your sex and you’re hoping he hasn’t bothered taking a peek before coming here.
“Don’t… Don’t look,” you plead. So much for not acknowledging it.
He’s feeding his arm through one of the sleeves when he freezes in place and locks eyes with you. “I should tell you I woke up shirtless,” he mumbles. As if to lessen the blow of his admission, he continues with a pout, “But you can’t blame me for looking. It’s hard not to look at a pair of perfect tits that mysteriously appear in the middle of the night. What was I supposed to do?”
Perfect tits? You’d almost be flattered if it wasn’t so fucking morifying to know he’s already seen you. Your eyes screw shut and you nod. “Right.”
This is fine. This is absolutely fine.
“Hey,” he calls softly, prodding you to open your eyes. “Here.”
He keeps eye contact with you while feeding his other arm through the sleeve. Watching yourself strip without performing the act is bizarre. He holds the sweater out for you to slowly take. It eases your mind to see his gaze never wavered. Yours drops to the nude form before you and suddenly you’re criticizing every curve and flaw you can find. It’s as though you’re simply standing before a mirror and feeding your insecurity with needless scrutiny. Despite this, Yoongi remains focused on your face and the discomfort you display so openly at seeing your own form stripped bare. Almost bare. That beat-up baseball cap he wears every day now adorns your head like a crown for your mediocrity.
You spin on your heels and speedwalk down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s hard to ignore the new appendage you’ve acquired but you make sure to shut your eyes while peeling the shorts from your thighs and sliding the sweatpants up in their stead. While you rushed through the bottom half of your attire, you stop for a minute to inspect Yoongi’s bare pectorals. It’s all too easy to get lost in the sight of his body in the mirror. You subconsciously lick your lips and run your fingers across your flat, hard chest.
Your thumb circles a brown nipple and you watch with satisfaction as it grows hard at your touch. Your palms press down over your stomach, feeling the muscles hidden just below the surface of soft flesh. You grab at your hips, fingers threatening to dart below the band of your pants. Instead you suck air in through your nose and scold yourself for such weakness. You’re about to tug the sweater over your head when Yoongi silently enters and flops down on the bed face-first.
“Yoongi? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!” you shriek in your haste to cover up your own moment of weakness.
There’s a muffled response spoken into the mattress that you can’t quite understand.
"What?" Annoyance is a front for your embarrassment.
He turns his head to one side and sighs. "There are too many straps. Why did you pick such a difficult one?"
You definitely selected something with a lot of extra straps for a reason but you bite your lip and try to come up with an excuse that seems plausible. The truth is that you wanted to pick something sexy because you wanted him to see you as such. Does he care though? It's hard to tell. You decide the best excuse is to dismiss the question altogether.
"Stop being such a baby. I'll help you."
As he lifts his head to cringe in your direction, you're already out the door. He pounds his forehead against the mattress again and squeezes his eyes shut. There's clearly no logical explanation for this, so what is the next step to take? What should the pair of you do? Is this permanent? There has to be a way to undo whatever has happened. In order to figure that out he's trying to piece together the source of this predicament. No matter how hard he wracks his brain for answers to the puzzle, there still seems to be pieces missing.
"Get up. Come on," you huff, tugging at his arm.
The sound he makes is pitiful and whiny as he rises. It's easy enough to see where his arms are supposed to go when you've already bunched all of the material together. You step behind him and fiddle with the fit around the familiar mounds of flesh at his front. He instinctively looks down to watch how his own familiar fingers slide beneath the bra. He pries his eyes away just as quickly to find he has a much better view of the pair of you in the mirror.
There's a sight he'd never thought he'd see: both of you shirtless with his hands in your bra. It's not that he's never wanted it. It's just that he always seems to fuck it up when it comes to being social, with you in particular. Maybe it's because he likes you too much. There's never been a proper opportunity to make a move outside of work and he knows his flirting skills are abysmal. But looking at the reflection of the pair of you now fills him with equal amounts of desire and confidence.
Just as you’re about to clasp the first strap behind his neck you glance up and find yourself lost in the same reflection. An electric blush creeps up your spine and causes a tingle in your cheeks that makes you freeze like a deer caught in headlights. He hums a soft sound and makes the decision to reach back for your wrist. For a moment you’re not sure if you’re moving or if he is but you find yourself enjoying the sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers dipping below the fabric of your bra.
“Yoongi?” you ask, jaw hanging slack as the bra slips a bit further down.
“Do you feel that?” The voice is quiet as he lets you trace fingers along the soft skin. “It pinches there.”
That pinch is a familiar one but you always tell yourself that’s the price of beauty. The straps chafe. The underwire digs into your ribs. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s the sexiest-looking thing you own so comfort be damned. You watch it slide further down to reveal one of your nipples in the reflection of the mirror; it’s impossible to look away. So much for him not looking anymore. You can’t blame him because it’s impossible for you to take your eyes off it too. The sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers trailing along the side of your breast sends a surge of excitement through your veins.
Goosebumps form a path where your fingers have traced and Yoongi exhales a shaky breath. The sound makes you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. Is he feeling just as turned on right now? You try to remind yourself that the mirror is a lie. He’s not touching you. You’re touching him, regardless of how it looks. You can’t let your feelings cloud your judgement. It’s so fucking hard to think straight now that you’re together like this, not just because he’s here in your room but because he’s experiencing the unique arousal of his body while trapped in yours.
“Being a girl sucks. What am I supposed to do about it?” Your fingers tremble as you force your eyes to meet his in the mirror.
The action does not go unnoticed. He smirks and quirks a brow but chooses to let it slide without commenting. “Give me something easy and comfy.”
“But—” You hesitate. Do you really need to argue about this? You can’t explain it without admitting your feelings towards him. It seems like an inopportune time, more so than usual. It’s better if you can just shut the fuck up for two seconds and work on the important task at hand: figuring out how to get back to normal.
He immediately fills the gap with an objection of his own. “Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” you say in the flattest tone you can muster.
He turns around to get a better read on your body language but you’re already rummaging through your drawers. You toss a sports bra with a front-facing zipper at him while you don the sweater and slip into the bathroom to relieve yourself. It’s best to avoid situations like that again if you can.
Yoongi takes this moment to inspect the room, crinkling his nose at the several empty cans of Hot6 stacked on top of your dresser. He brings a long manicured nail to his teeth and begins working it back and forth as he slides the folding closet door open with a finger. Much to his surprise your wardrobe is filled with t-shirts that look much more comfortable than the piece you previously selected. He’s quick to trade shirts and carefully replaces the clothing on the hanger before sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his elbows. Comfy. Finally. His attention is drawn to the closed bathroom door. It’s been a while. Are you okay?
“You better not be passed out in there,” he whines, making sure to sound extra annoying for you.
The attempt to conceal the concern in his tone is successful but he’s happy you’re not able to see his worried expression. If you knew how badly he wants to freak out, you might actually start hyperventilating again. He’d like to avoid that. The door swings open and you exhale deeply. You’re not about to tell him you had to wait out the boner because then he’d probably make fun of you. He watches you take a few steps forward while wedging a nail between his teeth.
“Are you biting my fucking nails again?”
You’re already scrambling across the bed and by the time he moves to shuffle backwards you have his wrists pinned against your soft comforter and you’re straddling his waist. Oh god. This is too fucking hot to be doing with him while he’s in your body. Abort. Abort!
It’s now that you note he’s wearing a soft cotton t-shirt you definitely did not pick out. “Yoongi, did you—”
“These clothes are better. Did you give me the most uncomfortable things you own just to make me suffer for stealing your muffin?”
Between the sports bra and the t-shirt he’s selected the curves of your body are lost to your eyes and your heart sinks. There goes any chance you had of him thinking your body is sexy. He’s expecting a tongue lashing but you sigh instead and release your hold on him, quickly climbing off his form before you can let your body get you into trouble. You search for the laptop that you know is hidden just beneath the covers near your pillows.
“Pfft. Look, maybe we can google what happened to us and not get Freaky Friday movie reviews. You wanna see if it works?”
He offers a half smirk in response and he’s quiet only for a second before he hums a sound of distaste. It’s an accusation and you know it. He quickly scoots back towards the pillows so he can sit beside you.
You scowl as you mistype your own password. “Ugh. What?”
“I’m just wondering why you’re so mad.”
“I’m not.”
You make sure to broadcast the fact that you’re definitely not mad by repeatedly tapping the delete key in a slow, deliberate motion.
“Why does your face look like that then?” he prods while folding his hands across his lap.
“Like what? You of all people should know that your face always looks this grumpy.”
As he rests his head against the fluffy material behind him, he lazily rolls his head towards you. “Y/N.”
You dramatically throw your head back against the pillows and mirror his stare. “Yoongi.”
“What is it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.
“It clearly does,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “We have to work together to figure this out, so some honesty might be nice.”
You open the laptop and stare at the password screen for a moment with a longing sigh. “Fine. I look gross in those,” you admit with a brief glance at his attire. “You’re making me look like an unsexy blob.”
He scoffs. “What? Is that all? You’re being ridiculous. These clothes don’t matter at all. We both know what you look like underneath them. Honestly, you could be wearing a trashbag and still be sexy.”
“To whom?” You want to laugh at how absurd his explanation sounds. “What kind of lunatic would think that?”
He blinks slowly and raises his eyebrows with a calculated clench of his jaw. “Me. For starters.”
He’s stiff as he purses his lips and crosses his arms. He stares at the login screen, waiting for you to type your password. “And any sane man or woman with a pair of eyes and a brain.”
Your mouth falls open in disbelief mid-stroke. Was that a confession? Your head might as well be full of helium with how high you’re feeling. This has to be a dream. If the insane concept of switching bodies with Yoongi isn’t enough to solidify it, those words sure are. You have to be dreaming.
Your eyes remain locked onto the fingers now resting against the keys. “Do you really think that?”
“Yes.” The response comes quicker than expected but instead of giving you time to ruminate on it, he nudges you with his elbow. “Password.”
Your shoulders lift with a deep inhale through your nose and drop back down with the subsequent forceful exhale through your lips. What are you supposed to do with that information? You feel your consciousness try to lift into the aether. If you could only make it float back into your own body, you might have the courage to say something, anything. With your mind drifting away, your fingers move of their own accord as they type in the password to your laptop.
"Whoa, what the fuck is that?"
The video you'd left open last night starts up with a preview that brings you back to reality, but not fast enough.
"D-Don't look! It's private!" you screech.
Heat pulses through the veins along the sides of your forehead. Precious seconds have already been wasted by the time you frantically scramble to close the tab. He's seen the keywords in the search bar and the nastiest bits of that particular video. You're fucking mortified.
“I mean that’s definitely a couple privates," he jokes with a laugh. "You seriously just leave your porn out like that?"
”Incognito mode, Yoongi," you sneer while pulling up a new tab. "I don’t need you or my FBI guy judging me.”
He snorts. “Oh come on, Y/N. The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences. And neither do I. Besides, you technically looked at it with my eyes already.”
He taps the side of your forehead gently as if you needed the reminder that you're not in your own skin and you swat him away. You quickly type the phrase “body swap” into the search bar and try to focus on the resulting web pages even though you’re distracted by the blood leaving your brain in favor of other body parts.
"Can you just… Shut up for one second?"
"Hey, I'm just saying..." He clicks his tongue thoughtfully as he scooches closer to you. "You’re into some good stuff. We might have more in common than I thought."
Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the physical contact and send a tingling electricity down your abdomen. You clear your throat and reposition the computer over your lap as you feel yourself growing harder. You stare down at the two fingers settled on the trackpad rather than the information on screen. Try as you might to remain inconspicuous, suddenly all you can think about are those thick fingers rubbing hard circles against your clit while the two of you watch porn together. Bad thought. Baaaaaad. You attempt to pass the laptop over to him as discreetly as possible while shifting your pelvis away towards the edge of the bed.
“I’m…” You flounder for an excuse to leave the room and get these racing hormones under control. “...pee.”
“What?” There's a quizzical expression branded upon his features that toes the line of disgust.
“I have to pee,” you quickly correct while tactically holding your forearm over your lap. If there is such a thing as fate, why is it torturing you like this?
You push the laptop towards him once more and pray that he’ll just let you go be embarrassed alone in the bathroom for five minutes. Instead he looks down at the way your forearms cross your pelvis and exudes a deep, throaty laugh that sounds foreign in the tenor of your voice. That laughter travels through your head like it’s made of hot coals.
“Wow. Got a boner, huh?”
Your cheeks are made of fire. Literal fire. They feel like they should melt straight through your skin and torch your brain yet here you are: still alive and wishing you would burn to death. God is dead. There is no mercy in this universe.
"Don't fucking laugh at me! I can't control it!"
When he laughs harder, the urge to silence him overtakes all rational thought. You reach for a lock of hair sticking out from beneath his cap and pull hard. He hisses through his teeth and you smirk, knowing what kind of response this would normally elicit from your body. Will it affect him the same, or is the sexual response guided by mental preference rather than physical? Maybe it’s both. It seems to have some effect because he’s stopped laughing.
Yoongi shivers as goosebumps riddle his arms and prickle along his chest until his nipples are threatening to poke holes through the thin fabric of the bra and t-shirt. His jaw tightens and on instinct his hand shoots up to grasp at the short black hair adorning your head in retaliation. He catches himself before he pursues the motion of yanking down. What is he doing? Can he really be so bold with you? He knows you, but not like this. Things are strange right now but if he keeps going they're bound to get stranger. If the butterflies in his stomach weren't enough to tip him off to his attraction to you, even like this, the wetness between these thighs solidifies the magnetism you hold over him.
A pitiful sound escapes your lips that hints at your disappointment. “Mmm?"
He pauses there to inspect your expression, tilting his head as though it will give him a better read. He should be able to interpret his own expression but looking at his face through your eyes doesn't seem to help at all. Because he's studied your features for so long it's hard to see what you're feeling now that he can't see them at work. His palm flattens against your scalp and he allows his fingers to wander through the thick black hair he's combed out a million times. Somehow it feels softer in your hands. Soon he finds his hand cupping the back of your neck. Labored breaths swim in the space between the pair of you, but it's hard to tell who they belong to.
"What are you doing?" you whisper as your fingers reach for the brim of his cap.
"What are you doing?" he echoes back.
Have your eyes always looked so fierce, or is it his persona breathing a dark fire into them now? You flick the cap off his head, which releases all the hair he had trapped underneath it. You push it back from his face and tangle your fingers within it.
"Pretending like this isn't just you wanting to make out with yourself to see what it's like," you answer, staring at the reflection in his eyes. "You?"
There's a smirk that grows into a full blown grin within seconds. "Trying to convince myself that it isn't insane to want to make out with myself just to see what it's like."
You scoff and drop your hands to his shoulders to give him a firm push back. "Dick."
He giggles at the way you pout and halfheartedly pushes the laptop towards the other side of the bed. The hand still on the back of your neck travels up to massage your scalp and suddenly you're putty in his palm. His other hand trails along your stubbly jaw until his fingers are nestled behind your ear. As he glances down at the tent in your pants he laughs.
"Still hard?"
"Like your nipples," you grumble.
You reach out and twist the peaks barely hidden beneath his shirt; it's an impulse you don't refuse. This time he moans.
"Oh, you liked that, hmm? I bet you're so fucking wet right now," you whisper, embracing your boldness.
You watch his eyes roll with the flutter of his lashes at your words. Both of his hands glide through your hair and he begins to flex his fingers around some strands. He alternates between releasing his gentle grip on your locks and twisting his fingers back into them. You’re making him crazy. Should he even bother trying to compose himself at this point?
“What?” you prod, pushing the limits of his endurance for such brattiness. “Aren’t you going to pull my hair, Yoongi?”
The way he glares at you causes your skin to break out in a series of goosebumps. How can you be shivering when your body was just doing its best impression of molten rock? Yoongi. That’s the answer. You whimper a pathetic sound as his knuckles curl towards your scalp. The motion brings your forehead down to meet his and your eyelids flutter closed. He focuses heavy breaths out through his nose and stares at the lips he knows are his own. They may be part of his usual physical appearance but right now they’re a part of yours.
“You’re so fucking obnoxious.”
He sucks his bottom lip through his teeth and moves towards you before he can second guess what he's about to do. His lips seem to meld with yours and your eyes pop open to be sure this is really happening. Is this really happening? You see your own nose and heavy lidded eyes peeking open just enough to roll back in pleasure.
The hands buried in your hair drop to cradle your jaw and you can feel the stubble scraping against the delicate skin of his fingers as he drags his hands slowly towards your chin. You melt into his touch and hold your breath like you'll never inhale another again. Suddenly you're kissing him back and no amount of lightheadedness can stop you.
Oh shit. This is happening. It’s not anything like your daydreams but it’s real and it feels so fucking good. It feels surreal. It feels too surreal. Maybe the lightheadedness can stop you. It's you, but it's not. Your eyes open again and you find a battle of anxiety raging in your brain. He pauses to peck the edge of your mouth when he realizes you're no longer kissing him back.
"What are you doing?" he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “Did I… read that wrong?”
“No! No, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. It’s just…” A laugh bubbles from your throat and you shake your head before bursting into a fit of giggles. “This is weird.”
Relief washes over his features and he smiles as he leans back to look at you. “It’s definitely unique. But I can’t say I want to stop.”
His admission fills you with a fresh wave of tingles up your spine. “Me neither. I… still want you.”
You sheepishly turn your head to the side and find the mirror lining the closet wall, looking at the image of the pair of you as if it will save you from the embarrassment of your own words.
"What? Now you're getting shy?" he teases while following you gaze to the reflection. It dawns on him that he can enjoy the view. "Or do you just want to watch?"
He moves towards your lips slowly while keeping focused on the mirror, watching your eyes lazily roll back behind your lids and revelling in the whine this pulls from you.
“Look,” he pleads in low whisper, angling your body so you can get a better view. “Look how good you look with your tongue on my neck.”
Your head lolls around just in time to see exactly that before the sensation snaps across your nerve endings. He latches on, sucking light bruises into the tender flesh. He knows where to put his tongue to have you gripping the back of his neck and arching your back up towards him. He smirks as he glances at the mirror, licking a hot stripe up to your ear where he teasingly nibbles on the lobe.
"Does it look as hot when I--when you...?" You flounder on your words in between soft pants, your eyes trained on the reflection.
He counters with a whisper, “Do you want to find out?”
“I’m… curious,” you admit, leaning your head back to give him access to more of your neck.
“You want to know how it feels,” he lazily mumbles against your neck. “Hmm. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it.”
“It’s a unique opportunity,” you say, trying to convince yourself that proposing the idea isn’t weird at all. “Maybe we just… See?”
“Right. This is a unique opportunity,” he echoes in agreement, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His voice is muffled as he sighs a heated breath against your skin. “We should take advantage of it.”
“I mean, as long as you don’t tell anyone.”
He pops his head up to look at you, his brows knotted in confusion. “Who would believe me?”
You shake your head and smirk. “I guess you’re right.”
There’s a moment where the concept of time seems to evaporate. You both stare at each other like you’re seeing your own faces for the first time, like it’s the first time you both can actually love and accept yourselves as you are. It’s easier to be gentle with someone else, but now that someone else is technically also a part of you it brings a level of clemency to your feelings regarding your appearance. You like yourself better now that you can see a part of him there.
“Will you show me how you like it?” he asks with a tilt of his head.
“If you show me, too,” you say with a gentle rock of your hips towards him.
“You first.”
Your mouth is already covering the soft expanse of his neck, dragging your teeth with just enough pressure to tease the skin. He watches you work up and down through the mirror, feeling the arousal between his legs building. As you're kissing a path back towards his mouth he takes a chance and swings his leg over your midriff so he's kneeling just above the throbbing cock hidden beneath the thin layer of gray fabric. The jeans dig a hard line into his stomach and limit the range of his spread.
"These pants are horrible," he complains.
"Take them off if you hate them so much," you agree between hungry kisses. It's impossible to keep your eyes from the mirror. He hooks his fingers beneath your sweater and begins working it upwards, stopping only to rest a palm on your chest.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He trails his fingers down the flat expanse until he gets to your navel, passing over the dark hair leading down into your pants. He tugs at the place where the hair begins to grow thicker and laughs when you hiss an expletive.
He quickly pulls the oversized sweater upwards. Instead of helping you out of it, he clutches the fabric with both hands as you bring your arms above your head and presses you back into the mattress. You find your bent elbows trapped in the sleeves.
“How about this?” he whispers. “Do you like this?”
“Yes.” You look down at the delicious pectorals he’s exposed, practically salivating at the sight of those pert nipples. “Yoongi, please.”
He smirks as he runs his fingers down your chest, ignoring the nipples you wish he would do something about. Lower. Lower. His hand travels behind him until suddenly your body spasms with pleasure from the practiced grip he’s placed on the cock standing at attention behind him.
“This? Does it feel good when I touch you like this?”
“Fuck! Yes. Please. Yes!”
Just as quickly as his hand pressed against your clothed erection, it’s gone, leaving you a whimpering mess. He plants a kiss beside one of your nipples, but denies it any direct contact.
"Stop teasing me," you whine. The pressure in your chest builds with every second that passes and you feel like your heart is going to burst.
He lets out a lofty sigh as he sits back on his thighs, promptly removing his t-shirt. "But you make it so easy..."
You wiggle out of the arms of the sweater and sit up to unsnap the button to his jeans. You kiss up his stomach until he’s unzipping the bra and letting you nip at the supple flesh for a moment. He discards the bra like it’s nothing before rolling over to unzip his pants. He peels them from his legs along with the soaked panties. It’s hard to not look at the mirror as he climbs over your waist. If he holds any shame for being nude in front of you, it’s not apparent in his current form. Your face, however, feels hot. Your body is exposed and he keeps looking at it, groping those breasts with his hands.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, admiring the reflection as he plays with his nipples between his fingers.
You want to bury your face in something to hide your embarrassment so you plant your face between his tits and begin to suck bruises into the soft flesh beside his fingers.
“Oh fuck.” The sight of his own face diving between those squishy tits is enough to make his body involuntarily flex in ways he’s never experienced before.
“How does it feel?” you murmur, slowly licking a path to one of his nipples and lightly dragging your teeth along it.
The sound he makes when he moans has you shivering all over again. He lets his head fall back for a second and then he looks at you. “Like I want you to touch me.”
Now you’re the one who smirks with confidence. “Lay back.”
He snaps the band at your waist as he rolls off of you. “These. Off.”
Manicured fingers slip down to rub some of the tension from the swollen bud between his legs as he watches you awkwardly push the pants down past the cock begging to be touched. You try to avoid looking at it. It’s hard not to feel exposed even though it’s not your body. You scramble back into the bed as quickly as you can. His laughter catches you off guard.
“You’re so shy now. Look at it. Feel it,” he urges. “Grab my cock.”
You try to be casual about your downward glance but the way you lick your lips is anything but casual. You press your thumb into the base of the cock to admire its shape from a 90 degree angle. It’s average in terms of length but your mouth waters at the sight of the bulging veins and increased girth just below the swollen tip. You don’t bother to resist the urge to grip the shaft. You drag your hand up and trace your thumb around the fleshy mauve tip. The sensation causes you to shiver. It’s so sensitive.
As you’re admiring the way it tapers towards the base, soft, thinner fingers curl around yours and begin to guide them into a slow, controlled pumping motion that sets your nerves alight.
He quirks a brow at you. “What do you think?”
“Fuck, Yoongi,” you choke out with a held breath. Greedy gasps break the small silence that follows. Has it always been so hard to speak while masturbating? It’s not like you’re terrible at dirty talk so why are you hesitating?
“Do you need me to stop?”
You fervently shake your head and follow it with a needy groan. “No. Please… Keep going.” You hope he never stops.
“Then use your words” he urges, placing his hand over yours to slow your pace to a crawl.
You whimper. It’s a pathetic sound created with his voice in his throat, yet it still somehow sounds so deliciously like you. While he finds himself attracted to your usual body, it doesn’t bother him that you’re currently assuming a different form. Looks are fleeting anyway. It’s the person inside he’s grown attached to, the caring soul he feels connected to.
He’s seen you stare at the bulletin board near the restroom and tear off the tabs of creative community activities to benefit those in need. If he wasn’t so busy managing the store all the time he would have been able to sign up for those events too. He’s seen you volunteer at the homeless shelter just around the corner. He’s seen you cradling posters for your neighbor’s missing cat— he’d even let you keep one on the door to his store until you told him they found it.
The truth is that your soul is so beautiful and full that he’d want you no matter what you looked like. If only he had the courage to say that. But it's easier to hide behind snark.
“It feels so good,” you whine. “I wish I could put my mouth all over it. Bet you’d fill me so good.”
A growl escapes with his exhale and he guides your fist up and down the girth between your legs with increased vigor. He gently leads you by the dick, pulling you closer to the bed until your knees hit the side.
“Look in the mirror, Y/N. Watch,” he whispers in a low tone, almost begging you to keep your eyes on the reflection.
You do as he says and watch in awe as a set of manicured fingers tap against your chest and trail down to the cock still nestled in your fist. They work their way beneath your palm and shoo your hand away. Even knowing that Yoongi is behind the action, the sight of your hands stroking that perfect cock sets a fire of desire coursing through your veins.
You watch in the mirror as your lips plant kisses on the dark hair beneath Yoongi’s navel. You watch as your head sinks lower and lower until soft, plush lips are skimming the tip of his dick. You watch his length slide into your mouth and immediately your knees threaten to buckle.
His hands are already reaching up to stabilize your stance even as he glides his tongue against you. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve felt before, but having your clit sucked and teased comes close. It’s heaven. You whimper a tortured sound sitting somewhere between the boundaries of pleasure and anguish. He plays your role so well, maybe even better than you could play it. You attempt to distract yourself from the nervous tremble of your thighs by gathering bits of his hair in your hands and balling it in your fists. He gargles out a muffled moan against you.
“I look so good sucking your pretty cock,” you whisper in awe.
He leans back to swipe his tongue over the slit and then sinks back down, nose hitting the tuft of dark hair at your pelvis as you bottom out in his throat. Your grip around his hair tightens with the slight rock of your hips. You press his face against your crotch like you never want him to leave. The pair of you look so fucking hot. You’re revelling in slow, shallow thrusts deep in his throat when he makes a gagging noise you know all too well. He grips your thighs and you immediately release your hold while pulling your hips back.
“Fuck I’m so sorry!” Heat rises in your face and you want to run and hide.
He rests his palm on your waist and catches his breath, a trail of sticky precum and thick spit connecting his mouth to your cock. It involuntarily flexes and bobs up towards your stomach and then back down, which severs the path of saliva.
“Don’t be. That was hot.” He wipes his lips with the back of his hand.
“Yoongi, you didn’t have to! I mean I was curious but I—”
You’re cut off by his harsh tug on your hands. You stumble forward and meet his dark gaze. How can he make your eyes look so hungry?
“I’m a firm believer in never asking someone to do what I wouldn’t. I like to know what I’m giving, don’t you?”
“God, I wish that were me. I want to taste you so bad,” you whine, licking your lips as you spare a glance down at the glistening appendage standing at attention between your legs. “Wanna taste you dripping off my tongue.”
“You can,” he assures you in a soft voice, cupping your face with his hands.
His lips are on yours in an instant and you’re moaning against them like you’ll never get enough. The salty tang on his tongue transfers to yours as it dips into your mouth. You wish you could take him into your mouth yourself, but this is a good substitute for now.
"You taste good," you pant between kisses. "Why haven't we done this sooner?"
He pulls away to shrug, cocking his head to the side and focusing on your neck. "If you want something you have to speak up. No one can read minds and even if they could, often times people are so wrapped up in their own heads they'd never see what you think.”
"Wow, getting philosophical on me, huh? So… What? I'm just supposed to say, ‘Hey yoongi you're hot. Wanna fuck’?"
"That's a little blunt don't you think?" He laughs, allowing you to push him back onto the mattress. "Been holding that back long?"
Your heart skips a beat, heat flushing your ears. "Maybe. Would it have made a difference?”
He ponders this for a moment as he squints at the ceiling in concentration. "Mmm. I'd say you should at least buy me dinner first… "
You scoff. It’s not a no but it’s not an enthusiastic yes either. You climb onto the mattress, trying to ignore how casually he lays in your bed, completely barren before you.
He rolls onto his side and props his head up to survey your approach. You seem a little nervous so it’s easier for him to fake confidence for both your sakes. "I guess we're both guilty of not saying what we mean."
"What is it you really mean to say then?" If he’s got a juicy secret he’s been holding in, then you want to know to salvage what’s left of your pride.
"I give you shit but I like that you come into the store every day to get your muffin and your gross energy drink. I like when you come back in after just to bitch about your day and pretend like you need a snack that I never see you eat. I like when you ask me about my day, even though you know I’m shit at conversation. It makes me happy because I care about…" he hesitates when he sees your smug grin. "...”
“Yes?” you prod.
He draws a deep breath from his belly. “You. I care about you. I’ve never found an opportunity to tell you that I like you. I’m always working, keeping my store afloat, focused on the numbers and the success of my business. But I see you coming out of that building every day. I watch for you to make sure even after a year of this that you’re still coming here first. It’s crazy but you put me at ease and make me anxious at the same time. I feel like I know you, like I’ve known you all my life.”
He pauses to allow you to interject. When you don’t, he continues, “I feel it in my bones when you smile at me, when you roll your eyes at me, when you try to make me laugh... You’re so easy to fall for. I know that I’m not, but sometimes you look at me and I feel like you want to. I want you to. I wish you would come back when I’m locking up for the night so that I could see you outside of work, so I could take you out, so I could take you home. A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say.”
“Yoongi…” you finally whisper.
Your face scrunches up like you’re about to cry and he grimaces at you, knowing you’re definitely about to do just that.
“Don’t do that. My cheeks look so fat when you do that. Hey, are you listening? Don’t make my face look so ugly!”
His attempts to make you smile simply causes the tears to fall from your eyes. You melt into his embrace, burying your face against his neck as you sob. He places a tentative palm on the back of your head.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, planting a kiss against your hair, “if it’s just me.”
“No, I feel the same way,” you admit, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “You say you’re hard to love but how can that be true when I feel what I feel so easily? I will wait for you to close your shop and walk you home every day if you let me. I will be yours, if you let me.”
He turns your head so that he can bring his lips to yours. They taste salty again for entirely different reasons. Can you feel the way he’s trembling right now? All the relief in the world can’t assuage the ache of carrying such a burden in his chest for so long. The adrenaline is coursing through him like a wildfire, spreading until his lungs are burning with a heat he can’t quell.
“Mine, then,” he whispers, allowing the tears to stream down his cheeks freely. “Mine.”
He tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a passionate kiss that threatens to steal every last bit of oxygen from your lungs. He growls into your mouth, claiming every inch inside with his tongue. He grinds his hips upwards and it’s then you remember that you’re naked and you have a dick that’s still half-hard and growing harder by the second.
You groan loudly. “Fuuuuuck. I want to fuck you so bad right now.”
He pulls back to bite his lip, the intrigue in his features apparent. “You want to try it?”
“I mean… you sucked your own dick for me. You don’t owe me anything—”
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I want to try it,” he says, wriggling his hips beneath you. “Fuck. Me.”
“This is still so weird,” you say with a giggle, your eyes rolling back into your skull when the tip of your cock glides against his clit. “Ah…”
The pair of you pause and slowly repeat the motion. You can feel how wet he is and instead of being embarrassed like you would be in his place, you find it incredibly hot.
“Do it again,” he pleads, spreading his legs further apart to allow you better access.
You look down, pressing your thumb into the base of your cock and carefully glide the tip across the folds between his legs. He hisses an expletive between his teeth when you drag it past his clit and begin rocking your hips back and forth.
“Yeah, just like that,” he whispers through frantic panting and sloppy kisses.
You feel a cramp in your thigh and pull back to nurse the ache. He whines when you slink away from his body, missing the friction on his clit already, although he’s satisfied enough when you circle one of his breasts with your tongue and take a nipple into your mouth. You press light circles into his clit with the pad of your middle finger until you can feel his legs flexing around your body like you’re not giving him enough. His fingers dive beneath yours to tease the swollen bud.
“Let me feel,” he pants. “Let me learn where to touch.”
You carefully guide his movements for a minute while treating his other nipple to the pleasures of your tongue. He seems to get the hang of stimulating himself pretty quickly so you turn your attention towards his thighs. You sink between them and begin kissing the sensitive skin beside his folds. His thighs twitch when you trace circles around his entrance with your tongue. You briefly pause to inspect your fingernails, making sure none of them are a jagged mess from the way he’s bitten them. When you’re satisfied with your inspection you peek up at him.
“You want to try my fingers first?” you ask, feeling envious that you can’t be riding three of them to the knuckle right now. “I can show you how my mouth feels too, though I doubt I’m an expert on that.”
“I don’t care about that.” He lifts his hand so he can peer down at you from between his tits. “I’ll take your mouth anywhere you want to give it.”
He watches as you flick your tongue across the sensitive, slick bundle of nerves. He bucks his hips as you clamp down and roll your tongue back and forth over it. His pretty painted nails look so good digging into your ebony hair. It’s not long until you dip a finger inside his cunt, teasing until you’re bobbing it in and out at a decent pace.
“Oh…” he says, as if he’s surprised that the experience is so pleasurable. “Shit, that’s good. Fuck. I’m gonna....”
You push another finger into him, curling the longest digit as far as you can to try and reach the g-spot you know is hiding nearby. When you finally get it he grips your shoulders and arches his pelvis off the ground like he’s committing to a new yoga routine. You recognize the stiffness in his limbs, the involuntary tremble of his thighs beside your head, the heaving of his chest and the frantic nonsense spilling out from his lips. You focus your energy on his clit, replacing your mouth with your hand since you have more confidence bringing about his climax this way.
His hips stutter and you know he’s riding the line. It’s a little bit more difficult to find that perfect rhythm when your hand isn’t in it’s normal position. The way he sucks in a breath to release his needy whines almost makes you feel guilty. It’s not like you’re trying to edge him but you’re not able to keep that pressure as consistent as you’d like.
“I’m so close,” he pants. “But I keep losing it. I’m sorry.”
You’ve been there plenty of times but you’re desperate to make him cum.
“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. Rub it, baby. You know what feels good,” you whisper, shifting your attention to fingering his cunt. You don’t call attention to the pet name, but it feels so natural falling from your lips in this moment. You hope he doesn’t mind.
In an instant his fingers replace yours on his clit and he’s building back up. His thighs quake and his back arches off the mattress one more time and you know it’s coming. He’s about to reach his peak.
He takes a sharp inhale and where you expect the loud wails you would normally make while riding out your high, there’s quiet shuddering and softy breathy moans that linger in the air around you. He grabs your wrist with an ironclad grip as soon as he rides the last wave and his sweaty thighs fall limp around your face. You’re grinning like an idiot as he pulls you by the hair towards his lips, desperate to feel you, to taste you. His tongue is exploring every bit it can, trying to steal the essence from your mouth.
“Mmm. I want to taste that sweet pussy every day.“
“Do you… Still want me to fuck you?” You’re really trying not to sound hopeful but you can’t stop thinking about it.
He smirks and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Let me feel how well my cock fills you.”
“Do I need a condom?” you ask. “Are you clean?”
He laughs like it’s an absurd question. “That’s up to you. I haven’t had sex in four years. I’m clean. If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”
“Four years is a long time,” you mumble, suddenly feeling pressure perform well. “I have an IUD so if you’re okay with it…”
“I wanna know how it feels.”
As soon as you line yourself up with his entrance you’re sweating like you’ve never sweated in your entire life. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re hoping it doesn’t suck. It doesn’t take a genius to sense your nerves. He reaches out to cup your stubbly jaw.
“We don’t have to.”
“I want to. Just… tell me if I’m hurting you,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his.
You let the tip dip inside and descend into his cunt slowly, knowing the thickest part of your dick follows the tip immediately. The stretch must be delicious. You’re distracted by how tightly his walls are clamping down on you. It’s tempting to bury yourself in his warmth as quickly as possible but you show restraint. His breath hitches as he adjusts to your girth and you freeze. Has your body ever taken someone as thick as him? You can’t recall. Probably not.
“Keep going,” he coaches, grabbing at your ass to press you further inside until you’ve bottomed out.
Your head hangs down as you try not to let the sensation overwhelm you. His lips find yours, helping you climb back down from the high. You slowly move your hips back, already missing the tight warmth hugging you. It takes a few more slow thrusts until you’re pumping into him at a relatively steady pace.
“Sorry if my rhythm isn’t good. I’ve never done this,” you manage to say between heavy breaths.
“You’re doing fine. This feels amazing. What are you talking about?”
He could be lying to make you feel better but it’s working. He puts his hands by his head to indicate he wants you to hold them. You immediately twine your fingers in his and press the back of his hands into the mattress.
“Yeah? It feels so fucking good, Yoongi.”
“It does... But I know you can fuck me harder than that, Y/N.”
You can already feel the tightness you’re holding back, a pleasurable pressure building in your pelvis that warns you of the imminent orgasm you can only stave off for so long. You can’t help but slam your hips in harder and faster at his request. The sound of balls slapping against skin fills the room and he moves his hips to meet yours. His breathing grows labored but you know he’s not about to cum again. You’ve never gotten off from penetration alone and there’s no way your sloppy performance will cause that miracle to happen now.
“There you go… Fuck. That’s it.”
“I’m gonna pull out,” you warn, feeling like you’re testing your own limits with every thrust.
“Already?” he teases, digging his pretty fingernails into your back.
“It feels… too fucking good, Yoon…” You wish you had more stamina. “Gonna cum on those pretty tits.”
“Yoon?” He chuckles, now distracted by the way his tits are bouncing with each slap of your hips.
“Just wait until I’m back in that body riding your cock. See how long you last then.”
“Is that a promise?” he questions, cupping your jaw to kiss you.
He can feel the difference in your pace, in the shivers of your body. You’re about to cum. He turns your face towards the mirror so you can see how fucked out your reflection looks. It’s intoxicating seeing Yoongi’s body so needy and desperate.
“Look at you. You’re not gonna make it to these tits.”
“Fuck…” you bite your lip and try to slow your pace but it’s too late. The tension and pressure bursts from the head of your cock like a confetti popper on New Years. With a few, strong pumps you spill your seed into his warm cunt. “Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cummmph--”
Yoongi brings your lips back to meet his to muffle the unexpected sounds of your orgasm.
“Oh my goooood. You’re so loud,” he teases when you finally come down, but you’re too spent to refute him.
There’s another twitch in your dick and you lay there with your mouth open, trying to regain sense of your faculties. He intentionally clenches around your softening length and every muscle in your abdomen flexes.
“Too much!” you shriek, pulling out and rolling off of him in one swift motion.
You let your sweaty back hit the soft duvet, trying to recover from the sensation. He laughs, angling his legs towards the mirror. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when he spreads his legs and swipes at the cum dripping from his cunt, pushing it back inside with his fingers and releasing a soft sigh. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen yourself do, and you’re not even doing it.
When he’s satisfied that he’s pushed it all in, he lays down next to you. The two of you stare at the ceiling in silence for at least a minute. Is it awkward or was it just that good? You can’t tell the difference right now and it’s making you anxious. He covers your hand with his and looks over at you with a warm smile.
The anxiety-driven words come out before you can stop them. “You should pee. You don’t want a UTI and neither do I.”
About an hour has passed in awkward silence as the two of you conduct research on what the fuck happened to you. You haven’t talked about what you both did in this bed, but the smell of sex still hangs in the air. As soon as you both put your clothes back on it was like a switch of modesty came back into play, and you feel too shy to point it out. You don’t know what to say, so you’ve just been clicking on every link you possibly can to fill the silence as he scrolls through articles on his phone nearby. It’s uncomfortable and you hate it.
“I think I have something, maybe,” you say, scrolling through the 90s looking website you’ve been exploring for the last few minutes.
Yoongi scoots closer to you and furrows his brow as he squints to read the sloppy banner at the top of the page. “The Unsolved?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Conspiracy theorists are insane, I know, but—”
You reach for the trackpad at the same time and your fingers brush, causing you to freeze mid-sentence. You stare at the keyboard for a second and chew on your lip, allowing your eyes to dart towards your periphery without moving your head. When he doesn’t say anything you clear your throat and scroll with the trackpad.
“But, look.” You point to the two embedded images triumphantly.
“Necklaces.” He cocks his head to the side and reads the text underneath aloud. “‘An Amulet of Discord is used by an Agent of Chaos to spread mischief and debauchery in the universe. It can be split into two halves to displace unsuspecting victims from their bodies. A glamour will protect the Amulet once the ritual is complete, making it impossible to see or touch. In order to reunite the victim with their body, the Agent responsible must be compelled to remove the glamour and mend the fragmented pieces into one.’”
“Last night I had one of those chincy friendship necklaces on and I definitely did not put it on. It looked a lot like the ones that weird guy tried to give us at your shop yesterday. I tried to get it off but it wouldn’t budge. Then it disappeared.”
“This sounds insane,” he muses, mulling over the information.
“Did it happen to you too?”
“I thought I saw one briefly, but… It was gone when I looked again. I thought I must be seeing things.”
“It’s gotta be it!”
Yoongi furrows his brows as you scroll back up to the navigation, not sure if he fully believes in this explanation. “What’s an Agent of Chaos anyway?”
“I guess they like… cause mayhem for fun? I don’t know, the description said something about pleasing a patron that they get their powers from.”
“Like a god?”
The thought makes him uneasy. If a god of chaos exists then surely there are more out there. If gods exist but they do nothing to balance out the cosmic injustices of the universe, are they really gods or more like demons? He feels like he’s about to have a full meltdown over something he can’t understand or control.
“Maybe. It doesn’t describe them at all. But…” You give him a reassuring smirk. “It does give instructions on how to trap an Agent. We just need a little more space and some chalk. We’ll draw him out, trap him, then make him undo his magic. What do we have to lose?”
His heart feels lighter when you look at him so softly. “Makes it sound simple when you say it like that. Also, slightly insane.”
The website was very lax on defining the ‘discordant energy’ needed to summon the agent, so the pair of you have been improvising. Yoongi suggested moving into the store for the space you needed, but you have a feeling he’s just anxious about it being closed for the day. It’s fine. You don’t want to constantly be thinking about the sex neither of you are acknowledging right now. Yoongi is brushing his teeth after drinking a bottle of orange juice.
You grimace at him. “You really think that’s gonna do it?”
He stops mid-brush, his mouth full of foam and garbling his words. “It’s better than doing nothing. How are you helping?”
You give the sunglasses rack a slow spin. “I drew the sigil on the floor. If we’re gonna trap him we need to be ready. Were you able to find anything else?”
He clicks on your laptop a few times before hurrying into the back room. He reappears a moment later, wiping at his mouth. “That was gross.”
You watch him concentrate on the screen, trying to forget the way it felt to kiss him everywhere he would let you. It’s hard to focus on the task at hand when there’s this feeling lingering in your uneasy stomach. Are you doomed to never speak of the things that made your heart flutter?
“ A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say .”
You tell yourself you imagined those words, that you wished them into existence. You turn the rack of cheap sunglasses again. Even if you knew what you were looking for, you wouldn’t find it with the way your mind is wandering. You look back at Yoongi, debating whether or not you should speak up about the uncertainty in your gut.
“Keepsake!” he says excitedly, running out from behind the counter. “It says they often leave something behind so they can return to observe their work.”
His sudden movement makes you jump and loudly smack your hand against the stand in a panicked attempt to look inconspicuous. He pauses to look at you and raises an eyebrow but you’re already laser-focused on the rack again. Desperate to hide your growing embarrassment you pluck a pair of sunglasses that is strikingly similar to the ones you’d seen the man wearing that day.
As soon as you put them on you inhale sharply. “What the fuck?”
“Hmm?” Yoongi wonders. “What is it?”
“There’s something written… on the fridge.”
“What? Where?”
You lift the glasses up to be sure you can’t see the letters scrawled on the glass without them. The message disappears. Once you place them back on the bridge of your nose they practically glow, beckoning you towards them. You push past him on your way to the drinks section. “Here. It says… Now you have… specs appeal?”
Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It was a solid pun.”
The pair of you look towards the sound of the stranger’s voice. Instead of forming words you exclaim a sound of surprise. He looks confused.
“You’re going to need to speak clearly. I’m not sure I understand your language.”
“You! You did this!” you shriek, taking a step forward.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” the man says with a puff of his cheeks. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s not nice to accuse people of things. Have I done anything? Are you sure you’re not dreaming?”
A haze of golden dust spreads across the room like twinkling stars. As you blink and rub at your eyes you yawn and feel a sudden urge to lay down.
“Mmm. I am sleepy…” you admit as you sink to your knees.
Yoongi looks down at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Y/N, what are you doing?”
You laugh and lazily grapple with his leg. “Come lay down. Please? It’s made out of feathers.”
Yoongi watches you close your eyes. Suddenly your body falls limp at his feet. He crouches down to cradle your face in his hands, your name an urgent plea on his lips. “Y/N. Y/N wake up.” He pinches your cheek but you don’t respond.
“She wants this to be a dream. Don’t you?” The man takes a few casual steps forward.
“No, I don’t,” Yoongi growls. The threat sounds odd coming from this body, tone too meek to pass for intimidating. He glares at the man after reluctantly tearing his eyes from your sleeping form. It may be his body on the floor there, but you’re trapped inside it. “Wake her up.”
“She’s tired!”
Yoongi rises to his feet and shields your unconscious form as the man creeps closer. “Don’t take another step. You’re going to regret it.”
“Threatening me? Hah… You’re pretty bold, considering you’re not really in a bargaining position. Spunky! I’ll give you that. Say, I’m curious. What do you think I am anyway? I’ve got a bet going and I know I’m gonna win because I’m right, but I need proof. So if you wouldn’t mind speaking into this...”
Out of his pocket comes a microphone. He holds it out like he’s giving the most intense interview of his life as he awaits Yoongi’s response.
“You’re… Some kind of trickster.”
The man sucks his teeth and shoves the microphone back in his pocket. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. So much for my bet… Come on. Don’t you think I look more like a god?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you work for one,” Yoongi muses, “but you sure aren’t one.”
“Wooooow….” The man sighs in disbelief. “The disrespect! At least you’re honest. I can appreciate that. I— ”
The stranger’s body seizes up as he takes another step forward. ”Ow!” His body convulses for a second before he regains his faculties. He looks down to find the sigil scrawled in chalk around his feet. Try as he might to scrape the markings off with his heel, his shoes are unable to scuff the powder. He furrows his brows and throws his hands in the air.
“Really? Are you kidding me? An integrity prison? Where did you learn this?”
Holy fucking shit. It worked, Yoongi thinks. He’s never been more relieved in his life.
“Wake her up,” he repeats calmly.
“I was gonna,” the man pouts, slumping into a cross-legged sit. “But now I really don’t want to. Would it kill you to have manners? Look at this. You’ve put me in a difficult little pickle here.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a jar full of dill pickles. He fishes one out and takes a loud, crunchy bite. “I was just having a little fun and now I’m stuck here, doomed to this ugly little space.”
Yoongi crosses his arms, quickly losing patience. “Stop being dramatic.”
The man glowers at him and crunches on the last bit of the pickle with slow, loud chewing.
Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh. “Please, stop being dramatic.”
With a surprised nod, the man gulps down the pickle and hops to his feet. “Well, you said please, at least. Was that really such a big... dill?”
Right as Yoongi groans, the man snaps his fingers and flexes his pointers into finger-guns. You immediately yawn and sit up.
“What happened?” you mumble.
Yoongi offers you a hand and you take it, rising to unsteady feet. He wraps a hand around your waist to support your weight. “You took a nap but you didn’t miss much. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you murmur, the haze lifting from your sleepy eyelids. You gasp as your eyes focus on the man trapped between the center aisles. “Huh! We got him!”
“Yeah, yeah. Time to celebrate. You trapped me. Good job.” The sarcasm in his tone is evident, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Confetti falls from above your heads, showering the pair of you in glitter and shiny streamers with the flick of his wrist. “Now let me out.”
You’re blown away by the bizarre moment, springing forward and out of Yoongi’s grasp. “Magic? Then, are you really… a god?”
The man pats his pockets frantically. “Finally! Someone with a sense for my greatness! Ugh! I should have been recording. Damn! Where’s my microphone?”
“Gods don’t get trapped with chalk,” Yoongi says, folding his arms and tapping his toe impatiently. “This guy is an underling. Hey! Don’t get too close!”
Your mouth hangs agape in awe as you approach the man. Scrutiny must be new for him because he seems stunned. That wide-eyed expression is erased quickly enough when he strikes a heroic pose, planting his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. His pecs and shoulders seem to inflate when he inhales, causing them to swell into well-defined muscles.
“Oh.” You blink a few times, entranced by the sudden transformation. You reach your hand out as if to touch the meaty bicep practically bulging from his sleeve. “Who… What... are you, really?”
“Y/N!” Yoongi’s hands enclose around your waist, pulling you back into him just as your hand is about to break the barrier.
The man’s muscles deflate with his held breath as he bursts into a fit of squeaky laughter. “Oh! I almost had you!” He wheezes a squeaky sound through his inhale that you can only guess is laughter. He clears his throat. “My name is Jin. Matchmaker…” He holds up two matches in his hands and sets them alight with a flick of his wrist.
“Lover...” He winks and the matches disappear. In their stead are two roses. He tosses them at the two of you but when you go to catch yours it disintegrates.
Yoongi catches the disappointment on your face and thrusts the flower towards you, hoping it will restore the shine to your eyes. You give him a big, cheesy smile as you dust glitter from his hair.
“Ah… And! Balancing agent…” He stands on one foot as a seesaw appears to lift him into the air. He jumps down triumphantly with a bow. “At your service.”
You clap enthusiastically until you look over at Yoongi, who looks less than amused. You then nudge him with your elbow until he gives a solitary clap.
“What’s a balancing agent?” Yoongi asks dryly.
“We restore balance to the world. Things that are too uniform need a little chaos. Things that are too chaotic need to be put back into line. In our down time we like to have fun in our own ways. Me? I like to set people up.”
“So you’re not an Agent of Chaos?” you ask, disappointed that the conspiracy theorist page that led you to this point isn’t exactly the fountain of knowledge you had hoped for. There’s so much you don’t know.
Jin looks at you, clearly confused. “I mean some people call me Cupid, but I guess you can call me that. Has a nice ring to it. My powers are more inclined for chaos.”
“What? I’m a romantic. I can see the strings of fate! Also I may have a penchant for mischief, but that’s neither here—” He points at his feet. “Nor there!” He points at the shelf beside you which causes a bag of chips to burst, sending its contents everywhere.
“Hey!” Yoongi yells. “Are you going to pay for those?”
You can tell he’s irritated but clearly this guy can do a lot more than pop a bag of chips from across the room. You don’t want to fall on the bad side of his magic but you don’t exactly trust Yoongi’s mouth to keep you in Jin’s good graces.
“Stop being rude,” you whisper through clenched teeth.
He scoffs and answers you in a hushed tone. “How am I rude? He’s making a mess!”
“Then we’ll ask him to unmake it.” Your irritation heightens the volume of your voice to the point where it’s barely a whisper anymore.
“He’s playing with us. I’m through asking.”
Jin laughs. “See, this is what I mean. Fate is practically screaming for me to help you. Chaos is just an added bonus for this boring town.”
You both look at him and ask in unison, “What?”
He points to the both of you. “Look.”
As you turn back to face Yoongi you’re shocked to see a pale blue orb glowing above his head. “Huh? What’s that?” You reach out to touch it but your hand passes through it without any change.
“You have one too,” he mumbles, squinting at the way a thin line seems to stem from it. Then he sees another. And another. It looks like a shiny, glittering web that splinters into a thousand different directions. His brows furrow as he inspects the tiny threads. “Do you see them?”
Your gaze follows his pointer and suddenly you can see the branching strands too, not just yours, but his as well. It’s beautiful. It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. Seeing the trepidation written on your face he silently beckons your attention to his finger, which is pointing to a thread that is golden instead of a pale blue hue. It’s the only one of its kind in the intricate glittering lattice between the two of you. You follow his pointer as it traces the path that stems from your orb until it gets closer to his and then you take over, finishing the path with your finger to the point where his orb engulfs the line.
“What is it?” you wonder aloud.
“A string of fate,” Jin answers with a wistful sigh. “It’s always exciting to see one, isn’t it? It means you’re soulmates.”
“Hah. Bullshit,” Yoongi responds, waving the air with his hands as if to disrupt the strings. They remain intact. “You just like causing mischief.”
Jin puffs his cheeks and scowls. “I can lie about a lot of things, but the strings aren’t one of them,” he huffs. “Why would I need to do that? What’s more unpredictable than true love slapping you in the face?”
He makes a motion with his fingers and sweeps them towards Yoongi.The compulsion rises and you’re powerless to stop it. Your hand moves of its own accord and lightly slaps Yoongi across the face. He looks betrayed as he rubs his cheek.
“I’m sorry! It wasn’t me!”
The tingle in your arm causes it to move back towards him in a gentle swoop. Your wrist is limp as it smacks into his chin and rubs back and forth as if to comfort him. Jin bursts into a fit of laughter as he breaks the compulsion.
Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh, stomping up towards the circle around the stranger. “Just change us back and you can go on causing problems elsewhere.”
“I can’t,” Jin answers simply, crossing his arms. “The charm will break only under specific conditions.”
“And those are?”
Jin shrugs with his bottom lip protruding as he frowns. “It’s different for everyone.”
“Of course it is.” Yoongi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, pacing back towards you.
“There are some things you can try. Staples of the trade.” Jin notes some dirt beneath his fingernails and begins cleaning them. “Number one. Have you tried talking about your feelings?”
Yoongi’s gaze settles on yours and it’s like you can feel your heart stop. Say something. You open your mouth to speak but the words won’t come so you snap your jaw shut and stare at the glitter on the floor.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yoongi says as he folds his arms across his chest, trying to not get distracted by the breasts he inadvertently touches. He decides to drop his hands to his hips instead.
Jin rolls his eyes. “Okaaaay... Number two is filling the chaos meter. Go crazy. Do the unexpected.”
“I don’t know what we’d do,” Yoongi admits, pacing around the circle.
“What if we kissed?” The voice is soft and sweet.
He turns to face you, a combination platter of surprise and confusion. “But we did.”
Jin’s laughter makes him feel like a fool. He was convinced you said it, despite knowing your voice is not your own right now. How stupid could he be, walking right into that? He squeezes his eyes shut a moment and then focuses his attention on the captive.
While Yoongi is distracted you’re working a pack of mentos out of their packaging. You kneel down and twist the cap off one of the liters of cola placed on the endcap you. The hiss of the carbonation makes Yoongi shift attention.
Your name on his lips is half a warning, half a question loaded with uncertainty. You open another bottle beside it before he can get close enough and drop mentos into each. The liquid erupts into two fizzy fountains that reach the ceiling and spill back down to the floor. Yoongi takes off his hat and grips his hair like he wants to tear it out.
“What are you doing?”
“Filling the meter?” you answer meekly with a shug, stepping back from the puddle on the floor.
Jin roars with laughter. “Oh man. There is no meter, but that was delightful.”
Yoongi grumbles and goes back to the counter, grabbing the laptop and sinking down behind it to hide from the pandemonium of this situation.
“You’re the worst,” you mutter as you pass Jin. You quickly sit next to Yoongi on the floor.
“It was a joke!” Jin calls. “Come on, don’t leave me alone here.”
“I’m sorry,” you apologize as his fingers rapidly tap the keys. “I’m trying to help.”
“I know.”
“What are you looking for?” you whisper.
Yoongi listens for a minute to the grumbling of the man trapped in the circle nearby. “How to trick a trickster. I have a feeling we need him to undo it but he won’t come out and say it.”
You sigh and press your chin against his shoulder. “I’m tired.”
He looks over and tips his head down to nuzzle his cheek against you. “I know.”
“Huh?” Your vision diverts to a shiny blue can beside him. “Are you serious?”
“Hmm? Oh yeah.” He picks it up and quickly downs the last sip, the Hot6 Logo shining back at you in mockery. “I found it earlier and needed a pick-me-up.”
“Did you find more?”
“Nope. Just the one.”
“But…” you pout. “I wanted it.”
He holds the empty can out to you. “It’s grown on me.”
“I’m about to die without the sweet taste,” you whine, shaking the can to make sure there’s nothing left.
“You’re so obnoxious.”
He rolls his eyes and cups your jaw, leaning in to press his lips against yours. You don’t protest when he dips his tongue past your lips to rub against yours. You can taste remnants of the drink on his tongue. If Hot6 wasn’t your favorite drink before this, it is now.
“Maybe. Still not sweet enough.” You giggle.
He takes the opportunity to kiss you again, crushing your mouth against his in a deeper kiss. You’re practically melting into him as his tongue glides against yours, moving in a rhythm that you now crave. It’s so easy to forget everything else, where you are, what’s happened to you. He moves to straddle your lap, grinding down intentionally as he grips the back of your neck. He knows you’re half-hard already and fuck if he doesn’t just want to have you again. You’re the only thing that feels real right now.
He pulls down the zipper of the hoodie you’ve given him to allow access to his neck. It’s not until he allows you to latch onto the sensitive flesh there, with his hands buried in your hair, that he notices the security mirror. You’re so hot. He wants to be in you so badly but he’ll settle for you being in him right now.
Suddenly he notices the other person in the mirror. Jin is sitting cross-legged on the floor in his invisible prison, resting his chin on a hand as he stares back through the reflection with eyebrows raised. Yoongi quickly clears his throat and climbs off of you. You blink in confusion at the disruption until he points at the mirror and then you cast your gaze at the floor.
“We should take care of this.” He runs his fingers through his hair to compose himself before placing the cap back on his head and focusing his attention back on the computer.
“Wow, you almost went there with me watching. That would have done it for sure,” Jin says, breaking into a grin.
“Come on!” you shriek, popping up from behind the counter. “Please, just change us back.”
“I told you. I can’t,” he repeats firmly. “I actually don’t lie as often as you seem to think I do. Maybe you should try having sex. They say the soul leaves your body for an instant when you reach the finish line, you know. It can’t hurt. Ohhhh wait a minute...”
He jumps to his feet after watching the guilt flash across your face. Your eyes seem to dart around him, but never land close enough to his. Blood rushes through your ears, drowning out all the sounds that aren’t your heartbeat.
He smiles wickedly. “Oh my god, you already did. I mean, I get it. Who wouldn’t be curious? It’s only human to wonder. Oh, to be human… Seriously, have you tried talking about your feelings?”
You turn towards Yoongi and crouch back on the floor, disappearing from Jin’s view. He steps on his tiptoes to try and see around the counter before settling back on the security mirror. You can’t help but focus on his nosiness.
“Yoongi. I... Look. Can we go in the back? I need to talk to you. Privately.”
Jin clicks his tongue and sighs as the pair of you cross the store and slip into the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’ You breathe a sigh of relief when Yoongi locks the heavy door behind you. He bites at his nails--your nails as he waits for you to say whatever you need to. You take his hands into yours.
“Things are weird right now and not just because of this,” you hold up his hands in yours. “Are you regretting everything now?”
He smirks and gives you a small laugh. He slinks away to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t regret anything. I mean what I said. I care about you. I just… I get embarrassed, I guess.”
He’s embarrassed? You didn’t think he was capable with how blunt he normally is. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m insecure. Sexy, right?”
Time seems to slow as he draws near. There’s a lighthearted laugh on his lips before they meet yours. It feels like the first time all over again. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you throw your arms around his neck, desperate to get closer even though you’re already pressed up against each other. You lean into him as you gasp in his hot breaths between kisses. To counteract the weight you’ve pressed against him, he pushes you backwards. Your arms fly back to catch yourself as you stumble but you knock into a freestanding shelving unit. Cans of soup clatter to the floor and roll off in various directions as Yoongi steadies the rack to keep it from falling.
He sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder in defeat. “We should focus.”
You whimper and will yourself to move the pair of you away from the wire rack. You run your fingers through your hair and attempt to compose yourself. Everything feels like a dream. It’s hard to think with him consuming the majority of your thoughts. You clear your throat, hoping your mind will also clear with the action.
“Hey,” he says, fingers on the latch. He pauses to lock eyes with you. “It might have seemed like the heat of the moment, but I really mean what I said. So tell me you’ll stick around after this is done?”
You run up and lace your fingers in his free hand before giving it a firm squeeze. “Promise.”
As he opens the door Jin jumps like you’ve startled him with your presence. “Whoa, I thought maybe you’d murdered one another. I heard a loud bang.” His gaze drops to your entwined hands. “What? Did you finally embrace destiny?”
“Destiny. No destiny. It doesn’t matter,” Yoongi says calmly as he squeezes your hand. “This could all be a dream. But we’re here now. We care about each other in this moment. That’s real. That matters.”
Jin does a slow clap while grinning from ear-to-ear. “Wow! It usually takes people a few days, maybe a week!” He looks at his wrist as though he’s wearing an invisible watch. “It’s been, what, a day? You did good.”
“Does that mean you’re going to help us now?” You perk up immediately.
“I mean I think you’ve helped yourselves. You look happy. You’re comfortable, right? Can’t you just let me go and keep existing like this?”
When he’s met with silence he sighs. “Ahh, well there is one more thing you can do, I guess. Have you tried checking your pockets?”
His suggestion is met with eyerolls from the both of you. While nonsensical, the unexpected has become a staple of your current state of existence and you feel you owe it to yourself to at least entertain the possibility. Your fingers slip into your pocket and explore the ridges of the hard object nestled against the fabric. Excitement courses through you as you pull your half of the locket from the confines of your sweatpants. Dumbfounded, Yoongi sticks a finger into his tight jeans and fishes the other half of the necklace out of his pocket.
“Hah, I can’t believe you didn’t even look,” Jin says with a laugh. “Now put them on, place the pieces together and say ‘Me Hoy Nimoy.’”
You exchange a skeptical look with Yoongi but you both comply and blurt the phrase soon after linking the pieces of the necklace together. You hold your breath, waiting for something spectacular to happen but disappointment soon floods your lungs. Just as you’re about to speak up, Jin clicks his tongue.
“Ah, close your eyes. It won’t work if you’re watching.”
Yoongi grumbles. “You’re fucking with us.”
“Hey, some magic is shy. Follow the rules. Do you think I’m just making this all up?” he pouts.
Your answer comes in unison with Yoongi’s: “Yes.”
Jin looks hurt as he clutches a hand over his heart and staggers backwards. “Woooooow. Well, just do one more thing then. ”
A devilish grin soon replaces the expression and his squeaky laughter fills up the store. He points at the pair of you with both fingers and wags his fingers in circles. You feel compelled to turn in place. Yoongi matches the uneasiness in your gut with the panic in his eyes. You both spin in circles away from one another. Once. Twice. Three times. Just as you’re about to complain about the nausea churning fresh waves in your belly, Jin waves his hands inwards.
You’re lifted into the air. The toes of your sneakers leave behind squeaky skidmarks of rubber on the tile as the pair of you are dragged forward. Jin cocks his head to one side and examines you with an expression of stone. For a split second you’re terrified but then he breaks into a grin and snaps his fingers. His thumbs and index fingers form the shape of a heart as he holds them out and you drop to the floor.
Yoongi reaches out for your shoulder. There’s a soft tremble to his fingers as he pulls you close to him. When you look upon his visage you can already see his jaw transforming, a thin stubble growing in along its perimeter. Every time you close your eyes to blink more of his face has morphed back into his own. You look down at your own fingers and watch as the nails narrow and elongate. A glossy pink hue returns to them but the polish looks slightly less finished with the way Yoongi has gnawed on the edges all day.
Suddenly Yoongi is frantically scrambling to his feet, kicking off his shoes and working the zipper down on his jeans. Everything is quickly growing far too tight. The hoodie you’d given him just barely covers his crotch as he stands up straight. He looks over at you with a relieved sigh and cups your jaw.
“You good?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your chin. It takes all of your self-control to keep from licking it as it grazes your lip.
You nod, eyes falling to the necklace dangling over his sweatshirt. As soon as you reach out to yank it off, the trinket disappears in a puff of purple smoke with a clap of Jin’s hands. He holds them in place like a silent prayer just below his chin, a strained smile staining his face just above his fingers.
“So, here’s the thing. I’m gonna need you to hold up your end of the deal.”
“Fix my store first. Clean up this mess you’ve caused,” Yoongi says while taking a step in front of you.
Jin’s bottom lip protrudes into a pout as he eyes the puddle of cola on the floor. “I didn’t do that,” he complains under his breath.
It’s incredible how close he came to freedom, incredible and frustrating. His magic may not be able to touch or alter the circle, but you almost freed him with your ignorance. If the liquid had run close enough to seep into the chalk, he would be somewhere far more sunny and beachy right now. He’s earned a vacation for this milestone of success.
“Fiiiine,” he concedes.
With a snap of his fingers the store is spotless once more. While Yoongi inspects the area of the tile floor previously coated in cola and glitter, you glide your foot over the circle of chalk and break the seal that binds Jin to his current location.
“Finally…” he sighs, side-stepping out from the invisible barrier. “You’re welcome, by the way. Invite me to the wedding, okay? Don’t forget the little people who helped you on the way. As for me... I’ve got a date with the pearly beaches of Accord.”
He swirls his wrist in the air and the pair of ugly red mirrored sunglasses appear on his nose just in time for him to adjust them. He lowers the specs to give you a wink before snapping his fingers. Before you can even call out for him to wait, he’s gone in a puff of purple smoke that quickly dissipates. You’re left in stunned silence to contemplate your existence.
What are you supposed to make of everything?
As you stand there on the cusp of a mental breakdown, soft, velvety petals brush against your cheek to steal your attention. The scent of the flower overtakes your senses as Yoongi uses it to tickle your nose. You find him smiling back at you, almost like he’s too shy to speak, but then he does.
“Weird day huh? Can I have my pants back?”
You hum thoughtfully, making sure the shutters of the shop are still shielding you both from the outside world. “Would you mind if I wanted to get back in them later?”
He snorts, holding back a laugh. “Been waiting to use that all day?”
“No, I just thought of it right now. Aren’t I impressive?” you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him. You shimmy out of the sweatpants and leave them pooled on the floor, doing your best to walk past him with grace and seduction.
“So impressive.”
He offers an amused laugh when you bend over to pick up the garments he was so quick to discard when his transformation reverted. You spare a glance behind you to see if he’s looking at the way you so blatantly flaunt your ass. He’s in the middle of dragging his bottom lip through his teeth when your eyes steal his attention.
“Something wrong?” A wicked grin belies your innocent tone.
He exhales a long breath and shakes his head, turning his attention to pulling his pants up. “Impressive isn’t the word. You’re obnoxious.”
“Isn’t that your way of saying you wanna make out?”
He’s quiet as he takes off the remainder of your clothes to reveal a muscular chest riddled with goosebumps. It’s hard to hide how your grin spreads wider as he approaches with them in hand. You’ve had dreams like this: he’s shirtless, asking you to take off your clothes so he can fuck you in his store. Right here with your tits against the cold glass of the fridge. It would be a dirty secret only the two of you would know and you’d think about it every time you’d come in for your energy drink.
You slowly lift the hoodie from your own body, trying to appear as alluring as possible. You make sure to arch your back as your breasts briefly catch in the fabric and then drop against your ribs, completely exposed to the chilly air. Much to your dismay he’s quick to spin away from you and mutters a “thanks” instead of naughtier offers.
He’s aware you might mistake it for rejection, but he’s hoping you don’t see the way his fingers tremble. It’s incredible how scared he feels being back in his own skin. The intimacy of your connection left a void behind that’s quickly filling with disquiet. He feels incomplete without a piece of you with him, lost in the vast emptiness of himself. How can he feel such need for you? His chest aches with the possibility that he won’t ever feel whole again. The bravery that possessed him while piloting your body has waned. Now that normalcy is somewhat restored, he has the chance to start processing the events of the day. A part of him begins to embrace the panic he’d previously pushed down and his confession replays in his mind as though he’s just spoken it.
It was a bold move, especially given the situation. It could have ended horribly. He puffs out his cheeks and holds his breath, trying to remind himself that it didn’t. It’s okay to let go of the anxiety over it, but he still feels so uncertain. Even turned away from you and fully clothed, he’s never felt more exposed and vulnerable. He tries to hide the burning of his ears by running his fingers through his hair and shielding them with his arms. He has to bring himself back or else you’ll be talking him down from a panic attack and he doesn’t want you to see him like that.
Stupid. Stop throwing yourself at him. You struggle to put on the tight clothing as quickly as possible. Tears threaten to fall as you awkwardly wiggle your jeans back and forth up your thighs and over the swell of your ass. You make sure to swipe at the corners of your eyes before clearing your throat to signify you’re fully changed. He spins to face you but everything he means to say gets lost on the way to his mouth. He freezes, overwhelmed by how beautiful you are even in this shitty lighting, and how thankful he is to be able to see you through his own eyes.
His heart pounds at the confines of his chest like it needs to burst from within. There’s a small burst of adrenaline that plumes from the explosion of butterflies in his stomach. It fills him with the courage he needs to close the distance between you with a kiss, the kind of kiss he’s been dreaming of giving you for months. Right here in this store.
He loves how eager you are to reciprocate when he tangles his fingers in your hair. He holds you there like you’re about to melt away in a puff of smoke. Your lips are so soft, so sweet, so warm pressing against his. His tongue rolls over yours, desperate to keep tasting and feeling more. You grasp behind his neck and dig your fingernails into his shoulder as he deepens the kiss. When you roll your hips towards him as a subtle test for determining his hardness, you can feel him smile against your lips.
“Not in the store.” He gives you one more chaste kiss and pulls back just enough to allow you both to breathe. He adjusts one of the boxes on the nearby shelves. “You already drive me crazy. If we do it here I’m going to be thinking about it every time I’m stocking shelves.”
“Yoongi…” you whine. “Please tell me you’re keeping it closed for the day.”
He sighs as he plucks his phone from the counter to check the time. “Might as well.”
“Can I walk you home?” You chew on your lip as you wait for his response. What you wouldn’t give to spend the night with him.
Unable to hide the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, he nods his head towards the exit. “Why would we waste our time?”
Your heart sinks into your butt, thinking this must be it. He changed his mind after all. He hates you. There’s no doubt about it now. All you can manage is a squeaky, “Hmm?”
He rests his palm on the handle of the door and he presses his lips into a thin line, looking wide eyed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so adorably hopeful and embarrassed at the same time. “You live closer.”
The comforter at your back is soft and cool to the touch as you scramble to settle yourself against the pillows. Yoongi wastes no time wiggling off his sweatpants and climbing over you. The sound of your panting mingles with his as he hovers above you with his lips parted, trying to catch his breath. If the hurried ascent up the stairs wasn’t enough to have him gasping for air, the makeout session just inside your front door definitely has him devoid of oxygen. This still feels like a dream, but it’s one he doesn’t ever want to wake up from.
"How do you want it?" he whispers. He glides a finger up your thigh and lightly traces circles around your labia.
Your mind travels back to your earlier experience of coming undone and suddenly your stomach is doing flips.
"Just like this," you answer. "I want to feel you just like this. Do you remember where to touch?"
He nods, skimming his parted lips over yours while he places his finger over the hood of your clit. "Like this, right?"
"More pressure," you plead, working your hips in circles to coach his movements.
He does as you instruct and clamps his mouth over yours in a futile attempt to find relief for the aching need to be inside of you. He grinds himself against your side, his cock rubbing against your soft, heated skin as he tries to remember the exact motions needed to elicit enough pleasure to make you cum. He doesn't have to wait long until frenzied, weak moans are vibrating against his mouth so he turns his attention to your neck. He wants to hear how fucked out you are. He wants to hear how badly you want to cum. He wants to feel you pulse around his fingers.
As he plunges a thick finger deep into your cunt, a pathetic, desperate sound escapes you. "Oh, fuck."
"Feel good?" he mumbles into the hollow space between your neck and shoulder.
"Please. Please. Please. Please," you whimper incoherently, bucking your hips to meet each thrust of his finger. You can feel his cock rutting against your side and all you can do is imagine that he's pumping it into you instead of his fingers. "Oh fuck, Yoongi."
His lips twitch into a smile as he feels you tighten around his finger. He kisses your neck and sinks a second finger carefully inside you. You allow your head to fall against the pillow and bite your lip to try to contain the drawn out needy groan already helplessly spilling out of you. So close. Your back arches off the mattress and he wishes he wasn't so concentrated on the motions of his hands right now because he would absolutely love to be tonguing your perfect tits.
He pants against your skin and looks at them longingly. Maybe he can manage it? He's determined to use what he's learned about your body to help you cum, but not yet. You can't help but whine at the loss as he repositions himself, which breaks the sightline you had on your orgasm.
"Yoooongi... I was close..." You whimper when he abandons your cunt entirely to press your tits together. His mouth is hot as it clamps down on your nipple, giving the peak a hard suck before dragging it through his teeth.
"I know. Wanna make you cum with my tongue," he murmurs into the supple flesh.
He swipes his fingers along your cunt and swirls the wetness over your clit before bringing it to his mouth. You can already see how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. The low moan that rumbles its way from his throat has you rocking your hips up against his pelvis as he settles between your legs. Your silent grinding isn't enough of a confirmation. He wants to hear you say it.
"Can I go down on you?" He blurts the shameless question while alternating between kissing both of your breasts and only pauses to meet your eyes.
You want to feel him everywhere but mostly you want his mouth on yours while he’s balls deep inside you. You don’t even care if you cum because being with him like this feels good. Being with him fills your heart with giddy hope and your stomach with butterflies. Being with him is enough. You want to tell him that but instead you nod and whimper out a pathetic “please.”
He wastes no time dipping his head down between your thighs to press the flat of his tongue against your clit. A low growl escapes with his exhale before he puckers his lips to kiss the soft skin and breathe in the heavy scent of your arousal. You’d be embarrassed if his tongue didn’t feel so magical. It glides against you so effortlessly, bringing pleasure with every quick flick against you.
Your hands dive into his hair and you start rolling your hips to grind his face harder against you. He doesn't seem to mind though. In fact he seems to embrace the motion, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you in as closely as possible. If you weren't so preoccupied with the orgasm building just below the surface of the place where his tongue keeps hitting then you might worry that he's suffocating himself. Right now all you can focus on is the pleasure threatening to break you open and leave you spilling a million curses into the air around you.
"Yoongi. Fuck. I'm close," you warn, as if the frantic way you've twirled his hair around each of your fingers isn't enough to tip him off. Do you really think he can't feel the shaking of your thighs in this moment?
He hums a sound like he doesn't hear you, but he doesn't let up at all. He keeps his pace steady for you as you approach your end once again. Your nails scratch against his scalp but he doesn't mind. He actually really likes the way you're losing your mind over the simple things he's doing with his tongue right now. He can't even begin to imagine the pretty sounds that might spew from your lips with practiced effort but he knows he can't wait to hear them.
Suddenly your hand flies up to pound the wall behind you and you announce the wave of pleasure coursing through your clit through the use of a loud string of expletives. He can feel the way your flesh pulses beneath his tongue and he revels in it. You ride his face so well. You can ride it for as long as you want as often as you want. He wants to tell you that but he also wants you to ride out your high for as long as it lasts, so he lets you buck your hips and raise your cunt off the bed. He lets you thrash around through the sensitivity until you're finally pushing his face off with both hands.
"Good? Do you need more?" he verifies, rising from between your legs to deliver a messy, wet kiss to your lips. He smirks through it, knowing he really doesn't need to ask at all to know the answer.
"Cheeky fuck," you murmur, not bothering to even attempt to hide your matching grin against him. "I need it."
"What do you need?" His fingers trail a soft line down your side, reminding you that his teasing nature is simply a front for his caring heart.
"I need you inside me." Your breathing is spotty as you pepper kisses along his jaw. "Like this. I want you to feel me the way I felt you."
It doesn't take long until you're tasting yourself on his lips again. He shifts slightly and you know he's lining himself up with your entrance when you feel the swollen tip of his fat cock nudging at your hole. He's slow to thrust into you. In fact he stills, only giving you shallow, teasing thrusts. He favors letting you wiggle down just a little bit to coax him in. He smiles against your lips and pushes in further, giving you that stretch you were hoping for.
When you suck in a sharp breath he pulls out, but as soon as you whine in protest, he's already carefully moving to slide it back in. The slow stretch has your jaw dropping open and he takes the opportunity to bite on your lower lip. You take the bait and feed him hungry kisses until he’s completely buried inside of your tight cunt. He takes a moment to growl a low sound that has you clenching around him.
“So tight,” he whispers, pausing to curl an arm beneath your head.
He presses the back of your hand against the mattress as he twines his fingers with yours. He drives himself deeper into you with each slow thrust and it feels like he still can’t get close enough. So you raise your other arm above you and angle it until you’re linking your fingers with the ones beneath your head. You kiss his cheek and savor the intimate moment.
When he lazily sinks into your cunt again you crack a smile. “Can't you fuck me harder than that?"
"Mmm." He lifts his head and seems to accept your challenge. His hips pull out slowly and suddenly slam back into you. This sets a new fervent pace that has you squeezing both of his hands. "What do you think? Is this better?"
You do little to actually answer his question and instead offer a slew of swears and moans each time his balls slap against your ass. "Shit. Fuck, fuck fuck. Yoongi..."
"What kind of answer is that?" he asks innocently.
"God, your cock..."
"Mhm," he prods.
"Feels so good, Yoon."
He chuckles. "Yoon... Cute."
"I'll show you cute," you huff.
You release his hands in favor of pressing your palms against his chest. He pulls out and before you can miss the way he fills you, you're flipping him down on the mattress. You swing a leg over his pelvis and straddle him. It takes you a moment to properly position yourself. You give his length a few pumps in your hand before lining it up with your entrance.
"Careful," he warns, planting his hands on your thighs. "Don't wear yourself out."
You sink down quicker than you probably should. You're eager to make him cum faster than he did for you. The wetness in your core seeps down in translucent trails down your inner thighs. Your own brand of lubricant seems to be enough to keep the stretch pleasurable. Yoongi bites his lip as he gazes down at the way you're bouncing on his cock. You know how good it feels for him, especially with how hard your pussy is squeezing him.
"Don't worry about me."
The sensory overload building in your gut coated with the memory of the unique experience. It mixes with the high threatening to burn its way from your core. You take a deep breath and exhale loudly before you continue. You revel in a slow descent, memorizing every kind of way the stroke makes you feel. Then you begin to quickly draw him in and out of your cunt. The obscene sounds of wet, rapid slapping fill the room.
After a few minutes you've finally got a good rhythm down. Despite the cramp throbbing down your obliques, he's hitting that sweet spot inside you at just the right angle. If you didn't know any better you'd think you're about to cum again. You steady yourself on his chest and trail your hand to his stomach to maintain your balance. Trying to keep the unrealistic pace you'd previously set for yourself is proving difficult, but you swear you're feeling like maybe you're about to crest into the biggest climax of your life. Then again, it could certainly be the biggest letdown now that you're aware of it. Your orgasms have left you for less.
Yoongi knots his eyebrows together in concentration and he reaches down to rub circles against your clit. His fingers are clumsy and new to this angle but they're feather light. He can see in your face that you're chasing some great new high and he just wants to help you achieve it without overdoing it. He knows how shy your cunt is about giving you orgasms so he really wants to do it right. Is this right? He figures you'll tell him if it isn't.
You moan weakly in response. Suddenly, you know it's coming. You can feel it building every time his hips slap up to meet yours. "Oh my fuck."
His abdominal muscles flex beneath your palm and he forces his breaths through his nose as he struggles to keep himself composed. Your cunt is squeezing him so tightly that he knows he's on the brink of his own release but he's determined to help you feel as good as you make him feel.
"That's it. Cum for me again." He tries to coax it with those strong pleas, but his voice is broken with an inhale sharp enough to cut his words.
Both of your thighs are coated in slick sweat. You don't think you've ever felt so fucking wet in your life. He glistens just as much in the dim light so you know between the two of you there's a puddle of sweat soaking your sheets. It's easy to forget how gross or embarrassing it is when the tip of his cock rubs against your g-spot so well. Right now the only thing that matters is getting relief for this pressure building behind your clit.
Despite the shakiness of his fingers, he's able to coax it out of you. Your trembling thighs feel like an earthquake that's finally reached its peak tremor and you find yourself crying out and bouncing to the rhythm of your spasming cunt. You chant your praises and curses in the same breath. His name is a drawn out breathy expression of gratitude and bliss. As soon as you slump forward to kiss him he takes your hands in his own and frantically pumps himself up into you. He can still feel the involuntary flex of your cunt even after you've clearly expended every ounce of your energy reaching and literally riding out your second orgasm.
"Can I cum inside?" he asks between frantic breaths.
"Well, you're not gonna make it to these tits," you tease with a smirk. You may be spent but you'll always have the energy to give him shit. "Do it."
"So fuckin hot," he mumbles against your lips.
The muffled grunts expelled against your mouth and the slow, deliberate snap of his hips leave you in a state of surreal euphoria. He squeezes your hands in his along with his release to let you know this is real. You're here with him. When he comes down from his high he kisses you gently one more time and pulls back to look at you. You take the break in physical connection to roll off of him and stretch out your aching calves and let the air from the fan cool your skin. The tingling in your legs tells you not to get up right now, as much as the fear of a UTI screams at you to do the contrary. Instead you turn your head towards Yoongi and he smiles at you. Sleep threatens to take you when he begins to stroke your hair.
"If you'd have told me last week I'd feel this close to someone, I'd have laughed at you," he starts in a quiet voice, "but I feel really close to you. I'm glad this insanity happened to us."
"Me too." You can't help but smile back. "I don't want to go to sleep because I'm afraid you'll be gone when I wake up. What if this is a dream?"
"Then I'll find you when I wake up. You'd better find me too."
"What if we forget?"
He grabs your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I won't forget."
"Mhm." He closes his eyes, clearly every bit as exhausted as you are. He's quiet for a minute and you think maybe he's already fallen asleep until he peeks out from under his eyelids. "... I think you need glasses."
"I was just thinking. I felt like I was squinting all the time when I was you. Maybe that's why it took you so long to see how I felt." He shows off a big, toothy grin.
"Wow that guy really rubbed off on you, huh?"
You smack him in the face with a pillow when you get up.
The muffin and can of Hot6 sit on the counter, guarded by Yoongi's forearm.
"Wow, you already have my stuff ready? Is this the kind of perk I get for dating the owner?" you wonder.
He rolls his eyes. "Not yours until you pay for it."
"You're so sweet, not eating my muffin this time."
He drags his lip through his teeth and tries to hold back a devilish smirk. "I've found better things to eat, don't you think?"
Your heart thumps against your chest and you do your best to remind yourself that offering to suck his dick behind the counter is not what you should be doing in this situation. But you want it so bad. He watches your internal struggle with raised eyebrows and a smug smile. He slides the energy drink towards you.
"Here. This is on me today. You look a little thirsty."
Your shoulders raise and then deflate with your sigh. "Do you even want me to come back later?"
"What? It's free for you. You should be happy."
"And the muffin? What do I owe for that?"
He mimics your dramatic sigh and places it before you. "It's crazy. Your boyfriend offered to pay for that too."
"He's so generous." You shake your head but it can't keep the grin from your face. "Lots of free stuff today."
"It's a... special for today only. So don't get used to it or anything. But there is one more thing we're having a sale on, if you're interested."
"Free of charge, for you only." He taps his lips with both pointers, looking impossibly cute. His charm is devastating, really.
He cracks a smile and you feel yours grow impossibly wider. You lean over the counter and give him a sweet kiss.
"How long does this offer last?"
"As long as you want."
"Forever, it is." He gives you one more quick peck. "I've gotta mop the floor and you're gonna be late for work."
"Ugh. Wanna trade?"
He purses his lips and gives your hand a little squeeze. "Not a chance."
3K notes · View notes
kimnjss · 10 months ago
rainy days | myg
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⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader // yoongi focus. ⇢ genre: smut. // pure unedited filth. ⇢ word count: 4.9K ⇢ theme: established relationships. ⇢ rating: explicit. ⇢ warnings: cursing, dirty talk, poly relationship, dry humping, handjobs, oral sex (f/m. receiving), sleepy jimin just wants to fuck, ass eating, squirting, anal fingering, voyeurism, slight biting, hickeys, fingering, face sitting, sixty-nining, over stimulation, cum inside. ⇢ A/N: alot of people said yoongi for this episode... literally all of you, but a few people said jimin - so i added him a bit too! hope you guys like it - let me know what you think x
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The loud chatter on the other side of the door is what pulls you from your slumber. After a long night of playing ping pong with Jimin and Taehyung, you were falling asleep in Jimin's room. His arms pulling your body against his as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.
He stirs when the door is being pulled open by Joon, words leaving his lips that you barely comprehend waking from your slumber. Jimin murmurs in response, his words dying in the space of your neck as he moves his body closer to yours – pulling you tighter against him.
Leg lifted to wrap around your waist, completely and totally enveloping you in his warmth. He smelt nice, fresh from the shower he had taken the night before. Shifting to get more comfortable on the bed and you're automatically leaning into him. Feeling his thickness graze your thigh, followed by a sigh falling from his lips.
The grip he held around your waist tightens, body pulled tighter into yours as he rolls his hips once more. Body shivering from the new found friction between his legs. Desperate to feel more of him, you're lowering your body – just enough that the bulge straining against the fabric of his shorts is pressed right against the crack of your covered ass.
Jimin gasps, like full-on gasps, when you're grinding back against him. Dick hardening even more as he pushes against you. “You want to play? So early, baby?” Words mumbled into your ear as his hand travels up the front of your shirt, easily finding your bare breasts.
His thumb grazes over your pebbled nipple, body tensing against his as a soft moan falls from your lips. “Jimin-” You start, so ready to tell him how badly you need him, but he's quick to shush you, words being drowned out by the increase of chatter outside of your door.
The movement of his hips against yours doesn't still, dragging his hard cock over your ass while his fingers tweak your nipple underneath your shirt. Movements so slow, so subtle that it barely looks like anything from above the covers.
And you realize that's what he's hoping for when the door is being pulled open again. Jin stepping in without hesitance, only briefly taking in your close bodies before he's calling Jimin out to eat. Door left ajar, but he is picking up his speed as soon as Jin is exiting the room.
A hand cocooning the space between your legs, rubbing circles into your clit over the fabric of your panties. Movements so quick with release the only thing in mind and you're crying out at the new pressure on your sensitive bud.
A familiar sound for the younger boy just a few steps away from the door. “Fuck, Jimin. Your fingers... I want to feel your fingers,” Legs spreading wider for him, giving him all the room he needs to fuck into you with those thick fingers of his. And the hearty laugh that falls from his lips lets you know that he's ready to do exactly that.
Growing hot underneath the blanket, Jimin is quick to kick it away. Just as your hand is reaching back into the waistband of his shorts. His cock twitches in your hand as you pull it out, two powerful strokes of it has a groan falling from his lips. And the lips of the man watching from the door.
Your attention is quickly snapped up to Jungkook's figure standing in the doorway. Eyes slightly wide, as if he's afraid blinking would stop this moment, large hand palming himself through his shorts as his teeth dug into his lip – realizing his mistake of making noise. Being heard.
“Kookie,” You're moaning just as Jimin is pushing his fingers inside of you. The sound has a whimper falling from the younger boy's lips, a devilish smirk taking over the features of his elder. “Want to see how fast I can make our girl cum?” There's challenge in his voice, knowing for a fact his maknae would never turn down a challenge.
“She's so wet, Kook. Listen,” To prove his point, Jimin is speeding up the thrusts of his fingers – spreading your legs wider so that the only sound heard is the squelch of the wetness between your leg s.
His thumb pressed down on your clit, rolling it around while his teeth nibble at the shell of your ear. Eyes glued to Jungkook who has stepped further into the room, feigning for a closer look at your scarcely covered pussy. He's drooling, full-blown stroking himself as he watches you become nearer and nearer to your orgasm with each push of his Hyung's fingers.
Just faintly, you can hear the other call for them. Wonder what's taking so long for you to come out. Jimin ignores the shouts, determined to make you fall apart around your fingers – and from the way your walls are squeezing around them, he knows he's not far off. 
The hand wrapped on his cock moves un-rhythmically, an afterthought to the intense pleasure building in the pit of your stomach. He doesn't pay it much attention, hips jerking into the palm of your hand freely – giving pleasure to himself while he does the same for you.
“Fuck, Hyung, do you hear her? She's so close.” Jungkook whines, oddly entune to the way your moans change when you're about to cum. But he's so right because as soon as he's done speaking you feel the tension snap. Hips frantically rolling into Jimin's hand, his thumb pressed so deliciously against your clit.
Seeing you cum is enough to get Jungkook off, heavy cock glistening with precum as fresh spurts shoot out the tip, dirtying the floor. Jimin chuckles at the sight, Jungkook curses and jerking as he tries to catch his breath. Orgasm nearly as powerful as some he's had before, but still enough to have him feeling light-headed.
“You made the baby cum, now what about me?” You hear Jimin's voice through the cloudiness of your orgasm filled mind, but understand enough where you're shifting. His head falling back against the pillows as you reach for his shaft, easily wrapping your lips around the head.
Jungkook stays to watch you suck Jimin off. A lazy hand stroking his shaft as your head bobs up and down. Marveled with how easily you're able to swallow him down, nose pressed against the elder's shaft as if he wasn't tickling the back of your throat.
“Fuck, Yn!” He's gasping, fingers tangled in your hair to hold your face close to him. “Such a good girl, taking my whole cock.” The praise has your confidence skyrocketing, hands reaching to toy with his balls as your cheeks hallow – sucking him deeper in.
There's no warning other than the string of curse words that fall from his lips, the stutter his hips does as he thrusts into your mouth – before his cum spilling out. It's thickness filling your mouth and you take every last drop.
Cum always tasted so sweet. And he looking like a fucking angel when he was falling apart. Hooded eyes trying to focus on the way you look when your mouth filling with his cum, plump lips swollen from the way he's been biting them, eyebrows furrowed to create that sexy crease.
Jimin's gasping when you pull off of him, back arching slightly when you're running your tongue over the underside of his cock. Which, has a soft giggle falling from your lips as you lift up to his face.
“Good morning,” You greet him with a bright smile and a sloppy kiss to his lips. A kiss that has him realizing some of his cum is still in his mouth. The devilish smirk rests on his lips as he pulls back, eyes flickering over his shoulder at Jungkook who hasn't once moved from his position.
“Why don't you go say good morning to Kookie?” He suggests and you're jumping at the idea, almost literally. Hopping off of his body and all the way over to Jungkook. Arms wrapped around his neck as you pull him in close. And you don't miss the dust of pink over his cheeks just before you're lips are finding his.
He doesn't flinch or hesitate when the warmth of Jimin's cum is hitting his tongue. Instead, he's letting a groan fall from his lips. Hand finding the back of your neck to pull you in close as he licks into your mouth with much more hunger.
Kissing you like a starved man moans dying on your lips as your hand wraps around his shaft – stroking him gently. It's not until he's whining, lips falling from your as he takes to teething at your neck, do you realize Jimin has left the room. Gone to find the others.
“Noona...” Jungkook drags out with a whine, hips stilling as his cum wets your hand. The warmth, the sound of his voice, the desperate rock of his hips – has a moan slipping from your lips. Not an ounce of hesitation as you lift your hand to lick his stickiness from it.
He watches with bright eyes, not daring to tear his gaze away until you're reaching back – wrapping your sticky hand into his hair and pulling his face toward you. A soft kiss on his lips, that's much shorter than the others.
“Good morning, Kookie.” You say once you're pulling back, voice hushed as if your words are a secret only meant from him. With a large grin, he's leaning in once again to cover his mouth with his.
More than ready to show you how good this morning is.
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Finding Yoongi sat in front of the computer, beside Jin and you're easily slipping into his lap. Arm wrapping around the back of his neck as you get comfortable in his arms, shifting so your body is sideways on his lap.
“Thank you for the food,” Gazing up at him with a bright smile, your free hand lifting so you're able to run your fingers through his hair.
Yoongi is quick to react to your welcomed intrusion, an arm secured around your hips to keep you from slipping and his hand resting casually on your thigh. Moments from accepting your thanks when Jin is speaking up beside you.
“Hey. I helped too.” He wears a tiny pout on his face that has your lips stretching in a smile. A quick kiss that is blown in his direction that he's acting as if he caught, pressing his hand to his lips. Giggling, you're leaning back against Yoongi's chest.
“Should I give you one too?” A slight pout on your lips as you look up at the man. His eyes slowly shifting from the tablet in front of him to you. Tongue pushing out to wet his lower lip as the grip he holds on your thigh tightens.
Yet, he shrugs – feigning indifference. “If you want to,” He says simply but that's all the convincing you need to lean up to press your lips against his. He's groaning at the sweetness of your mouth, while his fingers slowly inch their way up your thigh.
Fingers knotted in his soft hair, you're tilting his head back just a bit so you a better reach his mouth. He's groaning when your teeth graze his lower lip, lips parting to let your tongue through. You hum against his mouth, lifting your body higher his lap – legs straddling his hips.
The roll of your hips is what sets him off. Cock hardening underneath you, while the grip he holds on your ass tightens. There was something about the attention Yoongi gave you. Always zeroed in as if you were the only thing to exist at that moment. Nothing else mattered when he was in your arms.
Covered core drags over his bulge, soft moans falling from your lips and dying against his tongue. “So hard,” You mumble, lips slipping from his to find the skin of his neck. Tongue and teeth working against his skin as your hand slides down your bodies. His cock jumps underneath your palm and you're grinning, running your fingers over his covered shaft.
“You really want to play that game, baby?” Voice deep that has a pang of arousal rushing between your legs. Without a moment of hesitance, you're nodding your hand. The tip of your nails run over his scalp in the way you know he likes as you nod up at him.
“It's not like you'll do anything about it,” You challenge quietly, loving the twitch of his cock underneath your palm.
Quick to wrap your legs around his waist as he stands from his seat, clinging to him to keep yourself from falling. And he laughs darkly an arm resting underneath your butt to lift you onto him. Without a word, he's carrying you out of the room – out of the house and you have a pretty good idea where he's taking you.
The entire walk from the Upper House to the Main House, you've got your lips on his neck. Wet kisses landing on his warm skin, tongue tracing imaginary patterns into it – which only riles him up more. With each step, his cock grazes your thigh. What you'd give to feel him buried inside of you, wouldn't even care if he decided to do it while walking with you in his arms. You just wanted to feel him.
Hoseok is looking up at the burst through the screen door, taking one look at your probably disheveled presence. Just because you were walking didn't mean Yoongi kept his hands off you. He had snuck his palm underneath your shorts, palming your bare bottom shamelessly as he carried you.
No doubt you were giving these boys a show they didn't pay for. One they've seen many times before. So wrapped up in his building blocks, Joon hadn't realized when you first entered the room. But is lifting his head at the sound of Hoseok's grunt, eyebrows raised.
Yoongi doesn't offer them a moment to comment with the way he's whisking you up the stairs without a second glance backward. The toe of his shoe is nudging the door open and he wastes no time with tossing you down on the big bed. Giggles fall from your lips as your body bounces up and down, slowing just in time to see him pull his shirt from his body.
“Take those off,” He's referring to your pants, but your attention is zeroed in on the strain of his cock against the fabric of his sweats that you're barely hearing him. Quick to tug his own pants down, revealing the black briefs that hug his hips nicely. Nearly drooling at the sight, but Yoongi doesn't allow you much time to marvel at his impressive physique.
He's climbing onto the bed, just as your fingers are dipping into the waistband of your shorts. Replacing your hands with his, he takes his time to drag the garment down your legs. A striptease just for him and he's grinning wide at the sight of your lace panties. 
“Always so pretty,” He compliments in a whisper, head tilting up until his lips are finding your neck, his large hand easily finding your clit through the fabric of your panties. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”
You're nodding before he can finish his sentence, head-turning to find his eyes. Pupils blown and lust-filled. The way he's looking at you has a moan falling from your lips automatically. “How many times do you want to cum?” Fingers dip down to collect some of your arousal, but he's quick with finding your clit again – toying with it underneath his fingers.
Almost positive, that your body could only handle two... maybe three max orgasms right now, but ever so willing to please him you lift your hips. “However many you want to give me,” His cock twitches at this, you feel it against your thigh.
“Such a good girl,” He praises, fingers speeding up in their movement between your legs. His only focus is on your clit and the pretty moans that fall from your lips each time he's applying more pressure. Your legs are spread wide for him, hips rolling with the movement of his fingers.
Still sensitive from this morning and it doesn't take much to get you worked up again. Yoongi is smirking once he notices, fingers slowing down in an attempt to tease you as he peaks up at your face. “Close already, baby?”
You've both hands wrapped around his wrist, silently pleading he didn't pull back. That he'd let you cum. Nodding slowly, your teeth nibble on your lower lip. He looks so good right now. The sun hitting his milky skin so nicely that he's glowing above you. Dark hair falling into his eyes, lips bruised red from yours. You could faintly see the marks forming on his neck courtesy of you.
And then he grins, you're done for at the sight of that big smile of his. “I'll give you an easy one,” He says with a wrinkle of his nose. Two fingers plunge inside of you at once, your hips lifting off the bed as a drawn-out moan falls from your lips. Yoongi strokes your insides slowly before he's pushing a third finger inside and picking up the pace.
Fingers not as thick as Jimin's but longer, much longer – easily pressing against that rough patch of skin-deep inside of you while his thumb continues to tease your clit.
“Fuck. Your needy little pussy is squeezing me so tight,” He speaks in mock surprise, while he peaks up to look at you. Fingers tangled in your own hair to keep it out of your face, forcing your head up as you watch the movement of his hand between your legs. Mouth dropping and eyes rolling back once he's pushing his fingers into the knuckle, effectively pushing against your gspot.
And you're falling apart right before his eyes. Hips lifted so high that he had to reach to pin them back onto the mattress. Incoherent curses falling from your lips as your orgasm turns your brain to mush.
Yoongi only slows the movement of his fingers slightly, helping you ride out your quick orgasm with a grin on his face. Only when your back is falling flat on the mattress does he pull his fingers from inside of you, greedily licking your arousal from his fingers as you look on trying to catch your breath.
“You taste so good, baby.” He groans, rolling off of your body so he's lying flat on his back. His hand lifts to grasp your thigh, gently tugging your body toward him. “Come sit on my face, let me taste more.” His own words have his cock twitching and you follow the movement of his hand as he palms himself over his boxers.
Despite the heaviness in your limbs, you're lifting your body into a kneel. Pulling your panties down the rest of the way before straightening to stand. Naked from the bottom down, your tiny t-shirt clinging to your figure. Hair in knots and cheeks flushed. He liked it best when you looked this way.
Carefully, you're setting a foot on either side of his head. Giving him an eyeful of your dripping cunt that has a wanting groan falling from his lips. His mouth is opening as you're lowering yourself onto him, lips easily wrapping around your clit.
“Oh, shit-” You gasp, body curling forward, hands moving to brace themselves on his stomach to keep yourself from folding over.
The chuckle that falls from his lips vibrates throughout your core, pulling a breathy moan from your lips. You can feel his smirk as he glides his tongue over your folds, arms looped around your thighs to hold your body in place.
Greedy moans leave his lips, as he uses his grip to spread your legs wider. Angling his head so he can push his tongue deeper inside of you, slowly dragging it back up to your clit. His tongue rolls as he sucks the sensitive nub between his lips, sharp teeth grazing over the skin.
A desperate moan breaks through your lips, legs flinching against his grasp as he gently nibbles on your clit. Yoongi's pulling your body further down onto his face, lips remaining wrapped around you as he rolls your clit between his teeth. You don't fight the way your hips grind down into his face, wanting to feel more of him.
Hands sliding down his stomach until you've reached underneath the hem of his boxers. Heavy cock jumps in your grasp as you take hold of him, stroking him slowly – unfocused as his mouth on you become more determined. 
“Yoongi, fuck!” You shout, the feeling of his tongue slipping inside of you sending a new wave of pleasure racking through your body. Cock squeezed in your hand while your hand moves over him quickly. He hisses when your lips are wrapped around the tip, sucking on it gently as your hips move in time with his tongue.
He pushes his three fingers into your core, which has your body bowing forward – more of his cock slipping into your mouth. Expertly, his fingers twist deep inside of you, tongue teasing your clit, determined to make you cum again.
Your moans are muffled by his cock down your throat, sloppily sucking him and ignoring the drool that pools at the corner of your mouth. He's making a mess too. Lips, teeth, and tongue working over your clit as he fucks into you with his long fingers. And then he's pulling away, fingers still inside of your as his head lift slightly.
There's a moment of hesitation that lingers in the air, it's short – but long enough where you're pulling him from your mouth, ready to check if he's alright. But then you feel it, tentative at first, the tip of his tongue dragging over your tighter hole. Once. Twice. Testing the waters before he's diving in and your eyes are rolling back.
“Oooh, my God. Yoongi.” Taking to lazily stroking his shaft, mind to clouded to concentrate on properly sucking him off. Yoongi moves his tongue over you as he would in your pussy. And it has you panting. Paired with the delicious twist of his fingers inside of you, you're feeling that familiar tingle builds in your stomach.
Your core tightens around his fingers, hips jerking as the pleasure builds between your legs. Yoongi's lifting his free hand, the tip of his finger rubbing over your puckered hole as he places soft kisses against your cheek.
“Should I fuck you here too?” His voice is so deep, laced with lust and you're feeling a warm gush of arousal from your core at the sound.
“P-please, Yoongi... I need to-”
Not even waiting for you to finish your sentence before the tip of his finger is dipping inside. He moves slowly until he's slipped into the knuckle and you're full of him. Both of his hands move opposite of one another, picking up the pace when you begin to loosen. 
The feeling is foreign, but the delicious burn has your body tumbling closer and closer to your release. Walls clenched tight around him as your hips rock in time with his fingers.
“Such a good girl,” He's praising as your mouth closes around his tip, sucking him deep inside of your throat. “You like having all your holes stuffed full?” Your answer is mumbled over his shaft, head nodding up and down.
He's gasping when you swallow around him, hips jerking up to push more of his cock into your mouth. Fingers speeding up inside of you and the moment his thumb is tapping against your clit – you're falling apart.
His cock falling from your lips as you sit up, hips rolling against his face as your orgasm washes over you. “Fuck, Yoongi-, shit.” You curse, legs shaking from the powerful pleasure cruising through your veins. Teeth cut into your lip, in an attempt to silence your loud cries.
Yoongi doesn't pull back, not even for a second. Mouth sucking kisses into the roundness of your ass as his fingers push and pull against your walls. Teeth grazing over your sensitive bud and your pleasure is heightened, hips flinching away from him - a squeal leaving your lips as a clear stream of cum squirts from between your legs.
Soaking his chest, stomach, and darkening the fabric of his boxers. Yoongi laughs underneath you, arms wrapped around your thighs again to pull you back down – licking up the mess around your entrance.
“I love it when you squirt for me,” He growls into your pussy, easily lifting your body from his face. In one swift movement, he's setting you onto his lap. Large hand reaching down for his wet cock, lining himself up nicely with your tight hole before he's pushing forward. Pulling a drawn-out moan from your lips. “Ride me, baby.”
You're so sensitive, it hurts. But not enough for you to stop. Not when he's looking at you like that. Lips and nose shiny with your arousal, clear droplets rolling down his chest. Hair sweaty and sticking out in random directions, from his hands, yours. He's got this dazed look in his eyes as if he were the one that had just come three times.
The stretch of having his cock inside of your sensitive cunt is quickly getting rid of the slight feeling of overstimulation. Enough for you to lift your hips, whimpering at the slow drag against your walls.
“You're so fucking tight,” He grits, both hands lifting to push his hair back as his back arches slightly while you lower yourself back onto him. From his hair, he's grasping your hips, repeating your previous movement at his own pace.
Hands circling around to grasp your ass, he uses his grip to lift and drop your body against him as his hips move to meet your movements. It's sticky, his precum filling you and mixing with what's left of your release. All the sound of wet skin slapping against each other filling the room.
“You take my cock so well, baby.” There's strain in his voice and it does wonders for your ego knowing you can make him like this. Walls clenching tight around him as you grind down against him. The velvety friction between your legs waking a dull ache.
A yelp coated masked with a giggle falls from your lips. The quick slap against your ass making your cheek jiggle underneath his palm. His hips snap roughly up into you, body bouncing over his and you're reaching for his chest to keep yourself from falling over.
His hand smacks against you again, before he's gripping the flesh; pulling your body down onto him as he lifts his hips. Filling you to the hilt and holding his cock there as he rolls his hips, the tip of his cock rubbing against that rough patch of skin.
“I'm gonna cum- Babe, please..” You beg, fingers sliding down the front of your body to find your clit. Quick circles are made over the bundle of nerves as you roll your hips over his, free hand tangling in his hair as your chest finds his.
Yoongi catches your lips in a heated kiss, thrusts growing sloppy as he chases his own release. His mouth tastes heavily of you, wet lips sliding over yours. “Fuck, do that again.” He murmurs when your walls clench around him. Involuntarily because of your nearing orgasm, but you tighten your muscles once more for him.
A drawn-out moan falls from his lips, strong hands coming down onto your hips to hold them still as he fucks into you with much fervor. Body bouncing over his as he fucks himself further to his release. It's not long before his cum is filling you, harsh breaths leaving his lips as he rides out his own orgasm.
With your fingers toying with your clit between you, you're not far from your own orgasm. Your walls squeezing tight around him as your toes curl lashes fluttering.
“God, baby.” He breaths once he's regained his composure, easily pulling his cock from inside of you. A soothing hand finds your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin as your body twitches with the aftershocks of your orgasm.
Both of you lay wrapped in each other, sticky and hot but neither of you has the strength to move. Your hair is twirled between his fingers as you place wet kisses against his damp skin. “You're gonna drive me insane,” He's saying after a few moments of silence passes between the two of you.
A sweet laugh falls from your lips, head lifting so you can get a better look at his flushed face. Cheeks pink and a light layer of sweat on his forehead. “That's the plan, baby.” There's a flutter in his chest from the sight of your big smile, a smile pushing on to his own lips as he leans up – covering your lips with his.
He can hear the others downstairs, loudly debating who'd come get you guys to start dinner. Yoongi doesn't flinch, doesn't make any moves of getting away from you. Set on enjoying the feeling of having you in his arms, your tongue drawing a line down the length of his neck.
Dinner could wait.
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- seven days in the forest spent with your seven boyfriends while they film their upcoming reality tv show. there’s no telling what the eight of you will get into when the cameras are off.
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taetaespeaches · a year ago
“Keep it cute, Min. I’m not fucking you in the dorm shower”
Yoongi x Reader (or oc) Genre: smut; fluff  Word count: 5.5K
a/n: So this is a fic about Yoongi’s s/o saying she won’t fuck him in the dorm shower, and then proceeds to fuck him in the dorm shower. If you read my fic, “Yes, your socks are cute, but I’m trying to get your pants off, Kid” I mention the reader and Yoongi banging one out in the shower while Guk is in the bathroom. I never ever planned on actually writing that particular scene, but then I got this request and the thot in me jumped the fuck out. So here it is, folks. Enjoy. And as always, thanks for reading :)) 
 STUBBORNLY keeping your eyes shut, refusing to believe it was already morning, you groaned at the feeling of your boyfriend’s lips on your forehead. Chuckling in response, his breath fanned across your skin, making you tuck your head further into the pillow. 
Your boyfriend planted kisses along your temple and down to your cheekbone before you brought a hand towards his face, shoving your palm against it as he laughed against your open hand. Gently grabbing your wrist, he pressed kisses against the back of your hand, making you groan as you turned your face towards him, reluctantly fluttering your eyelids open to look at him. 
“Morning, Kid,” he flashed you a gummy smile. 
“Who are you?” You groaned, your voice full of sleep. “My Yoongi is never this annoyingly cute in the morning.” 
“Hey,” he protested, pulling you into his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you were just snoring and it was bothering me. I was trying to wake you up nicely.” Shooting him a glare, he smirked. “Next time I’ll just push you off the bed.” 
“There he is,” your lips curved into a smile. Stretching your arms over your head, you started to roll away from your boyfriend, only for him to put an arm around your waist holding you in place. “Baby,” you whined. “I have to get up, I’m getting lunch today, remember?” You reminded him of your lunch plans with your friends. 
“No, just a little longer,” he mumbled into the blankets, you giggling in response. 
“You’re the one who woke me up,” you informed him, rolling towards him until you were positioned on top of him, your cheek pressed against his chest. 
“Yeah, but not so you could leave me,” he complained with a pout on his lips that you couldn’t see but could hear, his arms running up and down your back.
Blindly brining your hand to his face, you felt his features in search of his lips. He groaned at your careless touching, grabbing your hand just after you tapped on his pout with your pointer finger. “Stop it,” he chuckled. 
“Yoon, I need to get home so I can have a shower,” you told him, arching your back as you popped your head up so you could look down at him. 
“Shower here,” he told you. “You can use my soap and shampoo.” 
Leaning down, you pecked his lips before rolling off him. “Nuh uh.” 
Reaching out for you, he just missed you as you stood up from the bed, stretching your back as you looked down at him fondly. “You always compliment the smell of my hair though,” he pouted as he sat up, running a hand through his hair as he shook out the strands. 
Smiling, you cocked your head. “That’s not the point,” you told him as you looked down at your legs, noting that you were wearing his t-shirt. “All the guys are here, it’s weird showering here when six other dudes are wandering around.” You rarely showered at the dorm, only when most of the members were gone, and Yoongi knew this. 
However, he shot you an incredulous look, eyes wide as he pointed his gaze to the door and then back to you. “It’s early on a Saturday,” he told you simply. “No one is awake.” 
“Yoongi,” you warned as you spotted your jeans on the floor a few feet away. Walking over to them, scooping them off the floor and draping them over your forearm, you looked back to your boyfriend who sat in bed, looking as cute as ever with his disheveled hair and sleepy features. 
“Just this once,” he persisted, “I just want a little more time with you.” You sighed in response, feeling yourself give in. “It’s the least you could do, leaving me here on my day off,” he added, flashing you a feigned pout. 
A smile stretched across your face despite your efforts to conceal it, you chucking your jeans at him as you called him “the worst,” Yoongi laughing loudly at your actions. “You’ve literally been on a break for three weeks, you big baby,” you smiled widely. 
Making your way to the bedroom door, slowly stopping as you reached for the knob, you looked back at your boyfriend who still sat on the bed, his gaze set on you as he looked you up and down. “What?” You questioned. 
Shaking his head, he cast his gaze to your face, smiling softly. “You just look so cute in my shirt.” The words were sweet, but the look in his eyes suggested the comment wasn’t as innocent as he was pretending. 
Rolling your eyes, you opened the bedroom door preparing to leave the room. “Are you gonna come fetch a towel for me, or do you want me to use Jin’s?” You asked with raised eyebrows, making Yoongi shoot you a glare as he crawled out of bed, his feet padding against the wood flooring as he made his way to you. 
“Don’t you think you should put some pants on,” Yoongi scolded you as approached you. 
“Mm, I thought you were sure everyone was asleep,” you shot back with a smirk. 
Scoffing, he set a hand on your lower back, leading you down the hallway to the bathroom. Unbeknownst to you, he was listening to any commotion from his members, checking that the rooms were still closed, ensuring everyone was indeed still asleep. 
Stepping into the bathroom, Yoongi closed the door behind him as you made your way to the sink to brush your teeth. As you grabbed the toothbrush out of the drawer, you thought back to when Yoongi told you he thought you should start leaving some things at his place, showing you that he cleared out some space in his bathroom drawer for you. 
You of course teased him when he showed you the drawer, asking, “Is this your attempt at taking one of those important steps in our relationship but, like, without committing too much. Like hey, I love you sort of, so here’s a drawer. Just don’t move in yet.” 
In true Yoongi fashion, he had put it off saying, “you just have bad morning breath and I think it’s cruel to subject me to it every morning after you stay over.” When you leaned in to kiss him, thanking him for the space, he did however add that, “you’ve been staying over more often these days and I want to keep it that way.” 
This morning, as you took care of your teeth, you watched Yoongi shuffle around the bathroom, turning on the shower to warm up the water for you and then scooting to the closet, pulling a towel out. Turning around, he caught your gaze on him in the mirror, smiling shyly as he instantly knew you were watching him in adoration. 
Dragging his feet, he made his way to you, leaving a kiss to the back of your head before setting the towel on the counter. Rinsing your mouth, you placed your hand on the side of Yoongi’s face, leaning in to leave a lingering kiss to his lips, pulling away and gently telling him, “Thank you.” 
Walking away from him towards the shower, Yoongi pulled his own toothbrush out. Squeezing some paste out onto the brush, he stuck the toothbrush in his mouth, his eyes looking into the mirror just in time to see you strip off his shirt, it landing on the floor next to your feet. His eyes scanned the reflection of your back, blood rushing downward as he distractedly moved the toothbrush around his mouth. 
When you slid the panties down your legs, leaving your backside bare as you slowly leaned in to feel the water temperature, he halted the brushing motions, instead just eyeing you as you took your time getting into the shower. Surely you were doing this on purpose, he thought. Right? 
As you disappeared inside the shower, you flashed Yoongi a glance in the mirror, smirking at him, before pulling the curtain shut. Yoongi groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. Adjusting himself in his pants, he mulled over what to do. He could just wait until you got out. That’s what he should do. He could just wait for you in his room. 
However, when you poked your head out from behind the shower curtain, and asked, “are you gonna shower with me or what?” He found himself gawking at you in surprise. “What? Is that not what this is?” His eyes simply widened at your question. “What?” You asked again. “Isn’t this why you wanted me to shower here?” 
Instead of answering you, he instead quickly shed himself of his clothes, pulling the shirt over his head and shoving the boxers down his legs, clambering into the shower with you. 
“Wait,” you held a hand up to his chest when his hands found your hips, his eyes widening. “Did you lock the door?” Did he lock the door? He did, right?
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Of course,” he assured you, lowering his head to press a chaste kiss to your lips. You kissed him back before pulling away, pushing against his chest again. Glancing down for a quick moment, drawing attention to his hard on, you warned, “Keep it cute, Min. I’m not fucking you in the dorm shower.” 
Holding his arms up in mock surrender, he turned around to reach for his shampoo. Your eyes scanned up and down his frame, greedily taking in his appearance as his muscles tensed and relaxed with his movements as he squeezed shampoo out into his hand. Why am I not fucking him in the dorm shower? 
When he turned back around, he caught you eyeing his body, a smirk appearing on his lips. “No fucking, Kid. Your rules,” he teased you.
“What a stupid rule,” you chastised yourself with a shake of your head. 
Snickering with a gummy grin, he nodded to you. “Close your eyes,” he told you as he stepped closer to you, bringing his hands up to massage the shampoo into your hair. As his nails gently scratched against your scalp, you let a small moan slip from between your lips. “Don’t,” he warned, a smirk appearing on your face. “That’s not fair.” 
“Why are you so good at this?” You moaned, your hands raising to hold onto his forearms. 
Shaking his head, he dipped you underneath the shower head. “Jesus, Kid, I’m fucking hard right now, you can’t say shit like that,” he scolded you with a chuckle as he rinsed the suds from your hair. 
Biting back a smile, you whispered a “sorry, baby.” 
Holding back a smile, Yoongi reached for the loofa, grabbing his soap and handing the bottle to you. You took the body wash, pouring out a good amount onto the loofa. Yoongi took the bottle from you, putting it back in its place before massaging the gel into the loofa. 
Spinning you around gently, he began to run the sponge along your back, scrubbing your skin, as his other hand dragged up and down your side affectionately. 
You leaned into him just slightly, giving away how much you were enjoying being pampered by him, and how much you were wanting more. 
His touch traveled along your side, his fingers dragging over the side of your boob, lingering before going back down all the way to your thigh. Fuck it felt good. And he was teasing. You shifted your frame to the side the tiniest bit, causing his hand to slip towards your abdomen. Smirking, he kept his hand on your abdomen, flattening his palm as he slid it down your wet stomach, reaching the top of your pelvic area. 
His mouth found the skin behind your ear, lightly kissing the sensitive area as his hand found its way between your legs, rubbing you in circular motions. Your head dropped back onto his shoulder as you released a series of sharp breaths and quiet oh my god’s. 
As his digits worked skillfully on your clit, his other hand dropped the loofa, the water-soaked sponge falling to the shower floor with a plop. With his hand free, he reached around your body, cradling your wet body against his own, holding you flush against him as his palm found your breast, squeezing the flesh. He watched your facial expression as you responded with a choked gasp, your jaw slackening, and he just thought you were the most stunning creature to exist. 
Stepping back from you, he grabbed your waist so he could spin you around, pushing you up against the shower wall. He immediately dropped to his knees, dragging his hands from your waist, down your hips to your thighs. Looking up to you, meeting your hooded gaze, he pressed a soft kiss to your center. You bit your bottom lip as your mouth spread into a blissful grin. Grasping your thigh, he positioned it over his shoulder, not wasting a second as he pressed open mouth kisses to you, his tongue flicking and flattening against you in expertly executed patterns. 
“Fuck, oh my god,” you moaned out, your tone breathy as you threaded your hand into Yoongi’s wet strands, tugging just the way he liked it. He groaned against you, the sound shooting pleasure through your body. Yoongi wasn’t super vocal but he had the sexiest groans and you cherished every single one of them. 
Knowing Yoongi could stay down there for hours, on his knees for you, if you’d let him, you tugged on his strands a little harder than the last time, making him look up at you through his eyelashes. Placing your other hand on the side of his face, you gently guided him up towards you, whispering a fucked out, “Come here.” 
He lowered your leg to the ground before standing up, his lips greedily finding yours, the kiss deep and hungry from the start, his hands on the sides of your face. Reaching down, you wrapped your hand around him, stroking his length a few times. 
Yoongi’s hands left your face, one grabbing onto your waist, helping hold you against the wall as the other one found your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip, his hand staying there to help you hold your leg in place. You helped guide him as Yoongi sank into you, both of you letting out sharp breaths at the feeling. 
The first few thrusts were slow and deep as your hands found his shoulders, bracing yourself against him. When he picked up pace, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, your fingers playing with the wet strands of hair that stuck flat against his nape. 
Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against your own, his gaze locking on yours as he whispered, “I love you so much,” kissing your lips softly right after he spoke the words, the gentle action a stark contrast to the rough movements of his hips. 
His lips hovering over your own as he continued with his pace, you began to whisper a reply to his confession, however, a sound on the other side of the bathroom drew your attention from the man who was currently inside of you. As Yoongi slowed down but increased the power of his thrusts, you were sure you heard the sink turn on. 
Moving your arms from around Yoongi’s shoulders, you pushed against his chest, your eyes blown wide in worry, shaking your head at him. He stalled his motions, concerned he may have hurt you, and as he prepared to ask you what was wrong, you brought your hands to cover his mouth. 
“I think someone’s in here,” you whispered. Yoongi’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you slowly removing your hands from his mouth.  
“You’re ok?” He asked you, being certain he didn’t hurt you in any way. 
“Yoongi, I’m fine except for the fact that someone is in the fucking bathroom with us,” you whispered harshly, the panic taking over. 
“Kid, there’s no one in—” Yoongi was cut off when the sound of a drawer being shut echoed throughout the bathroom. Suddenly, Yoongi’s eyes popped open, a pout forming on his lips, his expression showing his surprise.
“I thought you locked the door?” You scolded him in a barely legible whisper. Yoongi simply shrugged in response making you shake your head in frustration.
You formed fists with your hands, holding them to your chest as you started to freak out, wanting to shrink away and disappear. “Who is it?” You mouthed to your boyfriend, him shrugging in response. You nodded towards the direction of the sound, silently telling him to check. 
Rolling his eyes, he leans towards the curtain, pulling it back just slightly to peek at the member who had welcomed himself into the bathroom. Yoongi’s eyes fell on a sleepy, and very clueless, Jungkook who was squeezing the tube of toothpaste onto a toothbrush. 
Pulling his head back into the shower, Yoongi bit back a grin as he looked at your terrified expression. “It’s Kookie.” 
Your eyes widening even more, if that was even possible, you mouthed oh my god, pushing Yoongi away from you, though he resisted, instead choosing to slowly grind into you. Shaking your head, but not pushing him away, he stopped his actions. Leaning in, he whispered in your ear, the feeling of his breath sending a thrill throughout your body that was hard to deny. “I’ll stop if you want me to, Kid. Just give me the word. But he has no idea what’s going on.” 
He patiently waited for you to give an order, adding, “He’ll be out of here in a minute, we could just wait it out.” 
At the thought of him pulling out, you bucked your hips into him, a cocky smirk forming on Yoongi’s lips as he leaned in and caught your mouth in a greedy kiss. Yoongi trailed kisses onto your cheek, down to your jaw and along your neck as you held your breath, trying to hold back your sounds as Yoongi slowly rocked into you. 
When he thrusted particularly deep making you clench and dip your head down to rest your forehead on his shoulder, Yoongi smiled smugly to himself. There was something about you having to keep quiet as to not get caught that he quite liked. Hitting the same spot again and again, your hands gripped onto Yoongi’s biceps as if you were holding onto your last shred of composure. 
With one more thrust, a whimper slipped out of your mouth, you immediately biting Yoongi’s shoulder in an attempt to stop the sounds from pouring out.
Yoongi bit his bottom lip as a cheeky grin graced his face. He rolled his hips again, now picking up pace but still hitting that same spot. He slid his hand from your waist to your clit and the touch had you jolting against him. You quietly whined against your boyfriend’s neck, and you could hear the breathy chuckle that left his mouth, amused by your reaction to him. 
That’s when you heard the click of the bathroom door, signaling Jungkook’s departure from the room. Signaling your freedom to let yourself go. 
Moving your hands to his face, you kissed him deeply as you climaxed, Yoongi swallowing your moans, which were louder and more carnal than before. The way you responded to his touch drove Yoongi towards his own climax, just a few pumps away. Pulling out of you, you reached down and stroked him, Yoongi’s head dropping against your chest as he let a few low groans leave his lips. His hands grabbed onto the sides of your waist, squeezing the flesh as he finished, his load collecting on your lower abdomen. 
As you slowly and lightly ran your hand along his length a few more times, he pressed sweet pecks to your chest. Looking up at you, he kissed the tip of your nose before planting a kiss to your mouth. 
“Fuck, I love you,” Yoongi grinned. “You’re so hot.” His smile slowly transformed into a cocky one as he said smugly, “he had no idea.” Yoongi was feeling quite proud he had just secretly fucked you with his younger member in the room. 
“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes, lightly smacking his chest. “You’re unbelievable.” Yoongi simply chuckled, his shoulders shaking, his eyes full of amusement. 
“I had no idea you had an exhibition kink,” he teased you. 
“I hate you so much,” you replied, holding back a smile. 
“Mhmm,” he smiled. “Love you too.” The cocky smirk Yoongi wore for the remainder of the shower had you thinking twice about your actions. Lord knows that man didn’t need anything else to make him feel cocky. Thank god Jungkook didn’t notice. 
Or maybe he did notice. You see, Jungkook wouldn’t normally use that specific bathroom, as he and Taehyung shared a bathroom. However, when Jungkook approached the door to his typical bathroom, he heard the sounds of Tae and Tae’s partner laughing and yelling and singing along to Taehyung’s shower playlist. 
Jungkook had no doubt in his mind that they were going to have sex in the shower, if they weren’t already. Therefore, he didn’t even try to enter the bathroom, instead deciding he would brush his teeth somewhere else. Jungkook groaned with a roll of his eyes, realizing his toothbrush was on the other side of the door of the occupied bathroom. Stomping down the hallway, he remembered that Yoongi and Jin typically had spare toothbrushes in their bathroom for when their partners stayed over.  
He didn’t even realize the shower was running inside of Yoongi, Jin, and Namjoon’s bathroom until his hand was already on the knob. Looking to his members’ rooms, Yoongi’s was the only door that was cracked. Not even thinking about the possibility that you would be in there, he tried the knob, and when it was unlocked, he walked himself inside, quietly latching the door behind him. 
Making his way to the sink, he first turned on the faucet, filling his cupped hands with water and then lowering his face to toss the water onto his skin, refreshing himself a bit. Patting his wet face, he dried it off on the hand towel. 
Next, he searched for a new toothbrush in Yoongi’s drawer, digging around yours and Yoongi’s items until he found one still in the packaging. Completely oblivious to what was going on in the shower that was reflecting in the mirror, he opened the toothbrush package, grabbed the toothpaste off the counter, and squeezed the toothpaste out onto the brush. 
Just a normal everyday task. He was slightly annoyed by Taehyung and his partner, though it wasn’t unusual, shaking his head at the thought. As he lazily brushed his teeth, his eyes flickering from the sink to the mirror, to his hand, to the reflections in the mirror, he was suddenly broken out of his mundane haze when the sound of a whimper came from the shower. Cocking his head, he looked over his shoulder at the shower. 
Scrunching his eyebrows, he wondered if he should call out to his hyung.
However, when his sight landed on the trail of clothes in front of the shower, two t-shirts, a pair of boxers, and then a pair of lace panties, Jungkook’s heart nearly burst out of his chest in panic. He gasped at the realization, having to hold back his choking on the toothpaste, looking to the shower, then towards the wall, then the floor, the door, the shower again, the ceiling, and the door again, he was flooded with emotions, primarily guilt, discomfort, and so much annoyance. 
Why was everyone having shower sex at this exact moment?! The poor man was just trying to brush his teeth, jesus fucking christ. 
He was knocked out of his shocked daze when the sounds of your whining invaded his ear drums, making him pull a face of pure panic and disgust. Before he could comprehend the entirety of the situation, he was dashing to the door, toothbrush in hand, mouth full of toothpaste. He quietly shut the door, not really wanting you and Yoongi to know he had been in there. 
“What in the actual fuck?” He asked aloud in the hallway, the bathroom that you and Yoongi were currently banging one out in behind him. 
A little later, you and Yoongi shut the water off, stepping out of the shower. Yoongi walked across the bathroom, stark naked, grabbing your towel and bringing it to you. Was that a bit of… swagger in his step? 
Raising your eyebrows at him, he smirked. “How long are you going to be this full of yourself?” You asked him as he wrapped the towel around your frame, you taking it from his hands to secure it at your chest. Yoongi simply shrugged in response, a proud expression on his face. “You’re so annoying,” you told him as you chuckled, shaking your head. 
By the time you had left the bathroom to go to Yoongi’s room to get dressed, most of the other members had all gathered in the kitchen, their voices and laughter echoing down the hallway. 
“Are you sure you still want to go?” Yoongi asked you as he pulled on some boxer briefs, a smirk still on his face. Letting out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh, you shook your head. Dressed in some spare underwear you left at Yoongi’s place and a leisure bra, you made your way to his closet. As you sorted through his clothes that he had hanging, he called out, “well?” 
Looking over your shoulder, you shot him a glare, pushing on the inside of your cheek with your tongue, showing your annoyance though most of it was feigned. Truth was, cocky Yoongi was hot. Obnoxious, but very, very hot. “Yes, Yoon, I still want to go,” you told him as you dug through his clothes. “And for the record,” you pulled a long sleeve t-shirt off the hanger. “I’m never fucking you in the shower again.”
As you pulled the shirt over your head, a snicker left your boyfriend. When you poked your head out of the shirt, you caught Yoongi laughing with his shoulders shaking as he put some sweatpants on. 
“What’s so funny?” You asked him, biting back a grin, grabbing your leggings off the floor.
“Nothing,” he said, nonchalantly, as he scooped up a hoodie off of his dresser. “You just shouldn’t make threats you can’t follow through with,” he told you just as he pulled the hoodie over his head.  Pulling the leggings up your legs, you flipped him off as you made your way to the door. “Love you,” he called out with a smirk as you walked through the door.
“Yeah, whatever, love you too,” you replied, smiling widely as you walked towards the kitchen. 
Entering the kitchen, the first thing you noticed was Jimin and Jin giggling with each other as Taehyung’s partner dug their face into Tae’s neck, both of them sitting on the stools at the island. Hoseok was smiling widely as he watched the scene unfold and Namjoon was shaking his head as he smiled. 
Then there was Jungkook, awkwardly standing to the side of everyone, staring off into space. 
“It’s almost shocking how much you don’t care if the rest of us hear,” Jimin laughed, eyes crinkled as he called out the two love birds. Taehyung held his partner at their waist, a smile on his face as he whined for them to stop. 
Your boyfriend’s voice cut through the teasing as his arms wrapped around your waist. “What’s going on, why is everyone teasing poor Taehyungie?” Yoongi, hiding his wet hair underneath the hood of his hoodie, sported an amused smile as he pressed a soft kiss to your neck, earning a glare from Jungkook, though neither of you noticed. Seeing you with wet hair confirmed what had happened in the shower, much to Jungkook’s dread. 
“These two were making quite the scene in the bathroom this morning,” Jimin smiled amusedly, responding to Yoongi’s question. You couldn’t help the small grin that formed on your lips when Yoongi chuckled against your neck, squeezing his arms around you a little tighter. Cocky little bitch. 
“Jesus, when everyone is in the dorm?” Yoongi asked, acting appalled by the information as if he wasn’t just fucking you at the same time while knowing Jungkook was in the room. Speaking of Jungkook…
You looked over towards the youngest of the bunch and found that he was already looking at you, or more specifically Yoongi, wearing a look of disgust. When he noticed you watching him, his eyes widened as they found yours and a small blush creeped onto his cheeks. Fuck, no way. No. Fucking. Way.
As you stared him in the eye, your attention was only drawn away when you noticed him lifting his arm, and in his hand, a toothbrush. Pulling your eyebrows together in confusion, you looked back to his face to see him flash you an apologetic and very knowing smile. Oh my god, he knows. It was then your turn to flash Jungkook an apologetic smile. 
Just as Yoongi was preparing to make another playful comment to Taehyung, thoroughly enjoying the teasing of his fellow member for doing exactly what he himself had just done, you elbowed him in the stomach, cutting him off. 
Yoongi flashed you a look of confusion, a pout on his pretty lips. Craning your neck, you whispered in his ear, “Jungkook knows,” your eyes full of panic, your voice showing urgency. 
“What?” Yoongi only looked even more confused. 
“Jungkook knows,” you said again, this time slower. “Like knows knows.” 
Yoongi lifted his chin from your shoulder, peering around your neck to find Jungkook staring at you both, shooting Yoongi a glare. “Oh fuck,” Yoongi said quietly. “Yeah he knows.” 
After he spoke the words, he buried his face back into your neck, pressing a kiss to the skin before the air from his silent chuckle fanned across your neck. “Fuck,” Yoongi complained. “I’m gonna owe him now.” 
Rolling your eyes, you bit back a smile. “It’s official, I’m definitely never fucking you in the shower again,” you whined, the embarrassment of knowing Jungkook heard you having sex fully hitting you. 
Yoongi chuckled at you, a small “Hey, be fair,” slipping out of his mouth as he hugged you closer to him. 
Turning around in Yoongi’s arms, you left a kiss to his lips before whispering into his ear, “I’m leaving,” you kissed him again. 
“Have fun, Kid. See you tonight?” He asked, removing his arms from you, letting you step away, though he still held onto your hand. You nodded as Yoongi played with your fingers. Letting go of your hand, you said bye to everyone before exiting the dorm. 
Not long after, Jungkook received a text. Yoongi watched the younger man as Jungkook scrunched his eyebrows together as he unlocked the phone. Yoongi continued watching him as Jungkook’s confused expression slowly morphed into a mischievous smile. Now was Yoongi’s turn to pull his eyebrows together in confusion, as Jungkook’s gaze lifted from his phone to Yoongi, Jungkook giving the older man a single nod when their eyes met. 
Jungkook stepped towards Yoongi, holding his phone out for Yoongi to see, Yoongi immediately noticing the text was from you. 
Y/n: Sorry, Kook. If it helps, Yoongi himself said he owes you now. Hold this over his head, yeah? The man is getting a little too cocky 
After reading the text, Yoongi scoffed, looking back up at a smirking Jungkook. Yoongi thought of what to say for a moment before he admitted to defeat, letting out an annoyed sigh. “You both suck,” Yoongi said, Jungkook giggling in response. 
As Jungkook left the room, Yoongi was left to think about how he was going to deal with you later that evening. Little brat. 
Before Yoongi left the room, a mug of coffee in hand, he called out to the other members, feeling a bit guilty for partaking in the teasing of Tae and Tae’s partner. “Hey, leave them alone,” he told them shortly, everyone looking at Yoongi in surprise for his change in tone. “They’re in love and your jealousy is showing.” Walking out of the kitchen area, Yoongi smiled to himself. With a single text, you were able to knock him back down to size. 
He took out his phone, sending you a quick text before he got ready to do some work. 
Walking into your apartment, you looked down at the phone that was lit up with Yoongi’s contact name. 
Grampa Yoongles: Must you always keep me so humble? Love you, have fun today 
Smirking to yourself, you shook your head. Humble, you rolled your eyes. You typed out a response before making your way to your room to get changed. 
Yoongi’s phone lit up on his desk as he pulled up a song he’d been working on. Grabbing the phone, he smiled at the message, shaking his head, adoration filling his heart. 
The Kid: We have different understandings of the word “humble”, Min. Love you too, see you tonight xo 
Yeah, he loved you a fucking lot.
2K notes · View notes
scriptaed · 3 years ago
matchmaker, matchtaker;
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genre: piles of fluff;
pairing: reader x yoongi; matchmaking!au; friends to lovers!au;
length: 3.2k;
synopsis: it’s hard not to admit the shatters of your heart when yoongi requests for your services as a matchmaker; and if there’s one rule you’ve always followed, it’s to never pair yourself up with any of your clients... but unbeknownst to you, your best friend hopes you’d make him a one time exception. 
First, you couldn't believe your ears when the doors to your office creaked open, but most crucially, you couldn't believe your eyes when you spot a meek Yoongi behind it all.
“Why in the world are you in my office, Yoongi?” you narrow your eyes at him.
Shuffling through the small slit between the door and the doorframe, Yoongi slowly makes his way to plop into the chair across your desk in small, humble strides.
“To ask for your services like any other customer who walks through that door. Duh,” he mutters under his barely parted lips, eyes glued to your desk to avoid your wary ones.
“You mean,” you raise a brow and articulate, “my matchmaking business?”
“This is… this is for your friend, right…?” you stutter, brows furrowing—because truthfully, you’re almost afraid to ask, fearing the newfound aspirations of your best friend.
Gnawing his teeth—you notice through the clench of his jaw—he shakes his head, “ This is for me.”
Ah, was that your folder you just dropped into your lap? Or the slacked jaw you just can’t seem to withdraw? Or, perhaps, something deep within your chest—an expectation, an anticipation, a greater fear for this day to come when finally, finally Yoongi delves into the world of relationships with things other than music, just not with you; and while you’re not astounded by this monumental day, for you’ve long prepared yourself since the day you fell for Yoongi and started this business, you still can’t fathom having to set up your best friend, the beholder of your secret admirations, with another girl…
...because truthfully and realistically, you don’t think there’s anyone more fit for Yoongi than you.
Ever so slowly, he peers up at you through the soft black locks of his bangs, warm, brown earth-like orbs glistening as they meet yours. The pause is deafening—the both of you waiting for the other to speak first, teetering on the edge of a cliff bound to an inevitable, fatal fall.
“Why?” he asks, slurring his proceeding words. “Do you… not want me to?”
“N-No,” you quickly snap yourself out of a daze, shaking your head and gripping the folders that had fallen into your lap and returned to your mahogany desk. Courage to lie before your best friend, Yoongi, someone whom has never ceased to see through your cheerful front in the darkest times, it’s hard to muster; nonetheless, you do it anyways, for the thought of accidentally slipping this secret you’ve managed to burrow deep petrifies you all the more. Pursing your lips and shaking your head once again to meet his watchful gaze and raised brow, you rebuke, “psh, why would I not want you to? I mean, it’s great you’re finally putting yourself out there, and plus, it means more money for me, right?”
After a couple seconds of silence and glares exchanged between you and him, he finally deadpans, “...fine, of course, you entrepreneur taking advantage of my singularity.”
“Haha,” you feign a laugh, a nervous one at that, and shuffle through your files in a vain attempt to alphabetize the mess when Yoongi grabs them straight from your hands. Scowling at your best friend who pays little to no attention at your impatience, you succumb to his nonchalance, as always, and rest your head on the desk with a sigh—because at least this way, without having to look your friend in the eye, it’s easier for you to speak your truths and your lies. “No, really, I’m not doing this for the money, Yoongi; in fact, please don’t pay me for this. Think of this as a benefit for being my dear friend. I owe you enough already. I’m just happy you’re finally opening your heart and letting someone else in.”
“Really?” Yoongi chuckles. “You really don’t want me to pay?”
“Not even a little?” he quirks a brow suspectedly when you crane your neck to meet his gaze.
“Okay,” a cheeky grin emerges on your lips, “maybe you can treat me to lunch then.”
“Pfft, not that I expected any less,” he chortles, shaking his head and proceeding to sift through your piles of paper.
Well, you are making me pair you up, my best friend and crush, with someone else—the taxing thought crosses your mind as you glare at Yoongi for barging into your office like he owns the place, like he owns you. Well, to be fair, maybe he does, just the small part painfully pulsating in your chest right this moment.
“You know you’re not supposed to look through those papers. They’re classified and you’re invading my customer’s privacy—”
“—so when are you going to put yourself out there on the market?” your best friend bluntly ignores your warning, peering up from the papers to glimpse at you. “I did it. So you have to. You can’t leave your best friend alone.”
“Well, it’s kind of weird if I suddenly start dating someone when my job is to monitor other people’s dating lives,” you shrug, eyes averting to the side and hoping your transparency doesn’t betray your best interests. “I just want to focus on my job right now. It’s not like there’s anyone I’m interested in… or at least that I can date.”
“What do you mean by ‘can’? You can date anyone you want, Y/N,” Yoongi cinches his brows at what appears to him to be an absurd statement. Scooting his seat forward, he points at one of the papers where a picture of a client you had just met yesterday is printed in the right corner. “Here, let’s figure what you mean by ‘can.’ Can you see yourself dating this guy?”
“Uh…” you frown, leaning in to take a closer look at the picture. “Look, I’m really not supposed to be doing this or even sharing—”
“—I’m your best friend. I’m just trying to help you…” a pause ensues as the both of you wait for him to grasp at the right words, “...explain to… yourself… your own likes and dislikes. Just… for yourself.”
“Uhuh…?” you ask more than say, arching a brow at his less than adequate reasoning.
“What?” his expression quickly transitions from panic—even if it’s just barely noticeable in the slight widening of his eyes—to one lacking amusement. “You don’t trust me?”
“Okay, okay, but you better not tell a single soul,” your hands, aloft by either side of you, signals for mercy. Leaning in once again, you take another quick glance at the man; but if you’re being honest with yourself, the branches of vein running along the surface of his pale, cool hands are more alluring than any picture. “No. He’s a great guy, really, and I’m sure there’ll be many women whom I can pair him up with; but no, he’s not my type.”
“Okay, you can quit your bullshit—”
“—it’s not bullshit—”
“—your business lingo,” he corrects himself, lips pressing into a thin line as he stares at you with impatience written all across his face. “But why exactly isn’t he your type?”
“I don’t know… the hair? Maybe because I don’t know him? You know, it’s kind of hard to explain my ideal type without describing—” you come to an abrupt halt, your eyes wide and his lifted mien expectantly waiting for more, before you could say ‘you’ “—you know what? Why are you even asking me this?”
“...I just wanted to know,” Yoongi returns to shrugging, reclining in his seat and turning away as if to express his utmost disengagement. “Just in case I come across someone you might like, you know.”
“Yeah, whatever,” you frown and toss the application files into his lap. “Fill that out by tomorrow, actually, just for wasting my time, fill that out now.”
“Uh,” he scowls, glaring between the paper and you, “I never signed up for this extra work.”
“Actually, yes, you did. Believe it or not, a relationship requires work, too,” your snide remark elicits a scoff from your best friend. “It’s really not that much work. I promise. Just fill out the blanks, what you like in a significant other, what you don’t like, your ideal date, etcetera.”
“Huh,” Yoongi nods, but as you watch him scan through the questions, you can tell he hasn’t paid a single attention to your explanation.
“You don’t get it, do you—”
“—can you give me an example?” he boldly asks, sliding the paper across the desk and back to you with a pressed grin and batting eyelids which only makes you question his audacity all the more.
“An example? Yoongi, this is super easy, even a child could finish it.”
“Yeah, I’m as dumb as a child,” he purses his lips and shrugs without a thought. “Now can you fill out the paper yourself so I can understand it.”
“Uh,” you scoff in disbelief, grimacing between the empty application and your best friend. 
First, he wants you to go through the pain of hooking your crush with someone else—even if he’s not aware of it—and now, he wants you to fill out an application of your own? Who said you wanted to date anyone but him, anyways? No one would care to read the piece of paper, but maybe that’s a relief to you after all. The longer you have him sitting in the chair you never thought you would ever have to see him in, the longer he sits staring at you in your office you never wished to ever see him in, the longer you’ll be delving in pain.
“Okay, you know what? Fine. I have an appointment in ten minutes, so I have to get you out soon anyways.”
A groan escapes your lips as you scribble down answers to the questions, trying to ignore the intent glimpses from your friend sitting across the desk. With each and every question, you notice Yoongi inching closer and closer until, finally, you find him craning his neck to the side to peek at your answers; in fact, it gets so distracting that you can barely keep your mind to the task and force yourself to keep your eyes on the paper instead of straying to the admittedly charming gaze of your crush.
“Okay, there!” a huff cascades from you as the paper is raised into the air within your tight clutch. “Is this a good enough example for you?”
“I can’t see it. I left my glasses in the studio,” your mouth falls agape at his constant shortcomings before sliding the paper and an additional application across the table back to Yoongi. His squinting dissipates into an expression of gratitude, “thanks. Can I keep this as reference?”
“Yeah, sure, it’s nothing you don’t know anyways,” you wave him off with your hands and not even a single minute of incessant glancing between your paper and his passes before he finishes and neatly tucks his paper into the pile with the rest of the papers.
“Wait, what? Did you even think through your answers—” your sentence cuts short when you retract his paper from your folder and read through his answers “—Yoongi! You just copied my ‘likes’ to your ‘about me’ section!”
“...yeah,” he shrugs, eyes fluttering shut to your rage.
“Okay, you know, it’s fine. I know you well enough to match you with someone else and I know exactly who.”
Yoongi nearly jumps from his seat when you begin searching through your drawers filed with oversaturated folders, but before he could stop you from pulling out the file of your client, the door knocks to signal the arrival of your next customer.
“Here’s the client I’m matching you with and here’s her contact info. Usually, I’d be the one to contact her for you, but I trust you,” you hand over the papers to a reluctant Yoongi, ignoring the tug of your heartstrings and hushing your worries away. “I’ll be right there, Mr. Nam!”
“Wait, Y/N,” Yoongi furrows his brows and frowns in an attempt to express whatever other complaints he has in store for you, “I don’t want—”
“—Yoongi, if you mess this up and don’t contact her, I’ll kill you,” you threaten, noticing Yoongi sighing and disregarding everything else you have to say as he averts his eyes to the side in frustration. Groaning, you take his hands into yours, “I’m sorry, I’ll discuss this more with you afterwards,” squeezing your eyes shut, you mutter the last words, “I promise she’s perfect for you…”
Your best friend stares at you in disbelief—glare, even—in silence, repulsed by something you must have said or done. “...perfect for me? Yeah, whatever you say, Y/N. There’s only one person perfect for me,” he utters.
Standing helplessly, you watch him turn his back on you to head for your door before whirling around the last second with his hand on the knob. What exactly is it that had ticked him off?
“For someone who’s so great at her job, you’re pretty terrible at dating.”
You’re pretty terrible at dating?
You can’t help but scoff for the hundredth time in the past two weeks. After failing to obtain any form of interest from the countless dozens of dates you’ve set Yoongi up on, who is he to reprimand you?
“Y/N, please, I’m begging you, please pair me up with someone else,” your client, Seolhyun, says through the phone.
“What? What exactly happened?”
Seolhyun was gorgeous, kind, and generous, she was the girl every man would deem perfect, so if even she isn’t up to Yoongi’s standard, then who is?
How could you measure up to be that girl for him?
“I don’t know. He just walked through the door, sat down, told me he was forced to come and that he was willing to buy me some coffee but nothing more,” you can hear her on the brink of tears through the phone. “Is there something with the way I look—”
All of your attention averts to the man standing beside the door of your office, Yoongi.
“Yoongi…” you grumble under your breath before returning to the phone. “Seolhyun, love, it has nothing to do with you. You’re perfect the way you are. In fact, I think it’s time I have a talk with Yoongi… he’s been giving me trouble all this week,” you emphasize, narrowing your eyes at Yoongi who just stares right back, “I’ll call you back later, alright?”
“Looking for me?” he feigns a boxy grin.
“Yoongi! What’s going on with you lately?!” you toss your papers to the side and march up to him to press a finger against his chest threateningly. “All of your dates have been telling me the exact same thing, about you… walking in and walking out just a minute in—”
“—well, maybe I just wasn’t interested!”
“I’ve matched you with the best possible client based on your interests, your hobbies, your personality—”
“—the best? The best possible person?” Yoongi articulates, head nodding and brows raising as if to question your validity.
“Person? I can only pair you up with my clients, Yoongi.”
Maybe it’s your failure to find someone befitting of his godlike standards or perhaps it’s your shifty gaze that evokes the grunt cascading from his lips, but the moment he pulls out his phone and dials what you recognize to be his friends’ apartment, your own wits are tested.
“She doesn’t get it, guys,” Yoongi finally deadpans after a few seconds of silent rings.
“Just tell her then!”
“Man up!”
“Damn, Yoongi, I’ve never seen you kick around the bush so long.”
The boys are practically yelling into the phone so much that you could hear them from just a foot away.
“Yoongi,” you say through gritted teeth, “put that phone down now and tell me what it is you want to say—”
“—so…” he cuts you off, tossing his phone into the couch behind him against the wall of your office before locking his intense gaze with yours, “when are you going to put yourself on the market?”
The question rings familiar to you.
You frown, “that has nothing to do with our conversation.”
“But it does,” he mocks your frown prior to returning to his usual stoic expression, nodding his head at you, “do you understand me, as a person, I mean?”
“...yes, well, at least before all this.”
“Do you consider yourself one of my closest friends, if not the closest?”
“I’d like to say, yes…?”
“Are our personalities compatible? Do our likes and dislikes align?”
You scoff, rolling your eyes, “they’re quite identical, both on and off paper.”
“Do you like me?” he raises a brow.
You pause for a hot second.
“I… yes,” you quickly add in, “as your best friend.”
“Okay, I’ll ignore that,” he presses his lips into a thin line, “but would you say the same for yourself with me? We’re best friends, right?”
“Yeah. Definitely,” you say without hesitation.
“And, as a matchmaker, don’t you think those are all the qualifications two clients need for a match?” he cocks a brow.
“Uh… sure. Yeah. Look—”
“—then don’t you think you’re the best match for me?”
The two of you exchange glances at each other for the next minute. You, staring at him with wide eyes, blinking as if you hadn’t heard him the first time, and him, staring right back at you as if his patience was running out and he was wondering if you had passed out.
“I said what I said,” Yoongi articulates with a smirk ,”you should’ve matched yourself with me.”
“I—” you frown “—I didn’t know you… would want that…”
Was this really happening right now?
Is he implying what you think he is?
“Well, now you know,” he shrugs and buries his hands into his pockets. “I would’ve gone on two, three, maybe four more dates, but at least one, if my date was you.”
“But I… I can’t, Yoongi,” you bite your lip, eyes casting to the floor in dismay, “that would be unprofessional of me. I can’t just match myself with my own client… what would they say?”
“Who cares what they say?” Yoongi sighs and digs through his pocket to pull out his original application before ripping it to shreds. “There. I’m not your client anymore. To be honest, I never really was. I didn’t even sign anything, check your papers if you don’t believe me.”
“Wait, what… that’s only because you’re my friend and I trusted—”
“—okay, Y/N,” he hushes you from your gibberish with a chuckle, “will you at least entrust me with a date this Friday, then?”
Hands fumbling with one another, you purse your lips in a vain attempt to suppress the ongoing grin. Looking off to the side and cheeks heating with the rush of blood, his hands cup your chin to turn your attention back around on him until your eyes meet his which exude the sincerity and endearment he has held for you all along.
“Okay,” you finally say with a chuckle, “okay. Deal.”
The silence is all too welcoming, the gaze long-held and warm, sending sparks flying in the air and flutters throughout your stomach—it was a perfect moment long overdue, and yet it was all too short-lived when a rowdy fit of yells and hollers bellow from his phone.
“I think Y/N has a new nickname now!”
“Drum roll please…”
“Behold the matchmaker, the matchtaker, Miss Y/N!”
2K notes · View notes
hollyhomburg · a year ago
Of Fire and Love Pt. 4
(Dragon! Yoongi x  Reader)  (Ft. Baby! Jungkook and Baby Dragon! Hoseok, Fairy! Jimin x Dragon! Namjoon)
W/c: 20.0k
Tags: Genderfluid! Jimin, changing pronouns, Questioning! Hoseok, non-sexual talk about dicks and pussys, knotting, mentions of overstimulation, Touch of breeding kink, Mentions of infertility, War, bullying, mild angst, Heaps of domestic fluff, Koo and Hobi grow up, violence/blood gore warning, time leaps, 
A/N: you guys are gonna be mad at me for the end of this but keep in mind the length of this chapter, and the fact that I will not be able to update for a little while. At the beginning of this part Hoseok and Jungkook are 8 and 10, and but the end of it they are 13 and 15. 
Series Masterlist 
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- The second after a very naked fairy pops in an out of view is nearly unbearable in its awkwardness. Namjoon splutters for something to say and you try to take a sip of tea but end up choking on it. A moment later Jimin returns wearing a floor-length cloak of ebony silk beautifully embroidered. It matches the black lace intricacy of the dragon-fly wings that stick out of his back. They’re folded down towards the floor, iridescent and fluttering.
- He apologizes, much to Namjoon’s bright red-faced embarrassment, And Namjoon mentions that it’s just not in his nature to wear clothes much- gets in the way of flying and all. It’s a flimsy excuse- one that all of you are happy to leave unpunished.
- The fairy is pretty, his blonde hair curling over his forhead delicatly. He smiles and cups your cheeks when Namjoon introduces you and Yoongi stifles a smile to see you retreat at the sudden touch- it seems this level of physical contact is normal for Jimin. “Oh, you’re a pretty thing aren’t you- like a ranunculus or a tiger lily!”
- “Uhm,” you say, blushing as red as the flowers he calls you, “thank you?”
- “Do you spend much time in the fairy realms these days Jimin?” Yoongi asks after the fairy has fluttered over to pepper a kiss to his forehead, which Yoongi groans about. It shouldn’t surprise you- but somehow it does.
- Jimin cracks a feral smile- showing his sharper than seems human teeth, “You know I’d never resist the chance to terrorize my brothers and sisters Yoongi.” Jimin slaps him over the shoulder- your mate gives a little yelp looking scathed.  “What was that for!?” “For not visiting sooner you bastard-”
- “Uhm, darling?” Namjoon asks, hand over his face, the same second Hoseok pipes up, “why did you call him a bastard!?” “Yeah what’s a bastard!?” Jungkook joins in. Yoongi runs a hand over his face, trying not to laugh, then reaches across the table to squeeze your hand. 
- Although it takes the majority of the morning, once Jimin gets over his embarrassment (and once he apologizes for cursing in front of your boys) your two boys are absolutely enthralled with the fairy. Expressing interest in seeing Jimin fly. He buzzes happily and lifts off the floor- the action as natural as breathing. He touches down after a moment. Jungkook lifts one of them up and giggles at you through the mottled surface, completely ignoring Jimin’s “Aish little bug- these are delicate!”
- Jimin and Namjoon lean in close, Namjoon running a wide hand through Jimin’s blonde hair, and they tell all of you that flying is actually how they met. “You almost knocked me out of the sky!” Jimin cries. But he looks at Namjoon with something like terribly fond love instead of indignance like his tone might suggest.
- They’re something of a match made in heaven, the dragon whose hoarded object is plants, and the fairy that makes the plants sing with a twitch of his finger. You notice instantly- how all of the roses turn in Jimin’s direction when he walks, the flowers on the patio perking up. 
- Jungkook is especially curious about Jimin and asks him countless questions about his kind and others. Hoseok too- his eyes lighting up when Jimin effortlessly hovers up and off the floor. As someone who wants to learn how to fly but can only glide for a few feet- picks his brain too. 
- You can see the jealousy in Jungkook’s face- that boy has always wanted to fly- ever since he was little. And now that he sees someone human looking like him who has wings. You feel as though Jimin may have opened up a whole new vein of curiosity in your son. All of a sudden he’s asking you how many other types of things can fly. The world isn’t only birds and dragons anymore: now Jungkook’s world includes; birds, dragons, and Jimin.
- To answer his question- Jimin takes Jungkook to see their library on magical species. It’s the most complete in the city or so Jimin boasts. “Is he far along in his schooling?” he asks you, eyeing the way that the 7-year-old is pulling out some tombs’ from the shelves, only to cause a mini avalanche- Hoseok giggling as he clears Jungkook’s face from the debris. Dust coating both of them.
- “When he says ‘he can’t wait to read them’ he just means he can't wait to have me read them to him” that tempts a laugh from Jimin’s mouth. “Very well then, I better show you a few that you’d both enjoy” He even sends Jungkook and you off with a little parcel of them for his own collection. Impervious to your thanks that only make the fairy shy.
- Jimin and Namjoon are the best hosts, ready to take your sons down to the sea cliffs the moment they beg- though really- Jimin has hardly even had breakfast. the narrow steps lad to a beach with soft sands. Where Hobi can ripple and curl through the water- Jungkook and you walking along the beach collecting shells, Hobi piercing the top of the waves with a splash His claws digging into the sand as he happily trots after you- only to be tempted back into the water by the sight of a fish. 
- He actually does manage to catch one at one point. A shiny thing with dark scales.  He lets out a happy little roar, summoning the rest of you too him, Namjoon and Yoongi trot down the beach, neither of them wearing shoes, Jimin flutters over quick. “That’s a good one!” Namjoon says appreciatively, trotting to the edge of the waves and taking it from Hoseok’s little mouth, holding it up to show the others. “We can definitely cook this for dinner,” 
-“Good job my little hunter” Hoseok nibbles affectionately at Yoongi’s hand as it passes over his we head- and it makes you a little stupidly proud, Yoongi too- has his chest a little puffed up. Hoseok does a quick circle, snapping his wings free of water before he bounds back off in the direction of the waves.
- Unfortunately, his enjoyment is only temporary- because as soon as he gets tired with fishing and really starts to dry off his feathers curl from all the salt. Some sand sticking here or there much to his discomfort. Even when he shifts back he’s fidgety, says he can still feel the sand in weird places.
- That night, after your bellies are full of Hoseok’s fish (he caught two more- you’re both so proud) you curl up at the edge of their large fireplace. Hobi sits in your lap your brush in your hand. Combing him through like always. Letting out little grumbly whines when you have to switch out the water once it fogs up with the salt He fidgets, his claws scratching through his feathers to try and get some of the sand out. 
- A few feet away Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin play some sort of betting game, jimin in a pair of thin trousers and a long billowing silk shirt in the style of ages passed. Your son perched on Namjoon’s lap next to him. They’d invited you to play- but whatever game it was it seemed complicated enough for you to bow out without much of a fight. You were far too content to see them all a little riled up, punch drunk and sleepy- a little irate when the others played a card, their banter years in the making and kind of fun to listen to from an outsider's point of view. 
- Mostly though- you just appreciate the sight of your mate; sitting with his legs propped up, his shirt unbuttoned nearly down to his navel. He catches you watching sometimes, leveling you with a heavy look that just won’t abate, his dark eyes flickering in the light of the fire. 
- “I’m telling you that move won’t pay off” Namjoon’s deep but gravely voice croons. Next to him, Jimin uses his hand of cards to hide his smile. But Jungkook just eggs him on- only to be laid bare a few minutes later much to your mate’s groan. Jimin throws his head back to laugh, as he collects the pot in the middle (they don’t gamble with real money- but still- he looks like a dragon circling a new treasure)
- More than once that evening, you catch Jimin looking at your two sons with a hint of sadness. His gaze flickering down to Hoseok asleep in your lap. Especially when you stand and move to sit at the table, Hoseok shifting- finally more comfortable. You pout down at Hoseok and say fondly, pushing at his shoulders playfully. “You need to stop growing, pretty soon you’re going to reach my waist and that’s just not okay- you need to stay small forever.”  
- You sit next to Yoongi, your mate leaning back in his chair to put an arm around you- a comforting hand on the back of your neck. Namjoon’s gaze hovers of Hobi, sitting in your lap before you catch him looking, and his gaze somehow feeling chastise, flutters away.
- “Uncle Minnie’s winning so I wanna be on his team” When Jungkook sits in Jimin’s lap he goes ramrod straight- hands hovering and eyes wide, Jungkook oblivious to his surprise. Unsure how to hold the youngster. Eventually loosely holding him around the waist to keep Jungkook from sliding off.
- Namjoon see’s his mate hold the youngster's hand, Jimin’s own so large in comparison. The two of them sharing a pained look, all you know is that one-moment Jimin seems fine- and then the next he’s trying not to cry, looking heartbroken but happy to have Jungkook in his lap.  
- Jungkook is nearly asleep when you take him from Jimin, his hands hovering on your son’s small waist like they don’t want to let go. As you bid each other goodnight you could swear you saw longing and jealousy in his eyes, Namjoon’s too, but also something so sad- so wanting. From the top of the stairs, Hoseok asleep in Yoongi’s arms and Jungkook in yours you see Namjoon wraps his arms around Jimin's shoulders, the shorter fairy turns his face into Namjoon’s to hide his suspiciously glassy eyes.
- Later you’ll ask Yoongi about it, curled up close in your bedroom upstairs, his long fingers stroking delicate lines down your sternum, your hands connecting the dots on his many freckles while you talk the way that lovers do. Words pressed thin between the blanket of sky and wakefulness. Yoongi’s voice a low hush, like music on the salty wind meant just for you.
- You think you could like it here by the ocean if you decided to stay.
- “Hoseok and Jungkook just remind them of what they can’t have,” Yoongi informs you that Namjoon and Jimin have wanted kids for the last century (you splutter at that- because you hadn’t realized that they were quite so old- Jimin especially had more of an air of a youthful sprite than someone older than Yoongi).
- And despite the fact that all fairies’ can bear children, Namjoon and Jimin had failed to have any children of their own, and have all but given up on it. “That’s why you didn’t want to visit- not at first.” Yoongi hums in affirmation, and you feel it in the cheek that you rest on his chest. His arm encircles your back and his hands rub over your spine soothingly. 
- You’d notice- how could you not- how Jimin seemed as much a woman as he was a man. Though you’d heard Namjoon refer to Jimin as “he” enough to be content with using those pronouns, there where other moments, moments when Jimin’s hair seems a little longer, his lips a little redder and plusher, the curve of his jaw softer.
- The fairy seems just as comfortable in a pair of tight flying pants as she is in one of her many long and semi-translucent robes, that Jimin seems to prefer on the days that they don’t have to fly.
- He pops up one morning wearing a full-on dress- gauzy and white- and Jimin’s chest- definitely ampler than it was the day before.  You’re a little perplexed over the change, trying not to let your surprise show until Yoongi leans over to whisper in your ear. “It’s just the magic- she must be feeling more like a girl today.”
-  Neither of your sons mentions anything weird about Jimin- though Hoseok does look at him a little wide-eyed. A question hovering on his tongue, probably the same one that you want to ask- but are too shy too (it’s not even really any of your business to ask in the first place- but your kids are a curious bunch- and you know they’ll probably ask at one point)  
-  Namjoon and Jimin give you a tour of the outside gardens (namjoon- cryptically- says that the greenhouse is best appreciated at night). Hoseok and Jungkook climbing up on one of the rock walls, balancing precariously until yoongi tells them to come down, Hoseok reaching for Jimin to help him, ending up in his arms, he’s a little heftier than Jungkook- but Jimin easily holds his weight as he transfers him from the high wall to the ground. 
- Yoongi does the same with Jungkook, though the younger quite literally just- jumps off the wall into his arms instead of waiting to be carefully transferred like Hoseok- not an ounce of fear or hesitation in his little body.
-“Your hair is pretty,” he says, hands coming up to touch at Jimin's longer curls  Jimin looks surprised, but his red button mouth is nothing but kind as he smiles and thanks your son.  
-  Neither of your sons mentions anything weird about Jimin- though Hoseok does look at him a little wide-eyed. A question hovering on his tongue, probably the same one that you want to ask- but are too shy too (it’s not even really any of your business to ask in the first place- but your kids are a curious bunch- and you know they’ll ask at one point)  
- He finally asks later- once night has fallen and they can finally show you the greenhouse. The room seems to have some sort of magic expanding it beyond its physical bounds because while it’s normal-sized on the outside- on the inside trees grow dense and thicker than seem possible. A mess of pots and plants blocking out the slate floor more often than not With moss growing up between the cracks or pushed up by the roots of trees that seem too tall for the greenhouse. 
- You’d stumble and almost trip over a vine and Yoongi catches you around the waist. “Are any of these poisonous?” you asked, and Namjoon rubs a hand down the back of his neck suddenly looking a little worried. “Maybe like- stay away from anything that looks too vibrantly colored? Wait! Jungkook! That definitely not edible even though it smells like chocolate!”
- At night- the flowers are particularly gorgeous. night-blooming cereus flowers that glow brilliantly in the darkness. Pink Flowers that look like little jellyfish and seem to flutter on their own hang in great swathes from the high ceilings. Bright blue lilies hanging, large enough for Jungkook to stick his head inside of them. 
- Each of them let out a little tinkle of stars, little bright specks of light that glow brilliantly- like little stars. It’s only pollen Namjoon explains when it falls onto Jungkook’s face and makes his dark hair glitter like the night sky.
- Your sons have a good time after that- scooping up the pollen from the floor and shoving it in each other's faces, even Yoongi joins in, rubbing it all up and down Hobi’s face- much to the shrieking giggles that echo off the high glass walls. “Oh no you don’t! Hobi! Hobi” you chide when he giggles, running forwards to press his hand to your dark pants, leaving Hoseok sized glowing handprints on the fabric. 
- Later you and Yoongi get a chance to slip away. Sitting in one of the large isles on one of the stone benches. Yoongi tucking a large flower behind your ear, kissing the little stars of pollen that has gathered on your face. “We haven’t talked about when we’re leaving yet- how long do you want to stay?” he can tell (he always can) when you’re getting a little overwhelmed. And you are- but maybe you’d want to leave more if things weren’t so new- so bright and fantastic. Getting to be apart of this world that you’d never known existed.
- The world that you’d grown up in starts to feel terribly small, Even more so than it had before. You and everyone you’d ever known had only ever thought that there where dragons and humans. Maybe an odd sorcerer or witch and wizard in the world. But this- this world of glowing flowers, of scales and magic, boys with fairy wings- was a lot to take in. And you were still struggling to piece together what this meant for you, and your little family.
- You’d been deep in conversation with Namjoon minutes ago, about which of his plants in his greenhouse could be used to cure various ailments. He’d given you a few- and put out other samples for you to dry. Showing you plants with uses you’d never dreamed of. This one to stop clotting- these small berries to stop pregnancy and it’s roots to help one take. A brightly glowing fern to heal a burn, and another to heal a magical burn. so many different plants you’d never even heard of. 
- Suddenly- you’d been consumed with the realization that you’d kind of stopped being a healer after Jungkook had come into your care. Still- you’d kept most of your skills up to date, tried to make sure you didn’t forget what you’d learned.
- And yet- you kind of missed it. You missed how you’d used to help the people in your old little town. Regardless of the fact that they’d never properly thanked you for it. And though you felt a deep satisfaction over being a parent with Yoongi- and wouldn’t trade that for the world- you missed it still. Missed how you’d been able to look at the human body as a problem with something to fix.
- You’d love to find a way to continue to use your gifts healing- helping others- but you don’t exactly have that many opportunities too- given where you live in the mountains. And your children- which are getting easier to take care of now that they’re getting a little older- but still- they require a great deal of your time. You let the melancholy in your heart slide away as Yoongi thumbs across your jaw, bringing you back to him, sitting in Namjoon and Jimin's greenhouse.  
- “I think- it will be okay to stay for a little while longer? I think the boys enjoy Namjoon and Jimin- and I like them too even if Jimin is a little” Yoongi suck’s his lower lip into his mouth- deciding that whatever had made you look so sad- if you’re not ready to tell him yet- then he’ll let it go. 
- “He’s very different- I know, but I’m glad you like Namjoon and Jimin” “They’re your family Yoongi- of course, I like them” Yoongi leans close, pressing a kiss to each of your knuckles. “But you’re my family too.”
- Despite your initial misgivings about Jimin (really it’s only shyness you swear) you do end up spending a fair bit of time with him that night. Especially when you start quiz Namjoon about the ways he propagates some of his plants.  And he says, “Actually- Jimin knows more about the specific uses- he’s the real grower here after all.”
- You walk with Jimin in the gardens- you children winding this way and that around you- Yoongi and Namjoon trying to wrangle them. Namjoon reluctantly letting them pick whatever flowers they want. Even heaving Jungkook up onto his shoulders at one point so that he can reach a tall bloom, a dimply smile brighter in the half-light of all the glowing flowers.
- When Jungkook has Retrieved his prize he scampers off of Namjoons shoulders dashing away through the underbrush calling, “thanks uncle Namjoon!” making Namjoon choke. Yoongi gives him a withering look, deadpan “you’ve been forcefully adopted.” 
- Behind you- Jimin waves his hand and more pop up, every plant in the greenhouse standing to attention blooms popping open for your children to pick. Yoongi sends him a thankful glance. 
- The longer you walk- the quieter Hoseok gets. You know it’s just him getting sleepy. And as always, when he gets a little more tired he hangs closer to you, holding your hand as you walk side by side with Jimin. He almost trips on Jimin's long silvery grey robes. Sometimes when he gets so tired- he accidentally shifts- and you can tell from the way his little feet are dragging that he’s close to that now.
- More than once in your conversation Hoseok looks up- words almost leaving his mouth before he falls silent. Near the end of the tour of the garden, Jimin catches him- touching him gently on the shoulder.  “I can tell you have a question for me little sprout- go on- you can ask.”
- Hoseok must be feeling a little shy because it takes a moment for him to respond. “Are you a boy- or are you a girl?” it’s just childlike curiosity. But you almost want to stop him. Tell Jimin he doesn’t have to answer. But before you can- Jimin leans down to Hoseok’s level.
- “To tell you the truth, being a girl or a boy doesn’t matter much in our part of the world. What matters is that you’re good to the people who need you and kind to the people that don’t when you meet, do you think you’re kind Seokie?”
- It’s kind of riveting, seeing the way your son tilts his head at the fairy, thinking softly to himself- the flowers around you almost seem to lean in to listen closely.  you too, want to see how he responds. “Well, I always try not to step on flowers when I see them?” he says, eyes flickering to the flower behind Jimin's ear and the many around him. 
- Both of you bark out a laugh, the plants seem to shiver in delight at his words in time with the shaking of Jimin's shoulders. Jimin urges Hoseok on with a hand at his back, “then you must be incredibly kind- go- find your brother. I think its time for both of you to get to bed.” Hoseok’s curls bounce as he runs down the aisle, calling Jungkook’s name. Jungkook does not call back- instead, his voice echoes sing-song- “flower! flower flower flower~” some sort of song he’s made up for himself on the other side of the greenhouse. 
- Jimin straightens, and for the first time- the two of you find yourselves alone together. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to overstep” Jimin looks a little shy. A little worried at being chastised.  You're quick to reassure him- “No it’s fine- please, it was bound to happen. There are so many new things here- even for me, I’m not sure I know how to navigate them, it’s better that he learns now.”
- Jimin laughs, “Is that why you’ve been tiptoeing around me?” you blush, Jimin’s words kind of stinging your chest because- he’s right- you have been a little shyer around him. But that comes more from a fear of being rude than anything else, overstepping some line only because you don't know it’s there.  
- “It’s okay- I know this must be a lot for you- I’m a lot.” “No-no- that’s not it at all! Please don’t think that Jimin” your grab his hands in yours and under his skin- you can almost feel something humming- something that feels an offal lot like magic. He looks down at you sucking on his lip.
- “We’re pretty similar- you and I- aren’t we? Neither of us likes it when someone else is uncomfortable at our expense,” Jimin’s voice is soft like honey, almost shy and he fails to meet the gaze whey you try and catch it. “Maybe” you agree, picking up your pace from where you’d stopped, ducking under a wide leaf that crosses the path. 
- “I’ve known Yoongi for so long- Namjoon and I have always wondered who Yoongi would choose as a mate- what kind of person they’d be- he’s so hard to get to know. But I’m glad he found you. You’re very well matched.”
- He means your shy nature probably, but it’s a compliment. “He’s my mate,” you say softly. You happen upon a wider stretch of stones, the little clearing that you where you came in before. On one side you can see your family- all of their heads pressed close over a flower- a massive red bloom- little fish swirling around in the pool collected in its stamen. 
- Jimin nudges your shoulder- his smile turning devilish, “Probably can’t say you’re mad about that- what is it about dragons that’s so big-“ you choke on your spit, suddenly looking at him wide-eyed, Jimin gives you a few hearty thumps on the back waiting for you to get your breath- cringing internally.
- “I’m sorry I’m so crass, talking about sex is normal in my culture” You swallow thickly, “that seems a little…understandable considering?”
- “Considering what?” “Well…” you gesture to all of him, Jimin grins showing his sharper than seem safe teeth. The fairy leans in, his charming face swallowed with mirth- you feel his words as if they where whispered in your head, it must be the magic you tell yourself. Jimin laughs at your flustered expression.
- “Are you asking me which one I’ve got? a pussy or a cock?” you try to ignore the blush that sparks on your cheeks when you nod, their pale wings fluttering behind him in the inviting spring breeze, “god you’re fun to tease” you slap Jimin's arm good-naturedly and they lean into the touch, eyes disappearing when they smile. 
- Namjoon must sense his mate, because he turns and gives Jimin a happy little smile, his eyes disappearing, dimples flashing. In his hair, Namjoon’s horns turn a little pink. The look in Jimin’s eyes as he gazes at his mate is almost feral, “I can have whichever one I want.”
- The six of you retire to your separate rooms, not before Jimin pulls you close- “just so you know- all of the rooms in this house have a soundproofing spell attached to them” Yoongi hears- so does Namjoon- and he has the good nature to cuff his mate over the back of the head and drag him away with a panicked ‘good night’ before he can be any more suggestive.
- That night you do end up taking advantage of the supposed soundproofing spell. Once you tell Yoongi he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, nearly ripping your dress in an effort to get it off of you. You’d fooled around last night but Yoongi doesn’t often get the chance to knot you given on account of how vocal that makes you and how long it takes to go down
- You do have to admit- you tend to go at it like rabbits whenever you have the chance, as privacy is hard to come by with your children around you nearly always. Especially in your mountain home when you all sleep in the same space. 
- You end the night with your legs thrown over Yoongi’s thighs, sitting sideways in his lap. You’re back against the bed. Yoongi’s knot tugging at your entrance, unable to keep your breathing steady with how he’s stretching you. You always forget how overwhelming it feels to have him so close, so fully and completely inside of you so that barely any thoughts remain. Yoongi props himself up on an elbow so he can watch you and run his fingers gently up and down your sternum.
- He leans in close and kisses you through your breathlessness, his tongue tracing along every inch of your mouth, drinking down your gasps, the way you say his name again and again- your walls quivering around him. A nearly feral growl building in his chest, leaning in to lick at the over-stimulated tears that start to bud as you let out little sobs at the pleasure still rippling through you with every pulse and lash of thick heat.
- His hands smoothing up and down your quivering thighs, jerking when he decides to tease you further and slide his hand slowly up and down your core. Stopping when you start to jerk, only to start up again when you calm down a little. A satisfying feeling filling him at how wrecked he can make you- at how well he can please his mate.
- His knot deflating isn’t an instantaneous process, but once it gets a little smaller he lazily grinds his hips closer. Letting it tug and rub against your walls in a slow push and pull making you gasp louder. Usually, you’d be biting the pillow to keep your noises down, but now you don’t have too. 
- His words are almost a growl. “More?” you grab at him- pulling him back in for another kiss. You drop your face to his throat as he starts up again. It’s wet and messy and slick- and you’re going to have to apologize to the servants tomorrow for the ruined bed sheets but- you can’t help it.
-  He’s insatiable, hands hungry over your stomach, he always gets a little laconic when he’s like this- a little closer to his more dragon headspace, hands possessive when he clutches over your stomach. Probably intent on fucking you full until it’s a little tighter than usual, a little swollen, the drive to breed you full a primal instinct.
- He kisses you again- a loud- feral growl rippling out as you kiss him back, messy and sloppy but he loves it. Needless to say- you’re glad that Jimin told you about the sound canceling charm by the end of the night. Even if your legs feel like jelly until noon the next day. 
- You hand the sheets over when their housekeeper comes by to your room. trying to hide your blush. She’s understanding, mutters to you “you should see mistress Jimin’s sheets” Yoongi can’t help but laugh behind you. 
- You’re happy to stay mostly at the manor house where it’s quieter. Content to spend a few days relaxing with your sons, joined mostly by Yoongi and Jimin and by Namjoon in the afternoons after his council duties have finished. But you are curious to see more of the city, if not for your own curiosity then for your children's. 
- Hoseok is anxious about the possibility of school- and so are you. It will be good to see it before he actually attends. You decide to take a day trip into the city to see the school and one of the markets.
- The school is on the edge of the city on account of how much space it requires for flying lessons, rolling hills surrounded by high walls made of a sandy-colored stone. Namjoon arranges with the headmaster for the four of you to see a tour. 
- The students are of every kind, color, and age group. clad in the school's simple uniform: a white robe with sleeves that only go to the elbow,  and grey pants. the school's emblem, a firey leaf emblazoned over each of their chests. It will be a few more months until Hoseok needs them so you decide to forgo purchasing them yet, he’s still growing so much, they probably wouldn’t fit him by the time he starts. 
- “This place is still the same,” Yoongi says as you watch a flying lesson between a small feathered dragon and a larger less birdlike instructor. Hoseok watches curious, you too- had never known there where dragons with beaks. “You went here?” you ask, and Yoongi nods, “it was more a military school back then.” The wind shifts, casting your scent in the direction of the students. At the smell of a human on the air, all of them turn and look in your direction- regardless of how their instructors shout at them to stay concentrated. 
- “Can we go to the market now?” Hoseok asks, smelling you discomfort and looking up at you with a panicked glance. “Please?” 
- The canals that run through the city are populated with sea serpents and small boats from the few traders that are allowed in. Wide mountains shroud the city from any attack by land. its walkways are crowded with dragons, most of them walking in human form but here and there, thick legs and wings scramble over the cobblestones.
- You see more than a few children as well, smaller dragons mostly preferring to be in their shifted forms who send Hoseok curious looks. Bumping him in the chest with their snouts and cocking their heads at him- like an invitation to play, only to hiss and scramble back to their parents when Jungkook comes near.
- You’re careful to hold his hand to keep him from running off, even when he pouts looking close to tears at being hissed at. “It’s okay Kookie! I’ll play with you when we get back to uncle Joonie’s house” Hoseok looks up at you for approval and you smile down at him, running your fingers through his hair in thanks.
- There are a few humans that live in the city- usually apart of one dragon’s hoard or even in rare cases, mated to a dragon-like you are to Yoongi. But they’re few and far between. You see a few of them, men and women who walk dripping in pearls or diamonds and carefully kept close by whatever dragon they’ve sworn themselves too.
- “Keeping humans against their will isn’t allowed don’t worry” Yoongi notes when you look at one young human who actually has a collar of sapphires around their delicate throat.  The humans themselves smile and greet you and Jungkook, eyes lighting up to see another human, and the other dragons- just stare.
- Yoongi takes you to the market and the three of you ogle over the wears and fine silk clothes burnished to look like gold, thin gauzes that shimmer one color in the light- only to turn opaque when you bring it into the shadow. Your sons make a game out of bringing you fabric scraps that you might like- while a salesman talks to Yoongi about tailoring prices and ready-made gowns that would fit you. Yoongi grumbles and internally bemoans the loss of the quiet in his mountain den. Yoongi is defiantly not a city person.
- You do need new clothes though- and the staff here is far better made than the rough mountain clothing you’ve come to favor over the last few years- it’s nice to get a few more things- pretty things. Yoongi lightens up substantially when you try on a soft blue dress patterned with crises crosses of dark blue embroidery, a thick soft skirt, a shirt that hangs on your frame well- in a way that makes Yoongi want to growl and hide you from any prying eyes.
- It makes him happy too- to see the way you twirl and appreciate the fine fabric. Yoongi has always been a provider, and if the simple blue dress that you choose makes you smile- then that’s a price he will gladly pay. He smiles when you look up at him, “are you sure?” his hand on your waist reassuring, “you’re forgetting I get to see you in these- they’re basically a present for myself.”
- It’s at the market that a salesman who has bright golden scales dotting his face eyes Jungkook the same way that any dragon would eye a piece of his hoard. And Yoongi’s attention is immediately diverted from you. He feels the prickle at the back of his neck before he turns, he’s is careful to step close when the stranger talks to his sons even as Jungkook- always overly friendly, introduces Hoseok as his brother.
- Yoongi feels his heart warms at that, but keeps a steely gaze with the other dragon until he shrinks away from Yoongi’s intimidating gaze, disappearing back into the crowd. Yoongi can’t wait to leave the dragon city after that.
- Summer is edging into fall- and by winter- Hoseok will attend daily classes. Yoongi agrees to part with some of his hoard of jewels to buy some sort of residence, there’s no way that you’d ever let Hoseok live in the city alone, or even stay in the dorms at the school. 
- But because of that, you’ll need to linger longer than you’ve planned. Your cave is almost a weeks flight away from the dragon city- and when it comes to procuring a residence, its easier to do a short tour here and there and try to find something while you're close to the city rather than try to make the trip back to your secluded cave in the mountains.
- Yoongi assures you that it’s not uncommon for the dragons that live in the countryside to send their children to school only during the winter session so Hoseok won’t feel too out of his element or like an outsider. And honestly- you’ll be glad to get out of the mountains during the worst part of the winter, escaping to the more mild countryside where it rarely even snows- nothing compared to the deluge that you’ve grown used to.
- Namjoon and Jimin understand entirely and are only too happy to have you linger. Both of them have grown a little attached to your boys, and your boys attached to them in kind. Many an afternoon will Namjoon come back from the council only to immediately be happened upon by Jungkook- hurling himself into Namjoon’s arms and Hobi- nibbling at his robes and tugging him away to the Ocean. 
- And Of course on the days when you have a new possible residence to tour- Hoseok and Jungkook are eager to explore their new possible home. Giving you their rating on how much they like it or don’t. “I don’t like the rooms in this one- they’re too stuffy” “But come on Hobi that one has a stream! You can’t say you don’t like the idea of that?” 
- The first few homes you tour are either too close to the city- or too far away, or on the other side of the city from namjoon and Jimin- and you can tell Yoongi likes the idea of seeing his friends more often. But eventually, you find it, a manor house that is actually more of a castle in an old section of forest. It’s in-between one of the first small towns in the countryside and the city. Barely an hour’s flight from the city and a half hour’s flight from Namjoon and Jimin’s home by the sea.
- Here the ginkgo trees are thick and yellow- a forest of gold spotted with weeping red maples that grow taller and thicker than any you’ve seen. Citrine and carmine leaves dotting the forest floor, impossibly bright. It’s the fifth home you’d seen, and the only thing you’d really disliked about the last place is how close you were to your neighbors.
- You know the second you see it it’s the one- it’s roof tiled in blue-green slate- windows tall and narrow with shutters to keep out the snow and wind. It’s so large- it’s nearly a small castle but that wasn’t a surprise; houses here needed to be larger on account of there more often than not- large and scaly residents. you hadn’t been surprised to find out that most residences here are built to be that large because of how much larger dragons tend to be.
- It’s old too, the single spire caved in a little and decrepit, vacant for about a year. once a secluded private residence of some wealthy merchant who lived in the city abandoned after a storm had damaged the spire. Dust hangs thick over every surface, but the furniture comes with it. Including a generous four-poster bed and balcony on the second floor that you and Yoongi claim as your room.  Happy that you can finally close the door and have privacy between the two of you- something you’d lacked in your other home. 
- there’s a small library as well, that Jungkook wants to tear through the second he sees it. Yoongi shows you the cavern below as well, accessed through the slightly hidden stairwell and an iron door with a formidable lock. its ceilings aren’t rough to warn- but High vaulted, it’s green-tiled floor slippery. It’s a hoard chamber, which yoongi tells you is the staple in many a dragon home. it’s the only room in the house that must have been cleared when its previous owner left. typical.
- But it might impress you a little bit your world view shifting a little. Of course- you’d seen Yoongi’s hoard- knew the size of it- had let him show you it long ago- back when your love was new and blooming, his face blushing and shy when you’d complimented it. But this was putting it in perspective- this room could fit barely a tenth of the treasure hidden in your mountain home. 
- There is also a wide dance hall next to the kitchen, a balcony ringing it, skylights glittering above, one cracked in but easily fixable. It’s large- but barely large enough for Yoongi to shift in as long as he’s careful. it turns into a second bedroom of sorts, only used when Yoongi feels like he needs to sleep in his dragon form (it takes a fair amount of energy for him to stay in his human form all the time- and it’s much more restful).
- Hoseok and Jungkook have separate rooms on the other side of the manor, though you know that they don’t prefer to sleep separated from each other, you went into Jungkook’s room one morning and found it piled with pillows and blankets too- and both of your sons piled in the Centre of it. Forgoing the bed entirely.
- You sleep in your bed often, but still some nights, Hoseok will come trotting into your room in dragon form around bedtime, unable yet to sleep in his human form the way Yoongi does. Jungkook following sleepily behind holding the pillows from their beds in his hands. 
- And regardless of the fact that it’s after their bedtime, the four of you will together every single couch cushion and throw pillow in the house, making a game over who can get the most the quickest. You pile it into the dance hall so that Yoongi can shift- and you sleep like dragons do, all soft and heaped together, surrounded by Yoongi and his warmth. 
- It’s those mornings that Yoongi wakes feeling the most fulfilled, the happiest he’s ever felt. All of you safe here between his clawed arms. Your hands reaching up to sleepily scratch his scaled cheek. His head close to your resting form. Resisting the urge to lick out and groom you and Jungkook the way that Hoseok barely tolerates (dragon slobber is still gross- even if it is affectionate in its nature) 
-  It’s the safest place for your little family to live, in this part of the world where dragons are common and mixed settlements dot the old woods, and Yoongi tells you that werewolves aren’t that uncommon in this part of the country.
- “Werewolves???” You ask scathed, because honestly- the things your mate doesn’t tell you exists in the world- it astounds you sometimes. “They’re harmless really- unless you’re small and like- a dear or something?” “Do they ever attack or are they violent?” you’re worried, “no-no- they’re more like the ‘lets farm this land and live with the land’ type of people.”
- The rough dragon folk in the nearby town are different and smaller than their jewel-toned and massive counterparts that inhabit the city and other niches of the world. No- the dragons that live around your home are scaled in every shade of green, some more yellow. Their scales changing with the color of the season and the color of the leaves- not true chameleons- but they might as well be. In their human form, most of them have claws instead of hands. Most of them live in houses like your own, or underground hovels, or tree houses that dot the largest of trees they don't seem picky. 
- Your neighbors, dragon and otherwise, aren’t all that perplexed or hostile towards your family like you’d initially been worried about. Mostly just curious and a little bit afraid or they pretend like you’re not there. You meet the werewolf pack that lives on the other side of the woods from you- easily your closest neighbors. They’re a rough folk, but the matriarch is kind to you- saying if anything ever happens to just howl and she’ll hear.
- You don’t know if you’ll ever need to do that- but it’s the thought that counts you suppose.
- You decide to spend a month there before Hoseok starts school (something he is definitely not excited about) to really adjust and get the place cleaned up a bit. With the extra month added to your time, you’ll spend a total of 4 months there, avoiding the worst of the winter at your mountain home. The manor house has more than a few repairs, the leaky south corner of the roof that Yoongi repairs- but not without nearly breaking one of his fingers with a hammer.
- You spend the evening letting him pout and act like a big baby, and he’d never admitted it or do it around the others- or even Hoseok and Jungkook who have finally gotten to the age where any affection between you two is decidedly gross, but it’s nice when he gives you a little pout and you tease, “Want me to kiss it better?” no matter if your children groan and hiss saying “don’t be gross mom” 
- He waits until later to pin you against the low table in the kitchen, both of your sons already put to bed. “I’ve got something else that hurts” you raise your eyebrows before you pull him close by the collar of his shirt, pressing your lips to his slow, deepening after a moment, “better?” you ask when you pull away breathless. “Nearly- might need you to try again.”
- There are more than a few empty corners in your house, a quiet secluded room where you and Yoongi retreat to, giggling like school children, the wide fireplace in the sitting room with the comfortable Fur rug that feels soft against your bare skin, your bedroom with its balcony, the butcher block table in the kitchen than Yoongi pins you to, getting to his knees to pleasure you like you’re his last meal, anything will do.
- You might ask a favor of Jimin- and have him come to your home to put a few of those noise-canceling spells on your place- just for good measure. Though your sons are busy often enough exploring the woods it’s still nice to not be worried about being overheard. They know not to go too far, and it’s safe here, for both of them. 
- As the month continues before Hoseok goes to school there are many repairs that need to be made on your house, little things here and there- Yoongi makes the trip to gather a portion of his hoard to fill the cavern below the house- nothing compared to his hall of jewels back home but still- it’s something. But there is also the matter of the tower and its spire- which leaks into the kitchen area. You have half a mind to turn it into something of a study for you- if you ever had time to work on it when it came to the upkeep of the house.
-  You keep it as clean as you can but it’s so large Jungkook and Hoseok help but they’re more interested in playing “knights and dragons” than in cleaning no matter how Yoongi might growl at them. He helps too- does as much as you if not more with how he’s constantly flying here and there, to pick up Hoseok’s books, and his new school uniform, and food for all of you.
- Eventually, the cleaning and upkeep needed to get the house in working order are too much for you. You and Yoongi talk and eventually you agree to hire one of your neighbors, a young werewolf girl (who should be in school) to stop by a few days a week and clean the house. The aforementioned werewolves aren’t nearly as hostile or as concerning as your worst anxieties have made them out to be you’re extraordinarily glad to have the help as Hoseok finally starts school.
- You lament the ease of which you used to clean your old tiny cabin. Though the amenities here are far more comfortable- trust the dragons to figure out an efficient system for Heating water. they also have really nice pillows, but you have a feeling that might be a nesting thing. 
-The aforementioned werewolves aren’t nearly as hostile or as concerning as your worst anxieties have made them out to be you’re extraordinarily glad to have the help as Hoseok finally starts school.
- Hoseok’s first day of school looks something like this- the new white robes bunched at his arms and his legs, the new pouch over his side where you’d packed his lunch, the red sigil of the school standing smart over his heart. You’d gotten him ready for school, combing his hair and making sure he had enough lunch.
- He’d been unwilling to part The black scarf that you’d gotten him to match Jungkook’s red one. You fuss with it, turning to Yoongi “You sure his teachers won’t have a problem with it?” yoongi shakes his head. “They were stricter when I was there, the worst they’ll do is make him put it with his things.” 
- Hoseok looks worried and anxious and like he might be sick. He holds on tight around your waist when the four of you fly to the dragon city. You’re not the only ones who look like they’re making the trip- other families are traveling to the city at this early hour too. children tagging along on their parent's backs, or flying behind them, their small bodies dipping and jumping with the force of each flap. 
- Jungkook is so sleepy but excited as you wave with him and watch Hoseok go through the gates hand in hand with Yoongi- whose only going in to make sure Hoseok gets to the right room. You and Jungkook waiting out front as Yoongi goes in and gets him situated. A few dragons give you weird looks- but most of them are too sleepy to be curious. 
- You basically have to hold Jungkook back from wanting to follow. And the farther away he gets, the more Jungkook’s smile falls until he’s unusually quiet. “You okay Koo?” you ask, and he nods, his curls bobbing, hand rubbing at his eye. “I’m hungry- can we get some breakfast before we fly back?” Jungkook is unusually quiet the whole morning and by midday, you're starting to get worried. 
- He gets better the second you return to pick Hoseok back up from school his face lighting up when you spot a redhead in the schoolyard, both of them running forward to collide with him, holding closely around his waist, and tucking his face close under his shoulder. Hoseok too- scent marks rapidly along Jungkook’s shoulder. Obviously having missed him too. 
- He looks much less anxious than he did before, even waving goodbye to one girl with bright blue wings and a boy whose tongue flicks out, split down the middle. Hoseok crashes into your legs scent marking you before he can even speak. Jungkook behind him still hanging on. Unwilling to let him go again now that he’s back. “Did you have a good first day of school? I want to hear all about it Hobi!”
- “It wasn’t as bad as I thought- but I missed you guys the whole day” Jungkook looks almost pouty, “good” later that night you treat both of them to sweet rolls (you may have shown up a little early to go to a food market before picking Hoseok up from school- for a special treat) you and Yoongi overhear them playing in front of the fire.  “I was lonely the whole day Hobi- You’re going to find better friends and leave me” “Of course I won’t Kookie- you’re my family”  
- It’s a good thing that every 6th-day Hoseok has a day off from school- It’s your savior actually- on those days that Hoseok and Jungkook can explore the surrounding area of your new home as much as they want to. It lets Jungkook get his zoomies out, his need for adventure contained into one day as Hoseok is often too tired for much when he gets home from school. 
- He does have enough energy usually to show Jungkook what he learned. gathering in the field in front of your house, you and yoongi watching from the stone steps. He’s learned how to glide better recently- the way his wing sits into the wind different than before. It has Yoongi smiling showing his gums excitedly- apparently, Hoseok is only a few weeks away from learning true flight. 
- The day he does finally fly- the four of you meet up with Jimin and Namjoon- who have heard the good news from Hoseok’s teacher. Their gift is opulent, you try to refuse- tell them its too much, but Namjoon just touches your arm “please- it’s the uncle's job to spoil their nephews.”  
- They take the four of you out for a well-known sweets house on the fancier side of the city. The kind that the fancy lords and ladies take their children too for mid-morning tea. You borrow one of Jimin’s fancier dresses for the occasion a gauzy thing that's a little too risque for your tastes- but is in style. 
- Jimin has to fight with you to get you to wear it “I swear if you don’t start acting as pretty as you are I’m going to take it for myself” you'd jolted, looking at her face through the mirror, “can you really do that?” you know Jimin is powerful, can use magic in a way that only sorcerers can, but even that seems a little excessive. She puts her hands on her hips, “are you sure you want to find out the answer to that question?” 
- But in the end, you’re glad you did. Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of you the whole night. You get more than a few stares at the establishment- though more due to the nature of your mixed party. It’s not often they serve a fairy, a well-known war hero, and two humans. but they never let their shock show- especially in front of a councilman. 
- The staff is nice enough- They bring Jimin a Stool so that his wings won’t get crushed against the back of the chair, his dress low and backless. You’d tried to convince your boys to both go without their mismatching scarves- but they’d been insistent, even if the edge of Jungkook’s is getting a little ragged with age. 
- Both of them gorge themselves on sweets and savory cakes the whole evening. Jungkook is almost unmovable by the end of the evening, both their cheeks sticky- how the hell Hoseok got syrup in his hair- you have no idea. if being messy was a field you could be accomplished in- your sons would already be experts. 
- but as the school year continues, and Jungkook gets used to Hoseok being gone all day he becomes forlorn. Following Yoongi around or following you around and helping as he can with you trying to get the house together. You and Yoongi are still trying to get the tower in working order. Jimin is coming by later- to help install some windows and the glass pains already sit out in front of your house.
-  Without his companion- Jungkook just doesn’t know what to do with him. Sitting and pouting no matter what you try to do. “I want to go to dragon school too” “there is a school in town you could go to if you wanted to” “No! I want to go to Hobi’s school!”
- “Jungkook” Yoongi cautions and it’s not like he exactly rules them with an iron fist but you do have one rule: listen to your mother. And Jungkook isn’t doing a good job of that right now. He ends up huffing and walking away- disappearing to who knows where. 
- Later he comes back and apologizes to you for raising his voice. And it’s quite well thought out an apology for an 8-year-old you do have to admit. He brings you a clutch of dandelions he must have picked from somewhere nearby. Later you catch Yoongi congratulating him and you think maybe he’d had a talk with him.
- Dandelions- it reminds both you and Yoongi of the first time you ever saw each other- or at least- the first time you met face to face. Jungkook- a baby, sat in a wildflower field with you- so many years ago now. You keep the dandelions by your bedside the same vase stuffed through with red feathers from Hoseok’s molting. He likes to keep them to give them to you- the longer ones that are almost the length of your forearm.
- Yoongi putting one behind his ear to make you laugh. Though he still leaves to raid every now and then- he spends as much time as he can at home. Sometimes- he gets called upon by Namjoon- and leaves with Hoseok in the morning only to return with your son later in the day. Honestly- Yoongi would tell the council to fuck off if it wasn’t Namjoon asking. But wherever he goes- he sees dandelions and thinks of home.
- You don’t mind much- even if you, like Jungkook- get lonely. You repair your house with some sort of zeal- painting the room’s different colors, fixing things here and there. It’s been a while since you really had a place to make your own. You flourish a little excitedly setting your house in order. 
- But then Yoongi comes upon your old medical things in the belly of the spire one morning, turning over the few old medical texts and the herbs that Namjoon had set you up with. Here there are a few dried herbs, from namjoon’s garden and from the woods- well-known ones that even he recognizes. 
- he hovers on that disconcerting feeling again, the same one he’d had in Namjoon’s greenhouse more than two months ago. but before he can ask- you slide away again asking him something else- and he can’t bring it in himself to bring it up. And before anything can really get better or get worse- Hoseok’s school year-ends. And so does the extraordinarily mild winter. And the four of you head back to your mountain home and whatever unhappiness you feel seems to dissipate once you have both of them to look after all the time again. 
- It’s probably fate that he’s in town that morning, it’s only been two weeks since you got back into town for the next winter session. Hoseok is a little more interested in it this time around, growing less shy as a 12-year-old. A little excited to see the few friends he made last year- and get reacquainted with his flying teacher. Jungkook, by comparison, is even more twitchy and restless this year. Now 9 years old (neither of you can quite believe it).
-  It’s a small errand- but he’s honestly just picking up some bread for dinner from the baker when he hears the shout. And sees the crowd of people hovering around a young werewolf behind a wagon, His arm to the side, bent at a weird angle, the bone popped through the skin. 
- The mother spots Yoongi- and internally he cringes. He knows you’d created something of a buzz when you moved into the manor house- and the people here know he was a commander at one point and used to serve the people. Her hand is clawed and furry when she places it on his arm “can you take him to the city? We don’t have a healer here-”
- “No, but my mate used to be a healer- she can help him, come with me” everyone knows who you are- that you’re his human. Though there are a few mutterings about that. Yoongi ignores them and so does the mother- desperate to help her pup who hasn’t stopped howling in pain the whole time. his cries echoing loudly probably making the hair of every wolf in a mile radius stand up on end. 
- Two of the wolves’ older brothers heave the little one up between the two of them- and he howls out in pain the ears on top of his head flicking in pain when they move his arm. The mother and what feels like half the town follows Yoongi down the trail- a half-mile from your home. 
-  you’re just clearing out some of the old books in the library Hoseok and Jungkook helping you. All of you are covered in dust- a silk blue handkerchief tied over your mouth.  “Uhm- mom?” Jungkook tugs at your sleeve, looking out the winds to where you can see the crowd of people, worried for a moment before you see Yoongi at the front. 
- The three of you rush to meet them out ion the front steps. Yoongi hops up the steps two at a time he puts a hand on your arm. “There was an accident in town- I thought you might be able too-“ the wolf boy behind you lets out a howl and you turn- the change is almost instant, your attention diverted from Yoongi to the patient that needs your care. 
- The way that Yoongi see’s your brain starts moving, working as you come close, tugging up the covering over your mouth and behind your ears to keep back your hair. The mother launches into what happened- and also bursts into tears. “This way- the dining room table should be wide enough.” The rest of the town seems to hover outside as you and the family head inside. Hoseok shifts and curls up around Jungkook in the hallways outside, Yoongi trying to field some of the questions of the town as best he can without losing control of his temper. 
- “How long was she a healer- can she really be trusted?” Yoongi lets out a growl at that one- “she healed Hobi’s wing!” Jungkook pipes up. Hoseok gives a little flutter- flapping them to show that they’re alright. One of the younger shifted wolf pups comes close, so much smaller than Hoseok- the dragon back-peddling wildly. Jungkook curious- upset that the wolf pup isn’t as curious about him as he is about the dragon.
- The town has dispersed within the hour, and Yoongi manages to keep Jungkook and Hoseok away from the kitchen for long enough. A muted scream punctuated by some sobbing. You must have managed to crack his arm back then. When they finally leave it's with the youth still held by his older brother. This time in a piggyback. His arm back into place and braced with two of the wooden spoons from your kitchen. The mother thanking you profusely, again and again, clutching your hands.
- When they finally leave you to hover by the door watching them go winding the silk scarf over your hands, again and again, your hair spilling out unbound. “darling?” Yoongi asks. You turn to him, lower lip quivering before you lean forward, taking his face in either of your hands pressing kiss after kiss to his cheeks to his brow, peppering his face with countless kisses, Yoongi can’t help but smile.
- “How do you always know what I need? What I want? I didn’t want to say but-” yoongi understands, understood the second he saw the injured pup. the thing that you’d been sad over was this. “I know honey- I’m sorry it took me so long to realize what you were missing.” 
-“You mean-“ you break off, looking down as Yoongi cups your cheeks, “you don’t mind?” he presses his forehead against yours, making sure you look at him, see every inch of his eyes and the truth held there, “Darling listen to me: I promise I won’t ever mind something that makes you happy.” 
- He smiles and pulls you against him around your waist, tugging on the loose ends of your hair. Your kisses taste of smiles and of a giddy kind of joy he hasn’t seen in you in a long time. Who knew all you needed were a few broken bones to make you happier.
- You forgot how much you loved this- helping people. 
- You’re happy- how could you not be? Especially when more and more of the town start coming to you with injuries of their own accord, not willing to make the flight into the city- or in other cases unable too. It’s the exact opposite of how it was in your old village. 
- you make it clear that you won’t take their payment for your services (Yoongi takes care of you so well you want for very little). But they’re insistent and always come back the next day or later.  bringing the freshest of food or a bushel of fresh peaches in thanks. The orchards around here are plentiful- even in the winter- there are always sweet things here and there. 
- When you go into town, fewer people stare, fewer people shoot you uncomfortable looks, and more greet you by name. Older dragons with holes in their wings coming out of their houses to see if you have any more of that ache relieving cream- a little dragon girl holding up her finger to you saying “I got a booboo” you giggle- her mother ushering her away and apologizing for taking up your ‘invaluable’ time. 
- But really you don’t- it’s been a while since Jungkook was that small- you miss it. The other children, both dragon and wolf alike run up to you when you’re in town- usually- they’d retreat if Jungkook was there. But now they call his name too- asking if he’d like to play in the square while you tend to your errands. 
- There are a few here still, that lock your doors when you come into town. that hold their children close when you and Jungkook walk by. Yoongi assures you that anti-human sentiment isn’t strong enough here as it is the closer you get to the south. But still- the wounds of war linger in every lingering look. 
- Suddenly the stakes have changed, now- It’s harder to leave, not that you don’t still want to go back to your mountain home. But with a new town to take care of- people depending on you to be there for them. It’s hard to constrain your stay to only the time when Hobi has school. 
- And Yoongi might dislike the countryside a little more than he does the mountains, but at the end of the day- if it keeps a smile on your face- then it’s nothing he won’t absolutely inflict upon himself- with gusto- as many months out of the year as long as it keeps you happy. 
- You decide to split the year. You spend the milder- and less balmy fall and winter months at your manor house, and the spring and summer months in the mountains. Jungkook is glad to spend a little more time in the village where things are a little more entertaining and interesting to explore- even if that does mean surrendering his favorite person half of the time. 
- You get to see namjoon and Jimin more often too- something your son’s love. they love spending sleepovers at Namjoon and Jimin's house- after evenings where it’s gotten too late to fly home. it’s sweet- the first time namjoon hovers near you awkwardly. both of your sons have already done the peculiar forehead touch- symbolic of dragon familial ties.
- One moment you’re just talking and the next, namjoon ducks quickly to press his forehead against your shoulder, chickening out at the last moment. “You’re so awkward joonie” Jimin chides, both him and yoongi laughing at Namjoon’s bright red horns. but you don’t mind at all- you’re glad that Namjoon and Jimin see you as a family- and feel comfortable enough to accept you into their little cadre. 
-  Hoseok suffers through more schooling with Jungkook in mind, the younger always picking his brain whenever he comes home. And really he doesn’t mind it much. He likes the city even, likes the little freedom that he has when his teacher cuts him some slack during lunch and he can go get a sweet pork bun from the stall outside his school, eat it on the parapet looking over the training grounds. 
- The other dragons there have always been a little wary of him- he always smells a little bit too much like a human. But there isn’t much opportunity for free time and making friends with the other students, he isn’t good at it- too quiet and shy to make any close friends. 
- It hurts him a little- that he dosent fit in, something about him that just isn’t dragon enough for his classmates. But Hoseok has people he wants to be with at home- who understand him- where he doesn’t feel strange and like he’s caught in the middle. 
- besides, all of the dragons here his own age never seem to like Jungkook much when they meet him when Jungkook finds Hoseok in the crowd hissing at him and growling. Hoseok has decided long ago- that anyone who dislikes Jungkook on the basis that he’s human isn’t someone Hoseok wants to be friends with. 
- It gets worse when they approach the more historical part of their schooling. their teacher announces they’ll have a history lesson on the human dragon war. And Hoseok wants to sink so far down in his seat when his teacher starts talking about the humans. The humans that live on the other side of the wall- bloodthirsty and hungry for food. Who doesn’t know enough about their land to take care of it- who depletes the soil and then search for more land to ruin- selfishly destroying the earth. 
- He wants to stand up to defend you and Jungkook- you’re definitely not selfish, definitely not untrustworthy like his teacher is saying. He tries to speak up at one point- face as red as his hair, but one of the older students in his section- turns around and growls at him. Later- he volunteers the information that his grandfather died in the last war, and Hoseok understands- he must not like the fact that Hoseok smells like a human. Has obviously been scent marking one in the last 24 hours.
- The discomfort- the feeling like he’s an outsider- creeps up on him, Hoseok feels uncomfortable and unwelcome and like he wants to leave but can’t bring himself too. 
- A little bit of a Reprieve comes from he next section they cover, a list of important generals during the war- Yoongi’s name at the very top of the page in the textbook, a small blurb on his accomplishments. his teacher reads it off “There are very few of the Tahsuya breed left in the world as a result of the war- known for their dark scales and their massive size, this kind of dragon is the reason why dragon kind was able to win against old king henry and his army of enchanted warriors.” 
- Hoseok sees the picture on the page, the wings that seem to blackout the sky, human warriors with all-black eyes raising their shields against the fire- running screaming. He raises his hand, then takes it back. The teacher catches it though- and Hoseok will not remain unscathed.  
- “I thought you would know all about the war Hoseok, seeing as General Min is your guardian” every single student in the room turns to start at Hoseok- and all he wants to do is sink into the floor. Suddenly everyone’s asking him questions- “is he really that big?” “Is it true he ate the last king?” 
- “Why do you always smell like a human if your father killed so many of them?” Hoseok is overwhelmed. Wants to turn away and run, because he doesn’t know- doesn’t understand where all of this hatred comes from. A few of his classmates are sniffing the air in disgust. 
- Hoseok himself is soul bonded to a human and they’re nothing like everyone is saying- when he thinks about anyone eating you and Jungkook it just makes him feel like he wants to hide and hold you close forever- not joy like one of his classmates is saying- how good it must have felt to defeat the armies. To kill. 
-  Hoseok feels like he’s going to be sick- the only thing he manages to say, “he’s not my fathe-“ but he can’t even manage to say that- because it’s not really true. He might not call you and Yoongi mom and dad yet- but- you’ve looked after him for 7 years at this point. You have protected him and held him through his nightmares, took care of him after his first parents died. And though He never wants to forget his mama omega and alpha dad, but…
-  But You and Yoongi- if anything like that happened to either of you- Hoseok doesn’t know what he would do. It would feel the same as losing his first parents. Only he wouldn’t have you both to hold him through it- to make sure his pains were eased, that he was cared for when he needed it the most. His classmates don’t know what they’re talking about, they don’t understand. 
- He doesn't want to forget his parents, but he’d already made the mistake of not appreciating what he had before it was gone. (If you were able to hear his thoughts- you’d tell him to cut himself a break- he was only six after all)  
- When Hoseok was younger- his mother and his older sister would groom him, their tongue dragging through his feathers. And now you do the same- albeit in a different way, any night that Hoseok asks- you’ll smile and pat your lap and brush him through, no matter how big he gets- no matter that he’s not a fledgling anymore. 
- Whenever he craves comfort you give it to him. It feels the same when it thinks of his mother, and when he thinks of you- it’s the same.  Hoseok shoots up, his chair falling back, stumbling as he rushes out of the room- only stopping to take his scarf from the hook. Furious tears budding at his eyes as he runs despite the fact that he can hear his teacher shouting after him. 
- It’s uncle Namjoon that finds him- having been called to the school for some reason or another- he’d probably found out from one of his teachers that Hoseok had been AWOL. It’s not every day that someone on the dragon council takes a special interest in a student. (Namjoon may have gone to the teacher personally and asked to be updated at the beginning of the school year- but really- it’s only the concern of an uncle and not of the council that drives him to do this). 
- Namjoon finds him sitting on one of the towers, the door opening behind him. “I figured you would have found the tallest place,” he says as he comes over to sit by Hoseok, his blue councilman’s robes rustling in the wind. Hoseok keeps his scarf tight and up around his nose, the sent of his family slowly soothing him and his panic. 
- “Did Yoongi really do all of the things in my teacher said he did? Is that why everyone knows his name?” he asks, has to struggle not to call him dad. “He did, but you have to understand Hobi- the king back then was the one who killed his whole family.” That kind of grief- Hoseok understands. And he thinks now- if anyone hurt Jungkook he would more than rip them limb from limb, he would burn them to dust. 
- Namjoon ends up taking him home early that day, Jimin joining them- the tiny fairy buzzing by Hoseok who only tries to keep up, needing to pause to rest halfway through the flight and have Namjoon carry him the rest of the way. Yoongi is surprised when both of them turn up but not for long, all he has to see is Hoseok’s bloodshot eyes before he’s dropping it. 
- Before he knows it- you’re there pulling him in for a hug. Hoseok has grown so much, he’s nearly as tall as you now Doesn't have to get up on his tippy toes to press his forehead to your neck and scent mark you. “oh Seokie” you say, as he starts to cry again. Yoongi behind him with a hand on his shoulder. He and Namjoon make eye contact- Namjoon shaking his head, Jimin looking small next to him- equally as concerned. 
- And it’s good to have them both over for dinner. Eating dinner and Making Hoseok laugh with a round of games. His aching heart soothed by good food, bread from town, meat that you cook over the fire and eat all together with chopsticks. Jungkook knocking into his elbow telling Hoseok animatedly about the new forms his master had shown him. 
- later the four of you wait up late into the night, enjoying a glass of sweet wine together, you’re concerned by what Namjoon tells you- and it’s not like you hadn’t suspected it would one day have this effect on Hobi. Yoongi told you long ago the role he’d had in the war. But it seemed like it bothered Hoseok in some way. You hadn’t missed tonight how he’s seemed attached to your hip, scooting closer to Jungkook at the dinner table. 
- “I think it just scared him, hearing about how many people died- though he said something about his classmates” you shake your head, leaning your cheek on your hand, knees brought up close to your chest. Across from you, Namjoon sits with Jimin’s feet in his lap. You recline against Yoongi’s chest your front warmed by the fire but your back warmed by him. Playing with his long fingers absentmindedly. “We should ask him tomorrow,” Yoongi hums, looking concerned.
- Jimin and Namjoon leave soon after that, you tease jimin about how dangerous ‘sleepy flying’ can be. “Uhm, actually- can I talk to you for a moment yoon?” Namjoon asks, Yoongi touches your shoulder and tells you to go to bed, he’ll be there in a moment. Jimin is standing out in the middle of the field, and from the open door, Namjoon and Yoongi watch them. Jimin’s face turned up to the moon, eyes closed like they’re a flower in the sunlight recharging their energy. And Yoongi knows that by tomorrow morning, a ring of toadstools will ring the spot where Jimin now stands. 
- “Spit it out” The younger dragon looks nervous and anxious, “in the last few weeks- we’ve gotten reports of discontent in the human realms” “is it another famine again?” “No- quite the opposite- but apparently they’ve had a few good years, and the current king is wonder if he should strike while the iron his hot.” Yoongi stiffens, thinking about the possibility of another war. 
- Long ago- when they used to fight side by side before Yoongi would often level Namjoon with one question, “odds?” he’d ask. And Namjoon would answer what he thought the likelihood of them surviving the next hours would be. 
- “The council dosent want to believe it, but I put the odds of war at 50/50,″ “How long?” that’s all Yoongi wants to know- how long until he has to take you, Jungkook, and Hoseok and run with you to the farthest edge of the world- because he won’t have his family caught up in another war- he won’t lose them. No matter how the council will try and talk him into commanding their armies again.
-  “Probably a few years until we know- but the snow isn’t falling as hard as usual in the mountains, the passes are staying open for longer, we expect an increase in attacks at the very least.” More hunters getting through the mountains means more calls from the council for- and less time with his family. 
- That night, when Yoongi crawls into bed next to you- you curl into his warmth seeking his familiar form out in your sleep and settling your body more fully against him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat but You don’t respond- you must really be asleep. That night- Yoongi holds you and doesn’t sleep a wink.
- After the incident, Namjoon stops by and watches Hoseok more and more- keeping an eye on the goings-on at the school. And all the rest of his classmates will stand- their backs straight as rapiers while Namjoon patrols the lines. Nodding officially to his teacher, shooting Hoseok a look that has him giggling and being scolded by the teacher's assistant.  
- Namjoon’s check-ins might have something to do with Yoongi asking the older dragon to keep an eye on Hoseok when he’s in the city after the incident. And Namjoon takes his role as uncle very seriously. Jimin even more so- always making sure that Namjoon comes with extra lunch- some sweet fruit or fancy fish from the ocean for Hoseok. A little spare baggy left to bring home for you and Jungkook. 
- “What about da-Yoongi” Hoseok catches himself at the last moment one afternoon- talking with Namjoon. Namjoon’s smile is a little abashed, “Jimin has some very choice words for him- apparently something about accidentally burning a hole through his favorite robe again.” 
- Jimin and Namjoon are always glad to have you come for a visit, day trips close to the city so you can pick up Hoseok, he and Yoongi coming back to Namjoon and Jimin's house instead of your own for dinner. You and Jimin take day trips into the city when Yoongi is called in on some council business with Namjoon, Jungkook tagging along when he wants too. 
-  They’re always upset to see you go when you have to return to the mountains in the summer months (if you didn’t- Yoongi thinks he might actually go insane) But you become friends, a little closer than that even. You know they view Jungkook and Hoseok as their own children- or something as close to that as they’ll ever be able to have. 
- It’s shortly after the summer solstice the next year when Jungkook finally managed to articulate the words that have been bothering him- for longer than he’d been willing to admit. You’re sat at the lip of the cave together reading. Yoongi and Hoseok dive-bombing each other and play flying- trying to keep their skills honed in preparation for the looming school year. 
- Hoseok has grown bigger in the last year or so and hit his second growth spurt. His head now coming up to your stomach (which he abuses, constantly nudging into your stomach for more food- you swear- with the amount they eat between the three of them- you and Yoongi have the work cut out for yourselves.)
-  He’s finally mastered flying- maybe not all of the more complicated maneuvers, and he can’t yet fly for more than 45 minutes before his stamina runs out- but he’s getting there. Every day he pushes himself farther gets a little stronger. This next year- it’s likely that he won't need Yoongi to fly him too and from the dragon school anymore. (Though he still will- just a safe distance above- he just wants to keep an eye on his son)
- Jungkook looks melancholic and conflicted, now almost 11 years old and sitting next to you- fingering one of the books that Jimin had given him on their last trip. One about an adventurer that had crossed the ocean and discovered a whole new species of sea serpent- he’s read it probably about a dozen times since you came back to the mountain for spring and summer. “I can’t help but feel like- like Hobi is leaving me behind,”
- “He’s not Kookie- he could never leave you, you’re his best friend- and I know you read all of his school books to help him study for his tests.” “Yeah but still- he gets to go to school to learn how to be a dragon, what am I learning? who am I learning to be?” your boy has always been sensitive and emotional and you realize now more than ever, how much he’s grown. “You know we’re just- trying to make sure he’s getting exposed to everything he would have with his other family. And they’re the pressure from the council”
- “I remember,” Jungkook looks thoughtful, sucking on his lower lip, wanting to ask but being unable too- because- because he knows how Yoongi has been about this in the past. He remembers how his father had snarled at the council- my child will never learn how to fight.
- But what if that’s exactly what Jungkook wants? “I want to learn how to be a swordsman, like in the books-“ your gaze slides a little, you raise your eyebrow and he can tell just by your look that you’re not going for it- it’s the same one you’d given him countless times- each time he and Hoseok had tried to convince you to let them camp out with the wolves on the full moon- or assured you that really- riding the giant forest spirits wasn’t nearly as dangerous as dad said it could be. - Jungkook is indignant, however- “if Hoseok gets to learn how to fight- then I should too! He might not always be there.” you put your hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. Despite how much you shudder to think of either of your sons need to know how to fight you understand. And you have to admit; even you might feel more comfortable if Jungkook did at least learn the basics.
- “No” the finality of Yoongi’s words rings in the chamber when you ask. You’re glad that Hoseok and Jungkook are off lounging in the afternoon sun outside so that they don’t have to see the way their father instantly starts shooting smoke from his nose. “I won’t allow him that- you know what this means to me. It’s too dangerous- and why would he need to? We’re safe!” I made the world safe. 
- Yoongi has had a lot of time to think about the war, about how after his parents had died- he’d pursued it for the sake of revenge- or so he’d thought. but now he thinks that maybe he’d known that one day he would want the world to be safe for a particular reason. And now he has that reason: his family- which would always be torn between these two worlds and any war that might come. 
-  He’s pacing, unable to stop his hands from shaking- memories of carnage and war coming to the forefront of his mind- what’s more- the memories of the night where Yoongi had burned down Jungkook’s village. The men rushing forward with their swords- only to die by fire- his fire, and then the idea of that position being reversed Jungkook fighting others- getting hurt. Makes Yoongi’s hands shake. 
- “do you really think it’s such a bad idea, or are you just worried that he’ll turn into what you took him from?” Yoongi flinches, it’s not usual that you surprise him- or that your arguments get so heated. But you don’t talk about the beginning of you- what brought Jungkook into your care very often- and you know how guilty Yoongi feels. How much it weighs on his shoulders like a lead weight. But you’re right- he is afraid. The words aren’t meant to be cruel even if they do sting.
- He remembers raising Jungkook- both of you do- how instantaneously he’d become a protector, of your old chickens in the coop, of Hoseok when he’d come to stay. He’s always been making play swords out of sticks and asking Yoongi to please read that one night story again- the one where a knight defeats the scary mountain troll- that’s always been Jungkook’s favorite.
- You touch Yoongi’s cheeks, “when do you think we should tell him?” you’d always left this up to him. Deciding when exactly to tell Jungkook where he came from. Luckily that’s not a question he asks very frequently but it’s only a matter of time until he asks again. And each time it gets harder to dodge and avoid giving him a real answer. 
- Both of you are scared- so scared- for both Hoseok and Jungkook. How will Jungkook react when he finds out that Yoongi is the one that killed his family? What will happen to Hoseok when he finds out that his best friend came from a family of dragon hunters? The same kind that killed Hoseok’s parents? 
- The wounds of his loss are still there but healing with your love and support. He no longer wakes up so many nights from nightmares. And even if he does Yoongi is there for him, all of you are. More than once you’ve woken to Hoseok curled up around you. And though while he’s never called you ‘mom’ before, you know he loves you and cares about you as much as Jungkook does. 
- Even if he suddenly decided he didn’t want much to do with you- probably a poor replacement for the mother he lost (if Yoongi ever heard you say these words out loud he would probably growl at you for thinking so), you’d accept it- and love him still. 
- Not that that kind of thing has ever been in Hoseok’s nature. He’s turned into quite the little sunshine the last few years. Bolder, and curious about the world in the same way Jungkook is, always ready to laugh and be silly to amuse the younger.  When he wakes in the morning he follows Yoongi’s lead, bringing a cloth up and over his curling golden horns, burnishing them to polish- the same way you might expect someone to learn how to shave from watching their father. 
- He even has a few feathers that have started to appear on his human form- a mark of his growing age. They poke out of his hair- long and leggy. He never fails to slap Jungkook’s hand away when they younger reach over to try and play with them. “Koo that feels weird-“ “Sorry they’re just so soft.” He never gets too angry- even when Jungkook absentmindedly starts playing with them again a few moments later. 
- One day- you catch them fiddling with one of the many feathers that Hoseok loses (it’s natural- he looses a few every time he shifts) and both of them had come to you- happy- Jungkook showing you the Tiny feather they’d managed to fasten to his hair on the back of his neck. The bright red feather sticking out harshly among the black. The 11-year-old had been so so happy- even if getting it out had been hell later. 
- You don’t think their bond could be damaged by anything- but still- you’re worried what kind of friction it could cause- if the information wasn’t revealed at the right moment. 
- “This year? Maybe next year? Who knows- when he’s ready” you roll your eyes a little at this- and Yoongi knows- can hear your words before you say them “that’s such a nebulous thing to say- try again love.”
- “Can we talk about the learning to fight thing another time?” Yoongi says against the palm of your hand, tugging you in close. Peppering kisses across your palm. The scent of disquiet clings to you- makes him anxious- makes him want it off of you. And maybe it’s stupid to ignore this problem. When it could very easily rear its ugly head.
- Maybe Yoongi is just scared of losing you- scared of losing this. He finds himself a little too choked up when he pulls you to lie against him your back against his chest. Your fingers hooking around the back of his neck to run your fingers through his hair while you look up at him. And his hand is free to run up and down your stomach and sides. Simple and lovely in the light of golden hour, the birds chirping, the muted laughter and shouts of your sons outside. Absolutely peaceful were it not for the rolling worry in both of your heads.
- When you return back to the countryside for the next season, Yoongi surprises Jungkook with his first sword. It was easy to get it made during one of the many trips Yoongi had taken with you into the city- mostly to meet with Hoseok’s teachers. Jungkook dropped off at Jimin’s library yet again- his uncle happy to see him and watch him for the day after so many months apart.
- Jungkook’s eyes are wide his smile incandescent when Yoongi hands him the thin hand and a half blade. it’s no larger than Yoongi’s forearm, but still- Jungkook’s narrow arms struggle to hold it up. “This is a practice blade, I’ll get you a sharp one after you learn the basics.”
-When it comes down to it- Yoongi is of little help when it comes to teaching Jungkook how to fight- it’s not that he can’t it’s just that he’s only ever fought in his full-bodied scaled form. And Jungkook while- he can’t shift, Though he’s no longer quite as put out as he once had been. finally, come to terms with the fact that- yes- his wings are never going to come in. Now to soothe that hurt- he just learns as much as he can about magical creatures. 
- It never fails to amaze you how easily he talks to the other people in town, the werewolves, and the rough dragon folk- grown almost fond over him in the past few years you’ve been popping in and out of their lives. one day when you’re tidying up- you come across a little booklet- little notes scrawled here and there about dragons and other magical creatures things Jungkook wants to remember. 
- It's in the town that Yoongi finds him a teacher- an old werewolf by the name of Jagged claw (werewolf customs- Yoongi rolls his eyes at the strange name) one of the last students who ever attended the military school in the city before it was closed to outsiders and turned into the flight school. He’s old and hobbles about on a roughly worn staff, teaches Jungkook and two other dragon hatchlings the way of the sword four mornings out of five. 
- There is also a condition to Jungkook’s schooling, for every lesson he attends with his instructor; he’s going to have to spend a day with you- learning the healing arts instead. It seems a fair trade- both of you decide. Though he already knows a fair amount. Jungkook looks a little frustrated but you hold up your hand to stop his words, Your expression is uncompromising. “If you’re going to learn how to hurt others- and only when you need it- then you need to learn how to heal them too.”
- Every morning you and Yoongi see both of them off Hoseok shifting and taking off to fly most of the way with Yoongi- and you and Jungkook left to walk through the woods in the direction of the wolf’s cabin. An apple and some other yummy treat wrapped in his scarf for lunch. His sword strapped to his narrow waist. 
- on your walk through the forest, you’ll take the time to quiz him on the medicinal plants there. “That one is- nic- octos- ugh!” he’s frustrated, glaring down the blue-purple bloom like it will surrender all of its secrets easily. 
- “It begins with an A” you remind him as he investigates the flowers their leaves too.  “Aconitum!” he shouts when he gets it, turning to look for your approval. You side-eye him for his early success- but he’s only half what there, “uses?” you prod, “fever reducer-” 
- “But-“ you tilt your head expectantly.  “Basically everything is a fever reducer- and this one can be dangerous so- only use it as a last resort” “you’ve got it-“ you finally give in, ruffling his curly hair affectionately- taking care to step over a gnarled root. Jungkook almost trips- too busy looking around for other plants in the underbrush. 
- But before long- the swordmasters cabin comes into view. The old wolf standing on his porch looking about ready to smack Jungkook for being late. His other students are already running forms in the cleared fighting circle out front. You smile at him in greeting as Jungkook rushes to take his place, bowing and apologizing. You ask if his joints are holding up and he nods sagely. 
- When you return home Yoongi is already waiting for you. Both of you ready for a little privacy, maybe you’ll be interrupted by someone in the town needing your help. But if it’s a calm day- you’ll make each other lunch knocking elbows.  and maybe you’ll sit out in the grass with it later, Yoongi’s head in your lap. 
- Maybe you’ll decide to split a sweet orange from the orchard a few miles over, Yoongi will peel it and give you most of it while he only takes a piece. And your kisses will be sweet and sticky and even sweeter still when he asks if you’ll sing for him. 
- Maybe you’ll fall asleep and be woken in the afternoon by Hoseok touching down softly next to you- shifting and collapsing into the grass on the blanket you and Yoongi have set out. “God today was exhausting- they had us running stamina tests all afternoon” “how long did you fly for?” 
- “3 hours and 45 minutes-“ his grin is already proud. “The longest in the class.” Yoongi’s grin is happy too, as you congratulate him and pull him close, Hoseok scent marking along either of your shoulders- he’s always a little more cuddly than usual when he gets home. You’ve asked him before and he says he doesn’t like not smelling like you guys. 
- Hoseok offers to make the short walk to pick up Kookie and a few minutes later- both of your sons come through the woods, laughing and slapping each other on the back. A new bandage on his arm- “I promise he didn’t mean it- I was the one who fell during practice, it wasn’t master’s fault.” 
- “Really you need to be more careful,” you say, angrily bandaging his arm later while Hoseok and Yoongi recline in front of the fire playing a game of cards. “I’m going to get more than one scar you know, and besides I already have one on my face so what does it matter?”
-You freeze; Yoongi goes ramrod straight- the fire in the hearth spluttering before it roars back to life. And you exchange a glance. It’s barely quick enough for either of them to catch. And you launch into an explanation of why he should care enough to be careful because it will quite literally give his mother a heart attack if he comes back with another cut like this.
- You and Yoongi think you’ve been quick enough to conceal your surprise. Both of you thinking about the scar on Jungkook’s cheek- the one he’d gotten the night Yoongi had attacked his Family. The night that had cascaded and affected both of your lives forever. But Without that night and without that bloodshed none of the joy and love you have would exist.
- But Jungkook doesn’t know that. Not yet away. That next day, Jungkook touches the mark trying to remember when he got it but he can’t, doesn’t know where the scar that marks his face came from.
- Hoseok finds him pouring over his reflection in the mirror. “Something bothering you Koo?” Jungkook fingers the scar again, Maybe he should ask you- he didn’t know if memories could disappear out of the blue- but he’s only 12, Maybe you know.
- He remembers how he got the scar on his palm; from sliding down Yoongi’s wings and missing the pillow pile in your winter home, and the one on his elbow- accidentally tripping over Hoseok’s tail the one time at uncle Namjoon’s house. But the mark on his face bothers him for some reason- lingers in the back of his mind.  
-“It’s Nothing,” he says, but at this point, he’s sure it’s something. Hoseok can feel the lie when it leaves Jungkook’s mouth- but like most things with the soul bond, he just leaves it. He’ll find out sooner or later what’s bothering him when Jungkook inevitably gets fed up with keeping secrets, if he’s not ready then he’s not ready.
- Over the last few years- they’ve developed a delicate balance, their souls might be intertwined together closely but there is a place where Hoseok begins and Jungkook ends. An understood barrier that needs to exist or else they’d both probably fight a lot more than they do.
- After all- Jungkook isn’t the only one who doesn’t always tell Hoseok what’s going on in his head. Hoseok has more than a few things that he just…doesn’t feel like he can voice out loud yet. Part of him is afraid, what if he’s misinterpreted this feeling? what if it’s temporary? he tells himself to wait it out- to wait until he’s sure (even though he knows he already is).
- Sometimes Hoseok thinks about uncle Jimin- who is often more than not aunt Jimin. How when he’s feeling like more of a she- her hair gets a little longer, cute and shoulder length, her hips more curvy than usual. About how Namjoon loves Jimin- no matter what skin they want to inhabit that day.
- Hoseok wonders what he would look like with hair like that, if he’d look pretty. “I’ve been thinking about growing out my hair- what do you think?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the mirror- not meeting Jungkook’s gaze. “I think it would be fine? why wouldn’t it be? My hair gets long some time too the trouble will be when mom tries to convince you to cut it short?” he says, confused like he’s wondering why Hoseok is asking- why Hoseok doesn’t know this.
- Anything that Hoseok does Jungkook will be on board with and will support 100%. Hoseok knows this- because the same is true in reverse. “It’s nothing-  forget I said anything.” Both of them look in the mirror- seeing something missing, but not knowing quite what.
- Hoseok resolves to ask Jimin a few more pointed questions the next time they visit, maybe corner them on the beach or in the greenhouse. Trying to ignore the weird stinging rotten feeling in his chest when he looks in the mirror and sees himself. 
- Jungkook forgets about it too wrapped up in his training forms. Trying to recognize the new ones because he knows master jagged fang will quiz him. But the confusion- the wanting curiosity- lingers in the back of his mind. A feeling like he’s missing something. 
- Jungkook easily becomes proficient in the blade, soon overcoming most of his classmates. And there is something about the way that the blade feels in his hands that feels- almost too purposeful.
- Fate is a hard thing to avoid. Being a warrior was in Jungkook’s blood from the day he was born, and he might not have been raised to hate as much as his ancestors, but his natural inclinations and the warrior's instincts are still there.
- Both of your sons get older- growing bolder and more interested in the outside world. On the days when Hoseok isn’t going into the city for classes, they take the world by storm. Hoseok isn’t old enough to fly with Jungkook on his back like you and Jungkook do on Yoongi’s but he’s getting there. Now the size of a horse when he shifts, his face eye level with your own. His claws scratching the stone floor in your house when he decides to muscle his way through the door. 
- They already give you both a run for your money and a short run on your nerves by the amount of mischief they get up to in their free time. Yoongi assures you that it's normal for a dragon of Hoseok’s age to want to test their bounds- push outside the nest and explore. And wherever Hoseok goes Jungkook follows.
- Even after all this time- they’re still each other’s favorite person. Whatever friends Hoseok might make eventually in school- don’t matter when it comes to Jungkook, No one comes even close.
- Jungkook and Hoseok manage to get into trouble more than a few times on their adventures. Exploring the woods, the edge of the mountains, the city less because Namjoon keeps a very close eye on them both. They bring back things for you- Hoseok especially likes too. Yoongi almost wants to cry the first time Hoseok brings back a large shiny rock- the first piece of what will one day be Hoseok’s hoard.
- Hoseok puts it on the shelf in his bedroom, Jungkook sitting on the floor looking at him, “Wanna go try to find something else Hobi?” Hoseok feels a certain fire in his chest, one that he hasn’t known before- something greedy and wanting. “Yes please.”  
- Most of the trouble they get into comes in the name of Hoseok and Jungkook finding things for their hoard, they try to steal a silver egg from a cockatrice and Jungkook gets pecked on his arms so deeply that it needs stitches. “What did you learn?” you ask, already having given them a stern talking too when they’d turned up on your doorstep Hoseok clutching at Jungkook’s arm crying like he’s the one whose been hurt.
- You sit in front of the fire that night, stitching him up- Jungkook is a little trouper, barely cries at all, Hobi lies across his lap in dragon form, little tears dripping out, licking at Jungkook’s wound making little distressed noises- you don’t begrudge him for his sensitivity- you know he can feel it too when Jungkook gets hurt. “That we should be more careful around things we haven’t seen before.”
- They try to take a pearl comb from a batch of selkies who have taken up residence in a nearby lake and you make them go and return it. Both of them hiding behind you a little as you hover by the edge of the lake. “Sorry about this,” you say, as one of them rises out of the water, their faces sunken, skin green and oily, hair flowing like algae, black stones where their eyes should be. Their voices send a shiver down your spine- “it’s okay- happens all the time!”  and you shiver as they sink back into the water.
- “What did you both learn this time” “unless they’re bad people you shouldn’t steal” “not quite, try again” “stealing is wrong?” “but isn’t that what dad does?” you wince internally- maybe you should have a more concise talk about this with Yoongi later.
- Time passes, and Yoongi finds himself waking up happy every morning, cuddled with his family. Or sometimes just with you, his nose pressed to the nape of your neck, heart thrumming with happiness at being close to his mate. he thinks that if he had this- every day for the rest of his existence he’d be fine- be more than fine.
- As both boys get older and turn from children into gangly teens, Hoseok starts to learn how to breathe fire, though he’s still only capable of blowing smoke and sparks on the best of days. He won’t for a few more years- that doesn’t stop him from trying and bugging Yoongi to show him how he breathes fire, “please just show me one more time dad I promise, I think I can get it this time” no matter how many times Yoongi assures him that he shouldn’t rush fire breathing.
- It’s a few months after their last trip to the dragon city when the council- Namjoon specifically calls him on something. Though it’s sooner than he would have expected given the last call it’s not really that big of a deal. Just a report of a nearby dragon den that had gone into early hibernation and tempted concern. But Yoongi just finds them all sleepy and cuddled over each other, the alpha lifting his head at Yoongi’s appearance at the caved entrance, sleepily asking what council business he’d been called on and why it couldn’t wait until spring.
- Yoongi might only be gone for a day, but it’s enough for them to find you.
- The hunters find the hidden manor house only a few hours after Yoongi leaves. This close to the dragon city they’re looking for an unguarded hoard and find it in your home. Because a hoard guarded by two humans and an unmatured dragon shouldn’t be too much of an obstacle. What they’re doing so far into dragon lands- how they’ve managed to come so far undetected- you don’t know.
- A dozen of them that surprise you. it’s a lazy easy day, Jungkook already home from practice. Eager to go out after lunch and explore with Hoseok since he didn’t have school today either. They complain about the chores you make them do before they go out- but since you have your housekeeper in today you're intent on more maintenance. and that includes cleaning the floors which means all the furniture needs to move off the rugs. 
- It’s then that you hear a knock on the door- your housekeeper running to get it while you and your sons follow,  both of them internally glad at a visitor- if it’s someone from the town looking for your healing abilities that means they’ll be free for the rest of the day! 
- Imagine your surprise when your housekeeper answers the door only to receive a sword deep in her gut, falling backward, the light leaving her eyes before she hits the floor. 
- They’re after Yoongi’s hoard (hidden in the cavernous basement) but they’re aiming for Hoseok first as they spill into your entranceway to eliminate the greatest threat, and Jungkook lunges in front of him- stupid. The smaller boy easily muscled to the side by one of them, 3 more waiting at his back to storm into the room and more behind them. Jungkook clutches at his side, blood on his hands and pain in his face- and no- Hoseok will not stand for that- not his Jungkook. The second pain radiates down the soulbond Hoseok shifts. 
- You lunge for him before Hoseok can, You’re feral when he aims his knife in their direction. “not my sons you ugly bastard-” you cut your hand and it gets in his eyes as you wrestle the knife away from him, he doubles over after connecting your knee to his groin. 
- Hoseok rears up and attacks. His fear gone- only action, bearing his teeth and using them. Head striking out like a snake- only blind rage in his heart and head- all at the sight of Jungkook- bleeding for him. No one hurts his family like that- one of them tries to run, and Hoseok peruses them. 
- Jungkook shakes it off- it’s not a bad wound- he’s honestly gotten worse in practice. his sword is by the entryway, laid their carelessly after his lesson (how many times had you reminded him that his weapons belong in his room- asked him to pick them up along with his shoes- you’d never imagined you’d be glad for his carelessness).
- Though his practice blade is dull- master long fang has taught him well enough that he can use it to get a sharper sword away from his opponent, the new weapon is absurdly heavy in his arms, and it sends vibrations that rattle to his core when Jungkook brings it up to block a strike. 
- The adrenaline thudding in his veins as he faces the hunters down erases the soreness from his earlier sparring session. The second the sword is in his hands, a chilling calm set over him, and he falls right back into what's been thought through countless hours of practice. keep your shoulders down, elbows tense, step with commitment- he can almost hear his master scolding him for a poorly parried lunge. Around him Hoseok bobs and weaves, using his wings as much as his claws and neck. 
- Jungkook vaults over his back to defend against his side from another attacker. They move like they’re talking- like the countless hours they’ve spent exploring together, like the way they hold each other at night, one part of the same soul, predicting the other's movements- you too, 
-  Though the dagger in your handshakes you hold your own. It helps that these men don’t seem like trained soldiers- more thuggish than that. Their axes are no match for Jungkook’s quick movements. their movements slow and brutish. No match for Hoseok’s bite. 
- Jungkook has the first kill- more dumb luck than anything else.  He feels the man die by his hands, He sees the blood hot and smelly, soaking into the little lines of his fingertips, And immediately decides he doesn’t want to be a warrior after all of this- not if it’s like this. Jungkook would lose it- start crying and sobbing if it weren’t for Hoseok at his side, the brush of his feathers- the way the wind hugs him and buffers Jungkook when he moves. Hoseok is the only soothing thing he can hold onto. 
- Hoseok manages to mortally wound one and send another through the window with a swipe of his tail and it scares the rest off. They might have thought they could handle you and Jungkook- but Hoseok is a force to be reckoned with- all of those lessons paid off. Now Hoseok knows how to handle his larger scaly body- how to make himself lethal and feral. 
- You are just pausing; chest heaving in fear, just as the other two retreats and run out of the house, deciding that the hoard must not be worth losing their lives. Hoseok and Jungkook are shaking with adrenaline, your hair bloody and free of its braid. 
- Hoseok shifts back to human form reeling from the bloodshed. His mouth as red as his hair. You wipe it away with your sleeve crying as you touch his head, Jungkook’s too, needing to make sure both of your children are safe. To touch them and make sure they’re there. Jungkook is the only one injured a little cut on his side that isn’t bleeding too much. “I’m fine mom- I’m fine-” 
- You verify they’re okay before you go to your housekeeper- touching her neck to feel her pulse- only to find out she’s already gone. You move her to the side so you can close the door and lock it with the deadbolt. Dead men litter your entryway, some of their chests still rising unevenly with death rattle breath. It has been a long time since you’ve been around dying men and it doesn’t feel any better knowing they deserve it- that you were fighting for your life. 
-And in the Centre of them, Hoseok holds Jungkook close, sends you a pained glance, crying, touching Jungkook’s side, blood all over both of them. they’re 13 and 15 now but at that moment- they look like the same scared little kids you raised.  
- You go to them, clutching them close, Jungkook is crying, Hoseok looks too shaken- like he can’t breathe around the adrenaline- but you can still hear distantly the other men in the woods running and starting to regroup. So you need to push them away urging them in the direction of the basement, “Head to the hoard- they won’t be able to get through the door-” they hesitate, “just go- your father will be back soon and he’ll-“ 
- Jungkook will remember the next moment for the rest of his life; 
- Hoseok doesn’t see- the exact moment it happens, head turned away just slightly- but Jungkook does. Jungkook sees every moment of it. 
- He’ll remember The way you’d paused, made a choking noise- only to look down at your stomach. Jungkook remembers when Yoongi had bought you that dress- the one with the little blue flowers on it, that day in the dragon city. Now turning blood red, the stain seeping outwards too fast from your belly.
-  You stumble trying to keep your feet under you, the dagger in your hand clanging to the floor. Revealing the man behind you- his sword shining with your blood.
-“Mom!” Hoseok shrieks, as you crumple to the floor.
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thepencilnerd · 2 years ago
Melophile | Part I
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melo·phile- noun; a person with great love and affluent passion for music
➵ A piano major and a composition major collaborating for a final semester project. It seemed straightforward, right? But what if you were forced to pair up with the school’s most problematic genius, Min Yoongi? Add to that the fact that he absolutely hated your guts and you had the perfect recipe for disaster. How can someone you’ve never even met before despise you like a sworn enemy? Getting to know each other was hard enough, but what happens when the most beautiful, painful, and darkest secrets force the two of you to expose the thing you each guarded the most—your own emotions? 
➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader
➵ genre: AU! enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow-ish burn 
➵ word count: 16k (sorry mobile readers)
➵ warnings: swearing, heavy angst, discussions of depression, rough sex, biting, marking, hair pulling, cumplay/eating, impreg kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), i’m screaming while writing these warnings 
a/n: this was originally supposed to be a single post, but i’ve split it up into two. the second part can be found on my masterlist or under the #melophile ^^
Second, third, second, first, second, fourth—
“Again,” the voice snapped sternly.
Breathing deeply, you closed your eyes shut and clenched down on your teeth before playing again.
Second, third, second, first, second, third, fifth, fourth—
“Stop.” Letting out another sigh for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour, your professor took off his glasses before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t we call it a day?”
Biting down on your tongue, you gave a curt nod and agreed reluctantly. Glancing at the clock, you saw that it was already fifteen minutes before nine.
“An hour and fifteen minutes of dealing with my bullshit. A new record,” you scoffed silently to yourself. 
You hesitantly thanked your professor before holding the door for him and seeing him out. Today was a rough day. The whoosh of the door escorted you back into the cold room as your legs carried you back to the grand piano. Your relationship with Professor Powell was—complicated—to say the least. Although he was like a father figure to you and was the one who gave you the opportunity to attend university in the first place, it was always difficult to maintain a healthy student-teacher relationship, especially in the field of the arts. Hungry and impatient to improve, it was the teacher’s responsibility to make sure that they pressured their students but also know their limits. Push too much and they’d suffer the possibility of a mental breakdown, but not enough and the years of time, work and patience would all be for nothing
Taking a few minutes to massage your cramping fingers and tender wrists, you couldn’t help but burn holes and glare at your own hands.
“Is it really that fucking hard to follow the stupid numbers written on the damn sheet music? Useless. Absolutely useless,” you swore.
After another minute of self-deprecating criticism and voiceless outrage, you felt your throat constrict as frustration welled up inside your chest as questions of your own purpose began to arise. What were you doing with your life? Was this stupid degree really worth it? How were you even going to get a job with a degree in music?
“Idiot...” You muttered to yourself but stared coldly at the wooden creature directly in front of you. Cracking your knuckles, you took in a deep breath, held it for two seconds, and exhaled as calmly as you could. Concentrating on the finger numbers scribbled down above the notes, you gulped in anticipation, determined to get the last line of the piece down by tonight. One more time.
You’d been here since lunch and even opted to skip dinner just to save an hour to practice. Your professor sometimes came in at random to help supplement your practice hours, but it almost always ended up with him leaving an hour later, equally frustrated at the level of progress you hadn’t accomplished. It wasn’t your fault you didn’t do well under pressure, but you understood where he was coming from. Playing was hard, but playing with an audience was even harder.
Playing the first few minutes of Chopin’s Fantaisie Impromptu had now become a breeze, but the last section was always the part where you couldn’t take it anymore. Your fingertips became sweatier than a marathon runner’s forehead, your hands cramped like divers who had the bends, and your wrists felt like they had brick blocks tied to them at the joint.
14 sheets, seven pages, 138 measures, sixteenths on the right hand, and triplets on the left. The pain, tireless hours of practice, and feeling of desperation in the pursuit of the perfect chance to play— all that for six minutes of pure, unadulterated beauty. The puzzle pieces that clicked together in perfect harmony. In that precise moment, it was pure bliss.
In that exact moment, it was just you and the music.
You couldn’t describe how free you felt when you played. Each time your fingertips pressed down on the weighted keys, the melodic sound that reverberated deeply and throughout the room was what you lived for. It was a last-minute whim decision when you chose piano as your major. Sure, you’d been playing it since you were a child and loved it more than anything else, but you secretly worried that they’d fear for your future. Understandable, considering their generalized opinions on art majors, but thankfully, they were nothing short of supportive.
Originally, you planned to get into the business trend like everyone else. Truth be told, you didn’t know what you wanted to be, and that scared you, so it seemed like a safe, cookie-cutter option. While your classmates stressed out about finals, entrance exams, extracurriculars, job hours, and college applications, you went through a phase of feeling adrift. Lost, confused, conflicted, and utterly desperate in search of what you wanted to pursue in life, your overwhelmed mind remembered that you actually played an instrument.
You would be lying if you said the idea initially didn’t terrify you. What would you do with a degree in the music field? Playing was always a self-satisfying activity rather than something you did for attention, so you had no desire to play for an audience, therefore, playing as an accompanist was out of the question. To add to it, you couldn’t compose new pieces to save your life, so being a producer was also checked off early. Then you came across the idea of being a music teacher, which for some blindly stupid reason, you didn’t think first. Money was never the ultimate goal for you, and the opportunity to share your passion and knowledge with others clicked with you instantly.
Getting admitted into one of the country’s best art universities was something that you never envisioned happening in your wildest dreams. The audition was the first time you had ever played for an actual audience, and to say it went perfectly would be a painfully embarrassing lie. It was also your first time playing a high-quality grand piano, which added to the already intense pressure. You remember all-too-clearly how your fingers fumbled over the glossy, attributed to how you weren’t used to the feel of the new model of instrument, and you even messed up on the middle section of the piece. However, somehow, through the unexplainable, miraculous, and impossible powers of the universe, the panel of professors saw something in you and admitted you on a partial scholarship.
That short-lived period was already four years ago, and you were now in your second year of your master’s degree in the school’s associated graduate school. One more year and you were ready to venture off into the world as an adult. 
Shaking off the storm of flashbacks and anxiety of foreshadowing you didn’t have the capacity to deal with right now, you turned back to the crumpled pages in front of you. Starting from the very beginning, your fingers began carrying themselves across the keyboard, allowing your muscle memory to come in swifter than a lightning strike. Scanning over the tornado of notes with quick eyes, your heart began beating faster as a familiar ache began to spread throughout your fingers. Pushing through the middle measure before the end, you willed yourself to get it right this time.
Once the ending excerpt began, you begged your hands to hold on for another minute. That was all you needed. Just one more minute…
Before you knew it, you had already sped through the remaining bars of music and finally made it to the last line, slowing down the tempo and letting the last few notes reverberate as they faded to quiet nothingness.  
You did it.
Shooting up from the crinkly leather seat, you hopped around like a sugar-high energizer bunny. You finally did it. Nine treacherous hours of fruitlessly pounding at the keys and nearly tearing your hair out, and you finally did it. Maybe it was the delirium from yesterday’s all-nighter or the hunger starting to kick in, but you suddenly felt a rush of blood make its way to your head, causing you to clutch your temple and hunch over the piano for support. Taking it as a signal from your body that it was on the brink of breaking down, you decided to call it a night.
Packing up your things, you bid one last farewell to the creaking percussion instrument before clicking off the lights and leaving the room.
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It was always a breathtaking experience walking through campus. The rustic buildings, blooming plant life, bustling students, and even the poorly paved concrete sidewalk made it all the more like home. As a student in the art department of the school, the secondary campus was smaller but more well-spaced than the main campus. Rather than have a bundle of tightly-knit classrooms arranged directly next to each other, the arts campus consisted of three main buildings that were spaced far apart and divided by green lawns and tree-lined pathways.
You were so distracted by your dream-like trance, you didn’t realize that you were already five minutes late for your lecture. Murmuring a string of curse words at yourself, you nearly ran into a lamppost before dashing across the lawn to class.
In a record time of two minutes, you managed to make it to the front door of the lecture hall. Willing yourself to breathe rhythmically to slow down your racing heart and strained panting, you slowly opened the door to see that an exponentially large number of students were still shuffling into their seats. Thankfully, Professor Powell was also in the midst of organizing the scattered papers on his desk but noticed you poking your head through the cracked open door. Ushering you in with a collected welcome, you bowed your head in a silent nod of appreciation and scurried to the few remaining seats available.
Looking around the strangely crowded room, you saw that the usual number of 20 to 30 people was now a lump sum of about 40 people. You recognized about half of the ones as those who shared your major, but the remaining were complete strangers. A loud cough and clapping of hands silenced the chattering students, making everyone turned their attention to the front of the class.
“Thank you all for making it today,” he announced. “You may have noticed that—”
The sound of the door swinging open halted the professor’s words as a student waltzed in. Sporting a black hoodie with torn jeans to match, you could barely make out the few stray hairs of beige blonde hair that poked out from underneath. His piercing stare could practically be felt from a mile away, and he made no comment or apology for his late entrance. Not even giving a second look to Professor Powell, the blonde boy found himself an empty seat in the back of the class, causing everyone around him to shift uncomfortably. Tossing his backpack carelessly to the floor, his presence alone was threatening enough to send chills down your spine.
Clearing his throat, the professor composed his thoughts before resuming speaking. “As I was saying,” he hummed. “You may have noticed that today’s class is particularly ample and that there are a few faces that aren’t in this major.”
The students all looked around in unison, picking out the faces they could clearly recognize and ever-so-slightly frowning in confusion at the ones they didn’t. A wave of quiet murmurs spread across the entire room, causing Professor Powell’s hands to clap aloud once more in an attempt to gather everyone’s attention. 
“If you’ll all direct to the syllabus being handed out to you, you will find the rubric of your semester final project,” he enunciated. As if by cue, the person directly in front of you passed you a thick stack of papers. Peeling a page from the mountain of sheets, your eyebrows cinched together at the bold text. 
MUS302 Semester Final Project
“Now,” his voice boomed. “I’m aware that we still have four months before final exams are administered, but since this is a special occasion, you may find the extra time useful.”
You couldn’t hold back the nasal ‘hmph’ that escaped your throat. This had to be a practical joke. Your professor was never one to assign group projects, and this was certainly something that had never been done once in the history of the entire school. What was different? Apparently, you weren’t the only one who was dumbfounded at the news. A hum of voices began to arise as all the kids in the classroom began whispering to each other, the pre-meditated gossip already spreading like wildfire. 
“I know that group projects aren’t exactly a common occurrence in this class and a collaboration with a group of students in a different major has never been done before, but music does not discriminate.” His firm words seemed to silence the loudmouths, replacing their incessant chatter with a few awkward coughs. 
“This project will be worth 65% of your final grade and will replace your usual paper-formatted exam. It is mandatory, there will be no excuses, makeups, grade curves or supplementary extra credit, and it will go on your permanent transcript.” Taking the silent air in the classroom as an indication of their understanding, he managed to force out a tight smile through his enunciated words.
“Alright then. I will be choosing your partners for you and there will be no switching. Complain and email me about it and it will result in an automatic fail.” Sensing his stern tone, no one dared utter as much as a single moan of disapproval. 
Professor Powell had a reputation for being one of the strictest teachers in the entire school, and it didn’t come without a reason. Within the first week of the semester, nearly half of the students always dropped his class. Although the reasons ran few and far between the inflexible grade curve and his borderline terrifying aura, not a single person doubted his raw ability and talent in the field of music. He was a legend and to learn under him was an honor in and of itself. 
You were eternally grateful that you were able to get on his good side from the first time you encountered him at your audition, but that didn’t stop him from pushing equally, if not, even harder, than the rest of his students. His ardent passion for music and methods of teaching were of a caliber you’d never witnessed before and from the moment you stepped inside his classroom, you knew he would ignite and fuel your love for music more than flaming embers themselves. 
“I will call your names in pairs and you will come up, sign your names on this sheet, and collect your partner record sheets. On this sheet, you will write down the dates and hours in which you have spent working on the assignment together—” he emphasized, “—and the progress you have made if any. Details of the project will be explained once everyone is all paired up.”
He began calling out random names in couples of two. The process of walking down the tiered seating, awkwardly greeting each other, signing names, and trudging back to their seats became so repetitive, you didn’t even notice that your name wasn’t called.
The professor's voice boomed once more, snapping you out of your daze. “If you were not called, please come see me after class.” Instantly, the people who shared your classes all turned to face you like a stack of falling dominos. Was it really that obvious? You weren’t aware that anyone knew your name, let alone the fact that you even existed.  
Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you tried to ignore the feeling of burning stares as you listened intently to what Professor Powell had to say next. You even went as far as taking notes to try and distract yourself from the eyes that lingered.
“This project is all about vulnerability.” His choice of words was surprising. Rather than go with the trust and teamwork trope, he decided to play the liability card. “You and your partner will be responsible for constructing an entirely new piece that embodies your two souls as musicians.” The sudden and clearly obvious attempt at being dramatic caused a couple chuckles to erupt from the room, making the professor laugh lightly as well. 
“The piece should be a mixture of classical piano and may or may not involve the use of the composition majors’ programs or software. The time limit is a maximum of six minutes and the bare minimum is two. The piece needs to be one that constitutes who you are as artists,” he articulated. “The audience needs to see—feel—who you are through the music. Your happiest and most beautiful memories, your deepest secrets, and even your most painful experiences. Therefore, this requires you to get to know each other not just as musicians and creators but as human beings. Everything needs to be laid out on the table.”
Holding his hands behind his back, he started pacing slowly across the classroom, intent on making sure that the class understood the magnitude of importance this project encompassed. “You will argue, laugh, smile, cry, and you may even want to tear each other’s throats out with your teeth like feral packs of starving wolves—but know this; no matter the journey or path you choose to venture on, I guarantee that you will all come out of this as stronger musicians and even better artists.”
Everyone was nose-deep in their notebooks, jotting down each and every single word that came out of the professor’s mouth in an effort that it would secure them a better grade. Of course, you knew better than anyone that success in this class was never shown—it was earned.
“The deadline is the same week as finals and each piece will be performed in the school’s concert hall.” Looking around at the already-tired and worn out students, he opted to be the bearer of good news for the day. “I’ll be nice and let you all out early today,” he chuckled. “Go on and—” 
Even before he finished his sentence, everyone was scurrying out of the class like a pack of rabid wolves eager for a new hunt. Sighing in exhaustion from the night before, your eyes wandered around the vacant classroom and settled on the black hooded figure sat across the room. Startled to see that he was glaring at you, you started hiccuping. Picking up your bag, you panicked and hurried to the front of the classroom, remembering what your professor had said about not having your name called.
“Professor?” you peeped quietly, already anxious at what he was going to say.
Pausing the shuffling of his papers, he turned to face you. “Ah, _____,” he noted. Beckoning to someone behind you, you could only assume the worst as the sound of scuffling feet made its way to you. “You will be working with Yoongi for this project.”
An audible gulp escaped when you tried to swallow down your apprehension. Facing the figure that was now standing beside you, he had taken off his hood, leaving his messy beige blonde hair exposed in all its glory. Now that you were standing close to him, you even saw the glint of a small hoop earring when the sunlight bounced off of his ear. You forced out an apprehensive smile and held out your hand as a greeting. The passing silence gave you an opportunity to study his facial features as well. With smooth pale skin, angular cat-eyes, and a soft but chiseled face to tie it all together, it would be a sin to deny that he was indeed good looking. 
‘Heartbreaker,’ you immediately thought.
“I’m _____,” you greeted as warmly as you could, given the tension in the air. Why was he acting like you’d just kidnapped and hopped past three state borders with his pet hamster? Exactly four seconds had passed, (yes, you counted) and he simply raised an eyebrow at your feeble attempt at a civilized handshake. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, making you wonder if he was too lazy to pull them out or if he acted like this with the general population. To save your already-bruised ego, you opted to go for option C. Maybe his hands were cold.
Still quirking an eyebrow at your hand, you quickly lowered it, looping your finger under the strap of your backpack to hide your embarrassment. “I’m aware,” he commented dryly. Furrowing your brows slightly, you tried not to show your evident confusion. Had you two met before?
“Ahem. _____, I’d like to politely introduce you to Mr. Min Yoongi; your equal in my composition class,” the professor filled in, trying to ease the tension. “He is another one of the school’s prodigies and my star students, so I thought it’d be best if the two of you partnered together for this project. Seeing as you two excel greatly in your respective fields and are of the highest ranking in your major, it should be a breeze.” Professor Powell drawled out the last word, making you quirk your head. His tone was too sarcastic for your liking.
“Pleasure,” Yoongi said with a hoarse purr in his voice, lifting his chin as a makeshift nod of acknowledgment, you pressed your lips together tightly in response. He still had his hands tucked in his pockets. When you turned back to Professor Powell, he had already gathered his things and was waving goodbye, the closing whoosh of the door leaving you alone with the cold embodied demon of a boy. Great.
“Do you want to—” You tried to initiate a conversation but were cut off by his immediate words.
“Here’s my number. Text me when you want to work on the project. Don’t bother if it’s about anything else.” With a sullen and near spiteful tone, he handed you a torn piece of paper with a scribble of numbers on it. Just as you were about to ask him if he had time today, he was already out the door.
You scoffed. “What the hell is his problem?” you seethed. It wasn’t like you had crossed paths with him, nor were you aware of any instances in which you’d even met him. Hell, you didn’t even have any friends. 
Examining the bundle of scribbles on the torn piece of paper, you begrudgingly added the number into your phone. 
“Min...” You began typing but smirked when another nickname came into mind. “Min Salty.” Not the best nickname you could’ve come up with, but wasn’t any worse than his shitshow of an attitude. Raking your hands through your hair in sheer frustration, you told yourself to calm down and compose yourself. You had to push through for the project. This grade meant everything and you’d be damned if you let some jerkwad of a pre-pubescent boy mess it up for you. 
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Two weeks passed and you had yet to speak to Yoongi about the project. You could have messaged to him as soon as he gave you his number, but each time you typed up a text to send, it ended up being saved as a draft. Your pride mocked you, asking questions like, “Why hasn’t he texted you?” or “Why should you be the one to text first?” In reality, it didn’t matter who texted who and it was past the line of being childish. If that was the case, then why couldn’t you just press the stupid fucking send button?  
In actuality, you were the least bit ashamed to admit that you were intimidated by him. Whenever you tried to approach him in the hallways during passing periods, you were met with a menacing glare that made you curl back into your shell like a hermit crab. On top of that, whenever you did manage to single him out in the crowded parts of the campus, he’d oh-so-conveniently start walking in the exact opposite direction, almost as if he was purposely avoiding you. 
Then the fateful day came when you gathered all the courage you could muster and caught him strolling into the on-campus café. You had him cornered. Entering the comfy bistro, the familiar chime of bells and the warm scent of ground coffee welcomed you with open arms. 
Searching through the crowded tables, your eyes landed on a single person sitting alone by the window booth. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Perching his hand under his chin while looking through the clear glass, his eyes bore the same expression as they did when you first met them; rigid and burning with intensity, yet lost and precarious. When he turned his head around, his stare widened for a moment when he noticed you. Quickly ducking down, you shifted your jaw and huffed. Did he think you were blind or something?
Puckering your lips, you marched over to the booth while feigning conviction in your walk. Fake it until you make it, right? At least, that’s what all the cool kids used to say...
“Hi,” you greeted as you sat down. Yoongi’s eyes refused to me yours and kept writing down notes, choosing to maintain his focus on his laptop screen. “Hey,” he replied curtly. Biting down on your lower lip, you pulled out your laptop and began talking about the project. It wasn’t worth it to pick a fight today. You had a project to start. 
“So I was thinking—” 
“I have to get to my next lecture,” he droned, voice completely null and void of any detectable honest emotion. “Text me later.” Jotting down something quickly in his notebook, he folded up his stuff and practically shoveled it into his bag before getting up and running off. 
“But—” you sputtered. But of course, he was already out the door. Judging by his short paces and urgency to get as far away from you as possible, he was probably skittering halfway across the campus by now. 
Clenching your jaw, you bit down as hard as you could on your teeth as if you were getting stitches without anesthesia. What the actual hell was his problem? Did you say something that offended him? Were you secretly the reincarnation of someone who murdered him in his past life? Then you found yourself asking the same question once again: Had you even met him before this semester? 
Hunching over the table, your fist slammed down on the wooden surface, earning a few judgmental stares here and there from bystanders. Complain to the professor and get a fail. Partner with Min Yoongi and get a fail. “Work” with Min Yoongi and get a fail because the word itself would entail absolutely nothing, therefore, nothing would actually ever get done. 
It was at that moment you realized that you were absolutely and royally fucked.  
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Another week passed and you were already past the point of giving up. You managed to catch Yoongi a few more times and have a 15-second conversation with him before he bullshitted that he had a lecture to go to. 
Yoongi was intentionally avoiding you. The best part? 
You hadn’t a single clue why. Even though it was pointless to mope around and sulk like a wilting houseplant, you still made it to your daily self-practice sessions. Strangely enough, your professor never made any well-timed entrances during the midst of your playing, making you wonder whether it was because of the project or if he was simply busy with other things. 
After three weeks of stressing out over the project that you hadn’t even started yet, a night well-spent in the practice room seemed like the perfect way to blow off some steam. Sure, playing while you were at your happiest and most joyful was the most enjoyable experience, but grazing and striking down on the keys while you were holding something deep inside of you was something entirely different. It was almost an out-of-body release; physically, emotionally, and mentally. 
Once you were trapped in the practice room for a couple of hours and finished pounding out your frustrations, (and hearing the growl of your stomach) your mind was exhausted and spent. You could’ve sworn that you heard a distant humming of music coming from the room next door, but maybe it was just your ears playing tricks on you. No one else was ever here at this hour...
When it didn’t fade after a couple seconds, you started to get creeped out. Poking your head through the crack of the door and into the dimly lit hallways, you looked left and right as you tried to find the source of the humming. Were the ceiling pipes leaking? A minute of trying to think of what the sound could be when a loud thump reverberated four doors down from yours. 
Tip-toeing carefully to the slightly ajar door, you crinkled your face each time your shoes squeaked on the floor. Now that you were in front of the door, the humming and thumping wasn’t actually just white noise, but rather the sound of a melodic chorus playing from inside.
The euphonious sound of the piano and an added bass made your eyes drift shut, the harmony of the notes slowly lulling you into a trance of serene relaxation. You couldn’t hold back your curiosity any longer. Telling yourself you’d regret it later, you stood up from your hunched position and glanced through the clear pane of the door. Moonlight streaked into the enclosed space and onto the glossy shell of the piano, bouncing off and reflecting onto the face of a person. 
Min Yoongi. 
Your mouth parted in surprise. Why was he here this late? Did he compose this himself? Was this for the project? A plethora of questions suddenly plagued your mind—but the most prominent of all presented itself on a silver platter.
Why wasn’t he playing?
You narrowed your eyes and blinked forcefully, trying to see if your eyes were deceiving you. There was music playing and it was, in fact, coming from this exact room. However, his hands were resting comfortably on his lap and his eyes seemed to be staring with disdain at the instrument. 
“It must be coming from the speakers...” you thought. “Of course, it’s coming from the speakers, you idiot...”
The music suddenly shifted in tone; the bass became heavier, the tempo quickened, and a synth pad followed an orchestra of strings. As the piano keys slowly thinned out into a hushed melody, it went from being the main instrument at the start of the piece to nothing more than background static. 
With each passing section, the piece became darker as the once soothing melody became distressed and tortured. Yoongi was sitting as calmly as ever in the leather chair of the piano. Resting with a slight hunch in his back, his head was leaning to one side as he continued to stare ominously at the uncovered black and white keys. 
When the piece reached the end of its crescendo, the tune ended abruptly without a brighter finishing section or lively coda. It was over. At the same moment, Yoongi’s blank gaze found its way to yours. He blinked out of his sullen daze and when your eyes met each other’s you could’ve sworn his eyes were watering. Remembering that your mouth was still parted, you clamped your jaw shut and widened your eyes. Then, without giving it a second thought, you sprinted down the hall and ran across the campus back to the dorms. 
For the rest of the night, you couldn’t find it in yourself to fall asleep. Every fiber of your being tossed and turned throughout the night as your mind desperately tried to repress the question. Hours of sweating, shuffling around in the blankets, and a couple bathroom trips later, you kicked off the covers and placed your hand on your burning forehead. It was no use—the question burned a hole inside your heart like a raging fire that showed no signs of extinguishing. 
What was Min Yoongi hiding? 
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Throughout your life, you hadn’t had the honor of meeting many people who had infuriated you half as much as Min Yoongi did. The end of another unproductive week was nearing and you had yet to start on the project. Enough was enough.
Throwing your things into your backpack, you thanked your teacher for the class and then proceeded to dash across the lawn to the Bungalow Building. Weeks of constantly trying to find Yoongi and catch him by the collar after class had left you with detailed knowledge of his schedule and classes. Others may call it stalking, but you preferred to call it chance determination. 
Standing outside door 240, you stood anxiously on your heels while you waited for the students to pour out. When they did, you peeked in to see Yoongi slouched on his desk, clearly in no hurry judging by how sluggishly he was collecting his things. It was now or never. 
Waving a small greeting and excusing yourself for entering the classroom, you gestured to Yoongi in the hopes that the professor would understand. Thankfully, she simply smiled in return and carried on with her business of gathering papers. 
You practically skipped like a child to where he was sat, satisfied at the revelation that he had nowhere to run. Standing over his desk, you slammed your palms onto his table and made him jump at the sudden impact. His eyebrows turned into a questioning frown and he stared at you with a vacant expression.
“We’re working on the project today.” Stating your main point firmly, his mouth opened to say something, but you weren’t letting him win today. 
“Don’t say that you have to get to a lecture because I know damn well that this was your last class for today. Professor Powell told me that you don’t work so you don’t exactly have a job that you need to go to, so you can cross that off of your excuse list, too,” you rambled.
His mouth was still parted open, but his face suddenly morphed into an awestruck smirk. Your heart was pouring out the never ending buckets of frustration and humiliation, and at this point, it was evident to you that your emotions had full control over your head. 
“To add to that, our project is due in three months and we have spent the past month doing absolutely nothing, and I’m not sure about you, but I don’t exactly plan on failing this class because my asshole of a partner hates my guts for some godforsaken unknown reason.” 
Taking a moment to take in a much-needed breath of air, Yoongi shut his mouth and nibbled on the inside of his cheek in order to hold back a cocky grin. Darting his tongue out to wet his lips, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and stood up, height now towering over you. 
“I was going to say that I got started on the first subject,” he grinned with pure insolence saturating his voice. Studying your reaction with heavy eyes, he raised his eyebrow for a split second as arrogance practically seeped from every speck of his face. 
His unintentional actions and fully intentional methods of provoking you all these weeks had indeed tested your patience, but also helped you grow a thick skin to rebuke his antics. All you could do was clench down on your jaw and compel yourself to grin. 
“Off to the café then?” you offered, voice sounding a little too sweet for your own good. Shrugging nonchalantly, he trailed behind you as the two of you began en route to the place where you would hopefully manage to get something done. Strong emphasis on hopefully.
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As you eyes grazed over the waves of notes, you could only bear an expression of awe and amazement; the chorus was breathtaking. 
“You wrote this?” you coughed, nearly sputtering out your coffee. 
Swishing his drink around his mouth carelessly, he gave you a curt nod. 
“Why didn’t you–you should’ve called or—” Your brain was short circuiting like a cheap computer monitor as you tried to find the right words to say. “This is supposed to be a group project, we have—”
“I work better alone.” He stated it as if it were a fact that everyone with common sense knew by heart.  
Gulping down another mouthful of your scorching hot drink, you told yourself that the burning sensation was just the liquid courage doing its work, gathering the confidence to carry on the conversation. “Is this what you were playing in the studio the other day?” 
In the process of bringing the porcelain cup to his lips, he froze halfway. His Adam's apple bobbed and he licked his lips before setting the cup back down. “I wasn’t playing...” he replied quietly, staring at his hands that were now fumbling in his lap. 
Tension immediately filled the air as you ran out of things to say. “Do you hate me?” you asked bluntly. Judging by the way his eyes shot up immediately and widened, you took it as a sign that he was taken aback by your straightforward and bold query. 
“I—” he stuttered. “I don’t—”
Seeing the way his tongue tangled on his words made you let out an amused chuckle. It was the first time you’d witnessed his cool guy image crack. Gaining newfound confidence at the way he crumbled, you leaned forward and leaned your cheek against your hand, propping up your elbow. 
“Why?” you asked simply. There had to be some kind of reason, right?
“I don’t hate you,” he answered firmly, his cold personality resurfacing once again. “Can we get back to the project now?” 
Narrowing your eyes at his defensive attitude, you opted to go for your second icebreaker. “What were you doing alone in the studio that late?”
Yoongi’s eyes remained stone cold when he spoke. “What were you doing in the studio that late?” he retorted. His smart mouth made you want to wipe the table with his smirking face. 
Deciding to drop the topic, you bit your tongue to told back the flurry of curse words that would definitely explode if you opened your mouth. “What do you want the theme for the piece to be?” Thinking quick on your feet, you remembered that you had an assignment to work on. 
“Do you usually write—” you paused to try and think of a way to say it that wouldn’t offend him. “—mellow tempo songs?” 
“If you’re asking if I only write depressing shit, the answer should be obvious,” he spat out harshly. You swore his mood changed quicker than the water pressure in your dorm shower.
“I just wanted to get to know you as a person. What kind of music you like to listen to, the genres you prefer to write—” you rambled nervously, trying to back up your earlier question. 
Slamming down his cup onto the table, you were couldn’t tell what surprised you more—the fact that the cup didn’t shatter or that he was already ticked off. “How about you stop acting like you’re genuinely interested in getting to know me for the sake of a fucking project and focus on getting this shit done as soon as possible?” he hissed through a locked jaw. 
You couldn’t hold back the nasal huff that came out. “I’m not—”
But before you could defend yourself, Yoongi had already collected all of his things and stood up. Gritting his teeth, you could practically smell the smoke coming off of his head.  
“Practice room 2B at 3:00 tomorrow. Don’t be late.” With the meetup sounding more like a threat than anything, he turned away and strolled out without as much as a second glance. 
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For as long as you could remember, you’d always been a fighter. Hardheaded would be another word for it, but you were too stubborn to even admit that. When the teacher finished up summarizing the lecture and thanked the class for their attendance, your heart instantly felt heavier. Each step you took closer to the designated practice room felt like trekking in quicksand. Why did you always seem to suffocate at the thought of Yoongi?  
Occupied by your racing thoughts, you were already at the front of the practice room. Cracking open the door, your eyes instantly landed on Yoongi. He was sitting in front of the piano with an unreadable expression. Sorrow? Pain? Anger? Today, he was wearing a graffiti patterned black hoodie—with the hood slung over his head, of course—and his signature distressed jeans. 
Coughing lightly, your presence broke him out of his trance. Raising his head to you in the same half-ass nod he gave you at your first meeting, you brushed it off, grateful that he even acknowledged you at all. 
Yoongi stood up and pulled out a separate chair, placing it beside the piano so that it was a healthy distance from you and the instrument. Thanking him silently for giving you the leather seat, he took out a few pages of blank sheet paper and placed it on top of his notebook. 
“Do you want to play what you came up with?” he asked dryly, clearly already bored out of his mind. Clearing your throat out of habit, your hands started to fumble with each other as your nerves washed over you yet again. 
“Here’s the thing...” you started, chuckling awkwardly. “I’m really bad at composing structured pieces?” The confession came out in the form of a question rather than a fact due to your high-pitched voice. It took you by surprise when he didn’t interrupt you this time around. 
Assuming you weren’t finished with your statement, Yoongi kept his eyes glued on you with an eyebrow raised. God, you could practically drown yourself in the amount of hypercriticism he emitted. 
“But I’m pretty sub-par at improvising,” you quickly said, hoping you would be able to make it at least two minutes without getting on his bad side today. 
Leaning back into his chair, he set his notebook down and crossed his arms. “Go for it,” he exhaled, gesturing to the piano with a jut of his chin. 
With cold hands, scratchy throat, a racing heart, and nerves that almost made you hiccup, your fingers touched the keys and instantly made you feel at ease. Closing your eyes, you stroked over the smoothly glazed plaques of wood and breathed in deeply, tuning out your surroundings like the flick of a light switch. 
You started off with a soft waltz; simple, light, and sweet. The tune took you back to the days of your first piano lessons with your mother, the gentle melody making the memories of your carefree childhood resurface like swirls of smoke. 
Improvising the second subject, you found yourself playing a much darker and somber chorus than you usually did. As you began pressing into the keys with an urgency you didn’t know you had, your memories became melancholy, bringing you to the times in high school; the long nights when you would walk through the empty field and think about what you wanted in life; the endless days when you felt lost; the feeling of emptiness that still lingered within you to this day. 
“Everything needs to be laid out on the table,” you professor’s words echoed in your head like a broken record. 
Coming to the end of the phrase, your mind wandered to the future, envisioning a life where you would not only be successful and make lots of money, but have a career in your field of passion; one where you could spread your love of music with others and maybe help them find themselves as well. 
Transitioning smoothly into the familiar style you usually stuck with, the lighthearted song filled the room like morning fog. Soon enough, the piece came to an end, and you were left in the quiet space that was the studio. Your fingers still lingered on the keys, the tingling sensation of satisfaction and self-accomplishment lasting for only as short as the piece had gone by. 
Finally pulling away from the keyboard, you turned your head to see Yoongi studying the piano with a half-lidded gaze. Snapping his head out of his trance-like state, he swallowed tentatively and nodded his head. 
“You were right,” he started. “You are pretty sub-par at improv.” 
You took slight offense to his harsh and judgmental tone, but when you the smirk creep up on the corner of his lip, you punched his shoulder jokingly. 
“Ass...” you mumbled, making him let out a ghost of a chuckle as well in response. Raising his hands up in defense, he shrugged his shoulders and made a playful expression. Was it you or did his mood just do a full 180?
Looking down into your lap, you massaged your hands habitually, the remnants of tingling nerves and rushing adrenaline still coursing through your fingertips. Whenever you were around Yoongi, moments between speaking always felt like ominous intervals before the next argument or uneasy pauses filled with dread, but the previous five seconds was a scene you’d pay a million dollars to relive over and over again.
“So, what does the genius Min Yoongi have in mind for the finalized piece?” you wondered out loud, taking his momentary decent mood as an opportunity to spark up a civil conversation for once. Rubbing the back of his neck, he hung his head and stared at the ground awkwardly as his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek. 
“That’s his thinking face…” you noted. For some reason, you had a gut feeling that you’d become well-acquainted with it by the end of the semester. 
“Let’s just start from the beginning,” he replied, speaking more to himself than to you. Reorganizing the sheets of paper on his lap, he twirled his pencil in his hand and began scribbling down a series of notes. After a couple minutes of craning your neck at an uncomfortable angle to see what he was writing down, he placed the page onto the music rest in front of you.
Your jaw nearly unhinged from its socket.
Pointing at the fully marked sheet of paper, you were able to make out the sections of music you heard that night when he was alone in the practice room as well as parts of the improvised piece you had just played a mere few minutes ago.
“How the hell did you do that…” you spoke softly, staring in complete awe. Raising an eyebrow as if you had just asked what color grass was, it took him a few seconds before he comprehended your question.
“Oh. I’m pretty good at memorizing music,” he stated matter-of-factly. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Tucking your chin down and staring at him with an ‘are you being serious right now’ expression, your jaw was still agape. “Yoongi, you memorized and transcribed a piece that I practically pulled out of my ass and combined it with yours perfectly.”
When you tried to emphasize each word so that he would be able to understand your shell-shocked state, he just shrugged. You even counted the four words you dragged out on your fingers, but he could have cared less.
“Like I said,” he spoke with a pout. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But—" you stuttered.
Cracking his neck to stop you from blubbering any more nonsense, he pointed to the page in front of you. “Do you want to get this project started or what?” Nodding a little too enthusiastically for your own good, the two of you went to work on the piece. 
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Days blurred into weeks as you and Yoongi started to warm up to each other. Some days, you’d find yourselves getting overwhelmed by the blurred papers of notes and out-of-tune chords, and the only way you refrained from murdering each other was to take long breaks. Sometimes you’d talk and other times it’d just be five minutes of painful silence. 
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“It’s not right,” Yoongi huffed to himself. Running his hands through his hair, he slanted his head and scowled at the piano. 
Freezing your hands and hovering over the keys you’d just played, you felt your mouth go chalky. “Are you– do you mean the chord or– the way I played it?” you squeaked, not entirely used to his unpredictable temper tantrums. 
Waving his hands assuringly, he shook his head. “No, no, no, it’s not you,” he grumbled. “You didn’t do anything wrong, don’t worry.”
Blinking at his suddenly gentle temperament and caring response, you sat still for a few more seconds while he paced around the room with his copy of notes in hand. Gnawing the inside of your cheek, you played from the beginning section of the excerpt, but rather than play the entire measure with the assigned minor chord, you switched a couple bars to their equivalent major key. This, in turn, caused the formerly sullen and melancholic tune to shift into a brighter and happier theme. 
The slight change in scale made Yoongi’s ears perk up like a cat. Walking back over to where you were sat, he gestured with his hands in a circled scooping motion, urging you to repeat whatever you just did. Holding back a snort at his childish reaction, you shook your head and grinned as you replayed the excerpt.
Furrowing his brows in confusion, he looked at his sheets and at the keys you’d changed, moving back and forth between the keyboard and his notes. “Hmph...” he hummed against his throat. “Nice job.” Erasing a few of the notes and copying them down onto his paper, he tapped the sheet with the end of his pencil and waited for you to continue playing. 
Nostrils flaring at the plain and seemingly backhanded compliment, you squinted your eyes and pushed out a forced toothless smile and accepted the recognition nonetheless. 
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“Yoongi?” Your voice came out hesitant.
Not looking up from the paper he was doodling on, he let out a faint 'hmph.’ 
“Why don’t you play?” The question came out in a whisper quiet enough not to disturb a sleeping baby. 
Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat immediately as he clenched his pen. Balling his other hand into a fist, his knuckles turned white at the sheer force, and his jaw muscles tensed with a ripple. Slamming his pen down, the crack of plastic could be heard throughout the room.
“I don’t play.” Although his answer was short and simple, his unnerving tone said otherwise. 
“Bullshit,” you called out instantly. “Everyone in comp plays and you know the theory for it better than anyone.” 
“Anymore,” he added, teeth gritting as his fist crumpled the piece of paper he was writing on. 
“Why?” you asked mindlessly. He wasn’t getting away from you this easily. There had to be a reason. 
“I just don’t, okay?!” he shouted all of a sudden. Shooting up from his seat, he lashed out at you with malice, hostility dripping like a deadly venom that had no antidote. 
Collecting his things, he stomped out of the room and made sure to slam the door on his way out, leaving you alone in the room you had gotten too used to being by yourself in. Tears began to prickle your eyes but you swallowed them down along with the growing lump in your throat. You didn’t have a single reason to cry, let alone for him, so why did it seem like your emotions were betraying you?
Hiding in the alley next to the music building, Yoongi leaned against the cold brick wall for support. Breathing heavily, his throat was as dry as sandpaper and his tongue felt like it was superglued to the roof of his mouth, while his shaky hand was pressing on his chest, willing himself to calm down. 
His pulse was racing faster than the engine of a sports car and it felt like his heart was pounding so hard against his ribcage that it was about to shatter. Each time he inhaled deeply, it was as if he didn’t have room to exhale and his lungs felt like they were balloons one single puff from bursting. 
Shutting his eyes tightly, he counted backward from ten. The aching lump in his throat made its way up to his eyes as the budding tears made his eyes glassy. 
“It’s not working,” he pointed out to himself. “Why isn’t it fucking working?”
The hands that were always buried inside his hoodie, still and unmoving were now shaking violently like drops of water on a burning hot and oiled pan. A gut-churning feeling began bubbling in his stomach as the visceral reaction at your statement triggered him into a full-blown panic attack. 
“Just fucking breathe,” he panted, struggling to not choke between gulps of air. 
Everything around him started to feel heavy as his limbs nearly collapsed under him like a row of dominoes. Bending down into a crouching position, he supported himself against the wall and tucked his head into his knees. 
“It’s okay,” he told himself. “You’re okay.”
Squeezing his hands with a painful and near numbing amount of pressure, Yoongi took a few more deep breaths until his tears dried into stains on his cheeks. 
Never again...
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Slamming your fingers onto the chord, annoyance began to take over like a plague. This was the 44th time Yoongi had made you play the last segment of the piece. Forty. Fourth. He hadn’t asked you to, no, no no—he quote on quote “agitatedly requested” it. 
“Yoongi,” you sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of your nose as your elbows slammed onto the keys, producing a sickeningly unpleasant and revolting sound. For some reason, it actually made you feel relieved to hear a different sound that wasn’t the same set of chords that you’d been repeating or Yoongi’s incessant badgering. 
“We’ve been trying to fix this for two hours straight and I’m sure nothing’s in need of fixing,” you reasoned. “Can we please just take a two-minute break?” Wincing unconsciously, your face contorted into a pained expression as you massaged your burning fingers and aching forearms. 
There were three sections of the piece. Yoongi decided to construct the format based off of what a sonata would be; the exposition, development, and recapitulation. It was also fancy talk for a lively beginning, depressing middle, and a combined ending of the two. 
If playing the 6-minute piece wasn’t torture enough, it was your genius idea to incorporate a thrilling finishing coda, which was basically a shitstorm of flying hands with steroid-filled trills, arpeggios, and staccatos. Therefore, it was safe to say that the last section of the entire piece was the most intense. 
Although the test of stamina and muscle memory was also at play, Yoongi’s tastes in voicing certain keys and your style of playing couldn’t have been more different. You soon learned that his pieces required varieties of slow, soft and drawled out notes as well as hard and borderline violent slams of keys without any pedals. You also discovered that depending on the day, he was open to letting you have more creative freedom in playing with the tones and tempos, but today was not one of those days. 
“Fine,” he grumbled, his voice making it evident that he hated nothing more than being hindered in his work process because of someone else’s problems.
Sighing in thanks, you spread your fingers apart into an outstretched position and accidentally cracked a few joints, hissing unexpectedly at the shooting pain that resulted from the action. Knitting his eyebrows into a quizzical frown, Yoongi sat down next to you without warning, startling you to scoot aside.
“Give me your hands,” he said. Guarding your hands close to your chest, you shot him a questioning stare before he rolled his eyes and grasped your wrist gently. 
Letting out a pained yelp, you thought you saw his jaw clench in anger, but the facial tick disappeared as soon as it had appeared. Without saying anything, he began massaging your hands, relaxing your tense muscles. 
Contorting your face at the soothing yet painful acupressure, you struggled to speak through the pain. “You don’t have to—” 
“Shut up.” His eyes remained on your hands, examining them while kneading them as if they were finely carved marble sculptures. Whenever you tried to pull your hands away, he tsked at you and kneaded extra firmly into a particularly sore spot. 
After a couple moments of silence, Yoongi was the first to speak. “Does Powell know?” You tilted your head, confused at his question. 
Sighing, he paused his calming rubbing and lifted your hand up and held it still. Your eyes widened. It was impossible. 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you laughed dryly, playing it off as a misunderstanding. 
There was no way he knew. 
“_____—” he spoke softly but you were the one to cut him off this time. Snatching your hand away from him a little too harshly, you turned back to the pages laid in front of you. 
“Let’s get back to the piece,” you warned. Your sudden frigid tone made Yoongi swallow uneasily. It was the first time you had spoken to him in that kind of manner and even he was taken aback. He didn’t want to make you feel any more exhausted than you already were so he dropped it.  
There was absolutely no way that he knew anything.
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The red lights of your alarm clock flashed 10:57 p.m. Safe in the comfort of your cruddy single-student dorm room, you were in the process of brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. 
Dancing and hopping around like a maniac to a random indie playlist, your hall mates were away for the week-long school break. You felt it’d be best if you stayed and indulged in the empty campus. It was only a week anyway and the next long break wasn’t until after finals. As a result, the entire block of your dorm was empty and unoccupied, and you were a very happy camper.  
With hair was still damp from your shower and wrapped up into a bun, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would be a dented mess by tomorrow. You almost swallowed the bubbles of toothpaste when you jumped along with the chorus of the song and the simultaneous buzz and ping of a notification sounded from your bed. 
Tilting your head to one side, you contemplated who in the world would be texting you this late at night. Skipping in-beat with the music to your phone, your energetically bouncing shoulders slumped instantly when you read the text. 
Min Salty: practice room 1A. i’m dying. [11:01]
You have got to be kidding. It was 11 o’clock on a Friday night and this lunatic was texting you to come and work on the piece? Wasn’t he away for break like everyone else? In the midst of typing out an excuse that you were sick, his name popped up on the screen in the form of a phone call.
Swiping the accept icon reluctantly, you managed to breathe into the microphone before his voice boomed through the speaker. 
“Don’t try and bullshit anything, it’ll be quick,” he said bluntly. Did he plant a camera in your room or was he a psychic? “And bring an umbrella.” 
With those two bored and uninterested sentences out of his mouth, he hung up on you with the bleep of the dial tone.
“Dick,” you swore. “Fucking dick.” If there was one thing that was certain, it was that your vocabulary had taken on an entirely new spectrum of colors since meeting Yoongi. Contemplating between nestling into the comfort of your warm bed and leaving him hanging, your inner empath wailed at the mere thought of it. It was raining cats and dogs and Yoongi was at the studio? Alone? Did he really not have anything else to do? Was he actually dying?
You groaned internally gave into the guilt that threatened to eat you alive. Throwing on a jacket over your jumper, you reconsidered whether you should put on a bra beforehand, but opted not to. Not only were you freshly showered and too lazy to take off and put on your clothes again, but Yoongi mentioned that it would be quick. Then again, he also said he’d work on the piece with you but we all know how long that ball took to get rolling.  It’s not like he took an interest in you bare-faced or well-dressed anyway.
Forgetting that you broke the only umbrella you had last semester, you slung your hood over your face and crossed your arms around your body tightly. It had to be the one damned day it rained in February. 
It took you two minutes to sprint from the dorms to the music building and you slipped twice on the wet concrete. You would’ve doubled over, too it if hadn’t been for the rusty lampposts, but regardless, you managed to make it to the building in one piece. 
A dull, aching pain spread across the joints of your hands from being exposed to the howling wind and freezing cold drops of rain. Clenching your teeth in a pained grimace, you tucked your hands underneath your armpits in the hopes of keeping them covered until you went inside the studio. You really should’ve asked for mittens for Christmas. 
Regret hit you when you realized that not wearing a thick coat might have been a mistake. Peeling the sopping wet jacket from your body, you wrung it out and shook it off, relieved that your sweater underneath was dry for the most part. It probably helped that you had a shirt on underneath, but it didn’t stop you from shivering when you walked into the practice room. 
Yoongi was splayed across the couch inside. A couple of the practice rooms were large enough to hold a full-size piano as well as a couch for guests, and you wondered if they were that necessary or the school president was just that spendthrift.   
Despite the freezing cold weather, he was still as fashionable as ever. Donning a thin white sweater and frayed black jeans, you scanned around the room to check if he had brought a jacket or coat or some sort. Your suspicions were confirmed when you spotted a bundle of black fabric too large to be a blanket but too small to be a single hoodie. Maybe it was oversized? 
“You’re getting the carpet wet,” he mumbled, the throw of the couch wrapped around his body like a swaddle for a baby. His expression was colder than the air that nipped at your bare skin, but there was warmth there. Something you couldn’t grasp. Something flickering. 
“I didn’t have an umbrella,” you quipped dryly. Tossing you a towel from thin air, you caught it before it managed to smack your face. Of course he’d aim it perfectly. Maybe he should’ve been a baseball pitcher. You gave him an odd look before trying to pat yourself dry, a fruitless endeavor really seeing as how drenched you were. “What do you want?” 
Sitting up straight, he gestured to the unopened piano. “I wanted to hear you play.” 
Slumping your neck forward and raising your brows, a scoff of amazement left your mouth. “Are you joking?” 
He shook his head. “I was in my dorms alone and I was bored, so I figured why not pull your strings a little and have some fun while we’re at it.” 
Your face froze in an expression of utter astonishment and disbelief. “That’s why you called me out in the middle of the night in the pouring rain? To play for you?” A puff of air made its way past your lips. 
“And to work on a few details,” he tried to justify.
“This couldn’t have waited until, I don’t know—tomorrow?!” you shouted. 
Raising the corner of his lip, he smirked. “I just wanted to talk,” he shrugged, feigning innocence. You wrapped the now-damp towel over your shoulders like a shawl. Seething with agitation, you sat down in front of the piano and took a long, deep breath. 
“What would you like to talk about, Yoongi?” Speaking like an adult trying to control their temper while scolding to a child, the only reason you were sitting here was due to the fact that you refused to be near proximity of him. Also your dripping clothes were getting heavier by the minute. The cold wasn’t doing anything for your shivering stature, either. 
“About you,” he answered, leaning back into the sofa. 
Rolling your eyes, you sat with your hands tucked in between your thighs. They felt like blocks of ice. “If that’s all you called me out here for then I’d be happy to get back to you tomorrow over lunch.” 
“Why haven’t you told Powell yet?” he asked frankly with an inquisitive stare.
Your teeth ground like gears in your mouth. “What’s there to tell him about?” you countered, trying to maintain collected.
Yoongi’s gaze darkened as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together in an intimidating manner. “You know what I’m talking about.” 
“I don’t, frankly, and neither do you,” you corrected him with a stern voice. 
“You really don’t think I know?” he scoffed, narrowing his eyes like freshly sharpened daggers. Standing up, he took slow and deliberate steps to where you were sat and cocked his head sideways as he scoffed. Was he being serious right now?
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” you repeated robotically, growing increasingly irked at him boring into you like this. Shaking your head in the realization that you didn’t have to deal with this bullshit, you picked up your jacket and stood up to leave. Maybe you’d be in the mood to deal with his antics tomorrow, but today, you were a ticking timebomb. 
Spotting the fire he had set ablaze from a mile away, he spun you around by your shoulder and lifted your hand up so that it was the only wall separating both of your faces. 
“You really don’t think I know?” he whispered through a clenched jaw. 
Tensing your eyes into a glare, your nostrils practically blew off jets of steam as you yanked it down to your side. “Fuck off,” you mumbled. Stomping back to the door, the click of the knob was the thing that completely set Yoongi off. 
“What’s going to happen to prodigy _____ when her professor finds out that she has RA?” he sighed, clicking his tongue pitifully between his teeth. 
He knows. 
With fists balled painfully tight, you felt your body temperature rising by the second. “Shut up,” you muttered under your breath, restraining yourself through tightly clenched teeth. If you bit down any harder, you were sure to hear the crunch of your enamel as if they were a mouthful of potato chips.
“Rheumatoid arthritis at 22,” he enunciated, articulating the medical term around his tongue as to poke fun at a sleeping bear. “What a shame...”
“Oh yeah?” you scoffed, reclaiming your position directly in front of him as you were now drunk with rage, delirium taking over all the common sense you had left. “What about you? Composition major Min Yoongi who doesn’t even play the fucking piano anymore and stays locked up in his studio like the banished Hunchback of Notre Dame? God knows why, huh?” 
Running his tongue over his teeth, his smirk now resembled a snarl of frenzy and hysteria. “You want to talk about me?” Pulling down his sleeves angrily and lifting up his arms, you could barely make out the scattered patches of raised skin on the tops of his hands. The lines you assumed to be veins were too light in color and instead textured in the form of scratches, trailing all the way down to his forearms, finishing at his elbows. Looking closely, you could see clearly that they weren’t veins or patches of tanned skin at all—they were scars. 
“Picture this: college Yoongi walking to the bus stop after finishing his 8-hour shift. Little did the gullible bastard know that some sugar daddy decided to take a little joyride in the dead of night with two bottles of whiskey in his system.” His deadly bitter tone made goosebumps prickle across your skin. 
“Flash forward to half-an-hour later when his professor, of all people, found him knocked out cold in the middle of the street. When Yoongi got admitted into the ER, you know what the doctors said?” he chuckled drunkenly, hands that were balled in fists a mere three seconds ago now hung loosely by his sides.
Huffing briefly, his voice choked as it shifted to one filled with anguish. “We’re terribly sorry, but when he landed after being struck by the collision, his arms absorbed the initial impact and his radial nerve suffered extensive damage. Post-recovery, he may no longer be able to coordinate certain muscles in his hands and fingers.” 
It was as if he’d memorized and repeated the post-op summary to himself far long after the accident occurred and it was engraved into his mind like a curse; one he would have to live with for the rest of his life. 
You could only stare at his face with a parted mouth, unable to move a single inch.
“It’s actually hilarious if you think about it,” he snorted. “Two of the school’s prodigies dealing with secrets that are big enough to eat away at you like a disease. But it’s not like my life was as nice as yours before I got here, isn’t that right, princess?”
Furrowing your brows as your face morphed into one of pure confusion, you were taken aback at the sudden assumption. “What?” 
“Come on,” he grinned malignantly. “Full scholarship, easy money, probably equally supportive and gushy parents, Goody Two Shoes in all of her classes—sounds like a textbook prude in my book.” 
“My life—” you choked through a bitter laugh. “I don’t– I am not—” Bile rose in your throat as Yoongi began barking insults at you like an assailant. Sympathy quickly evolved into apathy at the change in direction of the conversation. What point was he trying to make? 
Throwing his head back, he burst into a forced fit of wry laughter. “Everything in your life must be fucking perfect, princess.” 
“Don’t call me that...” you said through clenched teeth, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the malicious grin that was coating his face. You were trying so hard to feel bad for him after what he’d just told you, but his abusive indignities made it all the more difficult. 
Craning his head to one side, Yoongi stared at you with a raised brow, his pearly white teeth peeking through the cocky grin you wanted to slap off more than anything. “My bad, did I press a button?” 
“Shut up.” You repeated the response like a mantra in your head, praying that if you said it enough times, it’d come true. 
“It’s all beaming white diamonds and unicorns hopping over rainbows for Princess _____, isn’t it?” he seethed, laughter painfully sarcastic. 
What the hell was he on?  
“I have worked my ass off for everything in my life up until this point you unbelievably cocky, arrogant, narcissistic prick!” you exploded, words unfurling angrily like the tail of a seething dragon. “If you think I was handed the opportunities that I’ve been given on a silver platter, then you could not be more wrong.” 
“And now it’s just a couple doctors appointments and a written diagnosis away from being taken away from you, isn’t that right, princess?” he butted in with a satisfied grin. 
“Shut the fuck up,” you said louder this time. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you started to feel your nails dig into your palms, almost drawing blood. With white knuckles and a frantically pounding heartbeat, you were two breaths away from throwing a right hook at Yoongi’s pretentious face.
“What the hell is your problem, Yoongi? Is that why you called me here? To chew me out? Annoy me? Berate me? Or does your inner sadist just want to watch me burn because of how bitter you are from the past?” Your voice was an octave away from shouting but his stone-cold expression gave no leeway as to what his intentions were. “Fine. Fine. Just ignore me like you always do because hell if I know what I did wrong!”
The muscles of his jaw tensed again as he parted his lips to speak. “You must be so happy with what you have, princess...” His voice grew timid and hushed at these words but his message was as evident as ever. 
“Stop calling me that.” Each word came out through pursed lips and clamped teeth. Leaning into you so that he was directly in your line of vision, his lip curled into a smirk and his eyes flaunted a veil of malicious intent.
“Make me,” he snarled. Never in your life had two words made you more furious than at that exact moment.  
“Fuck you, Yoongi,” you spat out, face just centimeters away from his. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, I really am, okay? But you don’t know a single goddamn thing about me, so stop acting like you’re the only one who’s been hurt in the past.”
Moving closer to you in response, you felt his hot breath fan over your lips, making you lean back instinctively.
“I’m not hurt,” he pointed out with venom dripping from his voice. Leaning towards the shell of your ear, his exhaling breath tickled your neck.
“I’m broken, _____...” Yoongi growled your name like a wild animal; vehement, primal, starved and circling his prey. Licking his lips, he edged closer to you with each breath until your back was pressed into the wall. Shoving his chest harshly, his hands came up to slam against the wall behind you, caging you in; you were right where he wanted you.  
“Move,” you demanded. Pushing him away again, you were stopped when he grabbed you by the wrist and brought you closer to him, your bodies now pressed dangerously close to each other.
Not having the time to curse at him, your thoughts were halted halfway when he wrapped his free arm around your waist and held you even tighter than before. You didn’t think there was any space left to move any closer to each other, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. 
Glaring at him with nothing but hatred and blind rage, you noticed that his pupils were completely blown with lust. The once brown eyes were now obsidian black as you felt them stare through you like a crystal clear lens.  
Whether it was a whirlwind of poor judgment, lack of rational decision-making skills, loss of sanity or a deadly concoction of all three, it didn’t matter because in the blink of an eye, Yoongi’s mouth collided against yours in a frenzied kiss. 
Locking his lips onto yours, you couldn’t hold back the audible gasp that escaped. He gripped both of your wrists and pinned them back against the wall and used your moment of surprise to begin exploring your mouth with his tongue.
Caught in the heat of the moment and enraged with sexual tension, you found yourself doing the one thing you swore you’d never do in a million years—you were kissing him back. In a battle of colliding teeth and tangled tongues, your body suddenly rushed with lustful desire you had never felt before.
He gripped your wrists tighter when you tried pulling them down, seeing it as an attempt at asserting control; the thing both of you craved above everything else. He could tell that you were holding back and took it in his best interest to coax you by tugging on your lower lip with his teeth, knowing damn well that they were raw from your habit of biting on them. 
Whimpering unconsciously, you felt him smirk against your lips. Another breathless gasp escaped when you hoisted you up by your thighs and carried you to the couch. Your hands were finally free from his grasp, allowing you to tangle your fists into his hair while you locked lips again and tug—hard.
Determined to put up a fight, he let out a gravelly groan against your lips, refusing to submit to your attacks. This time, it was you that grinned. When he pulled away from you for a second to take off his shirt, you found yourself gawking at his body. Yoongi wasn’t on the bodybuilder side of the muscular spectrum, but he was built; the perfect combination of his lean figure and perfectly proportioned muscles almost made you drool. 
Swallowing your bubbling excitement, you reached down to the hem of your shirt to mirror his actions but he stopped you. Tearing them away from your shirt, he resumed kissed you hungrily, taking the time to pay attention to your now-red and throbbing lips. 
You leaned back and went back to raking your hands through his hair as he started placing wet open-mouthed kisses on your neck, sucking bright burgundy bruises into your skin before trailing down to your throat. With his elbows bracing his body weight, Yoongi rubbed his growing arousal over your center, rolling his tongue across his lip when he felt your heat even through the thick fabric of his jeans.  
Nibbling on the junction between your collarbone and pulse point, you inhaled sharply when his teeth grated cruelly against the delicate surface. If anything, the pain made you shiver with pleasure and the sudden sensation caused the heat between your legs to throb with anticipation. 
Soon enough, his hands had made their way down to your jeans and were swiftly undoing the buttons and zipper. He grumbled in dissatisfaction when he had to pull away from your lips to try and find the metal clasp, making you giggle in amusement at his concentrated pouty face. The abruptly forceful tug that came from him pulling your pants down your thighs made you scoot down the couch, causing another breathy chuckle to emit from your chest. 
With two more pulls, your jeans were tossed haphazardly across the room and strewn lazily on the chair along with Yoongi’s shirt. Reaching for you again, he laced his fingers through yours and brought his face close, breath fanning against your lips teasingly. 
“I need you to beg, _____.” You couldn’t filter out how he said your name with an alluringly throaty voice. For what, to take your shirt off? With the same piercing gaze, you couldn’t do anything except breathe heavily. Moving back down to your legs, he repeated the same process of biting and sucking deep purple marks into your thighs, leaving a pattern of blossoming bruises to admire later. 
His painstakingly slow but calculated steps made your body writhe in frustration. Your temperature was beginning to rise, making the loose sweater you were wearing stick to your body. It felt like you were sweating bullets. Looking down at Yoongi, you almost jumped when you saw that his eyes were already locked on yours with a shit-eating grin. Studying your tense face with his dark eyes, he continued leaving marks along your thighs and hipbones. 
The cheeky fucker was teasing you. 
“Fuck, Yoongi,” you swore, pressing your hand against your forehead and shutting your eyes in annoyance. “You win, just fucking do something—anything, God.”
Not wasting another second, he ripped your underwear off and balled it in his fist before tossing it into the pile across the room. Before the cold air got a chance to hit your skin, he delved facefirst into your dripping core, lapping at your pussy as if it was his last meal. You try to contain your moans by cupping one hand over your mouth and using the other to grip the cushion for support, but he guides the one holding back your pleasurable sounds to his hair, clenching it tightly in a silent plea for you to grip harder. 
Switching between delicate, broad licks across your entire slit and teasing strokes with the flat-edge of his tongue, you almost screamed when he sucked harshly on your clit, causing you to jolt. 
“Fuck—my shirt, Yoongi,” you beg, desperate to pry the clinging fabric off of your sweaty body. It felt like you were being suffocated and you couldn’t tell whether you were lightheaded from the stuffiness of the room or Yoongi’s unforgiving tongue. 
“Busy,” he replied, voice coming out muffled because he refused to pull away from your cunt. Hurrying to strip down, you were grateful you decided to forgo a bra earlier. 
Your topless state forced Yoongi to direct his attention back up to your body. Licking his lips ardently, you felt yourself gush at the view; your wetness coated his lips and cheeks and glistened down his chin in a sight that was so wrong but felt so right. Diving back into your throbbing core, you felt your body hum with pleasure, the buzz of your orgasm nearing at just an arm’s length away. 
Yoongi sensed this by the way you were grinding into his face to gain more friction. Locking his hands around your thighs, he lapped mercilessly at your swollen lips. All rational thoughts flew out the window when he finally slid two of his long fingers into your tight heat and accompanied the deep pumps with torturous sucks. Within moments, your body exploded into a euphoric release of moans and pants as you rolled yourself against his mouth. 
When he pulled away on the verge of overstimulation, your hands were still tangled in his blonde tresses. Rather than continue pulling at his roots, however, your fingertips stroked the length of his hair softly, rewarding him for bringing you to your release. Wiping his face with his fingers, your eyes widened when he popped them into his mouth and sucked off what remained—all while keeping his eyes glued on you. 
Moving back up to kiss you, you moaned into him when you tasted yourself all over his mouth. Swirling his tongue around yours, Yoongi was deliberate in making sure that you’d taste your release off of him, determined to let you know that he was the only one who would ever be able to make you feel this good.  
“I need you, _____,” he murmured into your ear. “Please...” Yoongi spoke breathlessly, the lines of control and carnal need smudging together in a blur of lust and yearning as he tried to control himself.  
Still breathing heavily under his caged hold, your heart was still hammering against your chest at a million miles a minute. “Pill,” you replied in a rushed tone, an urgency of longing and eagerness engulf you. 
Fumbling with his jeans, Yoongi swore at the metal-ringed belt he decided to wear today. Your shoulders shook slightly as you tried to hold back a giggle. Who knew that the big bad wolf was also the biggest dork in the bedroom? He finally freed himself from his jeans, pulling them along with his boxers down his thighs and causing his muscles to flex with the slightest movement he made. 
You found yourself licking your lips at his fully exposed state; the dim lights made his svelte body all the more defined, accentuating the V-line of his abdomen that led to his immaculate member. You weren’t one to go down on your partners for your own pleasure, but something about Yoongi made you want to consume him. Just as you were about to sit up, he read your mind like an open book. 
Hovering over you, his lips connected with yours again and pressed you back into the sofa. “Next time,” he assured. “I need you now.” The utter desperation laced in his voice made you whimper against his mouth. 
Reaching down stealthily, you gripped him gently and began pumping his hard length with slow, teasing strokes, grinning in satisfaction when he fluttered his eyes shut and moaned at the contact. Spreading the dripping bead of precum over his sensitive slit with your thumb, it took everything you had not to take advantage of his submissive state and blow him. God, you wanted him in your mouth so badly... 
Cupping your face with his hands with haste, he kissed you sloppily before guiding his cock into your entrance. Rubbing over your slit with the newly formed bead of arousal that coated his tip, Yoongi’s sense of need grew dangerously desperate; he hadn’t even started and already he didn’t want it to end. Unable to cage your own temptation any longer, you grabbed him by his hips and urged him forward, making him enter you in one swift thrust. 
The sudden linking of your two bodies made both of you groan in unison. He was bigger than you thought. The delicious sensation of feeling full and one with Yoongi was already a lot for you to handle—how would you feel once he actually started moving? Reading your expression, he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t read before kissing you again. You needed him to move so fucking bad. Voicing your thoughts physically, you lifted your hips up in the hopes that he would get the message. 
After a moment of resistance, he couldn’t contain himself. Pulling out all the way, he bottomed out completely, repeating the action as he began moving against your body with even-timed thrusts. You threw your head back in pleasure at the senses that were being stimulated; the feel of him inside you, the smell of his shampoo and light cologne, the plushness of his lips, the rough texture of his hair, the sounds of your combined moans, and the undeniable feeling of finally being connected. 
Every few seconds, he gave you a particularly harsh thrust, making you cup a hand over your mouth to mute your sobs of intense pleasure, but of course, Yoongi absolutely despised it. How dare you silence your melodic moans that he was hellbent on making you produce? Tearing your hand away from your mouth, he laced his fingers through yours and held your throat securely with his other hand, not applying any pressure just yet.  
“I need to hear your moans, _____,”  he panted heavily, an idle grin grazing over his face as he began pounding into you harder, only choosing to tighten his grip around your throat when your mouth parted in a gasp.
There was your name again. And that word: need. Not want, but need. 
Gasping at his stark change of pace, your head lifted off of the cushion, making his hands tense around your throat. “Fuck, Yoongi,” you sputtered out, determined to hold back your moans for as long as you could. 
Seeing this, Yoongi’s jaw clenched. Pulling his fingers off of your throat and away from your hands, he cupped your breasts with his large hands and kept his grip firm, refusing to do anything more than that. Two could play at that game. 
“Please, _____,” he pleaded, pausing his thrusts and changing to grind painfully slow into you while pinching your nipples between his fingers. Biting down on his lip hard enough to break the skin, it was evident that it was pure torture for him and that your pride would be the death of both of you.
Lacing your fingers through his disheveled hair gently, you kissed him deeply, wordlessly telling him that you needed him just as badly—if not, more—than he needed you. 
It didn’t take Yoongi more than a second to pick up his relentless thrusts again, pounding into you like there was no tomorrow. You could already tell you weren’t going to be able to walk anytime soon. As you grew tighter around him with each thrust, the two of you became a panting mess of animalistic moans. 
Your hands were either clawing red stripes down his bare back or tugging at his hair, while his hands switched off between massaging your breasts and playing with your nipples to holding you by your hips to drill into you harder. When you tugged him down by his hair to your lips, you left a trail of blooming marks along his throat, mirroring the exact same ones he made sure to leave on you. Finalizing your masterpiece by licking a stripe up the side of his pulse point, he grunted into the crook of your neck, snapping his hips instinctually at the fervent sensation. 
Clamping his teeth down on your neck, your core clenched around him immediately, digging crescents into his biceps with your nails to grip onto whatever sanity you had left. Releasing your breast and replacing it with his warm mouth, his hand moved down to rub quick circles on your clit, making you scream with pleasure. Thank God for soundproof walls. 
“Yoongi—” you sputtered, no longer able to form coherent words. 
Switching to the other breast, he sucked at the neglected nipple and swirled his tongue around the bud tantalizingly, begging you to cum.
“Cum for me, _____,” he ordered. And with a single word, you gasped sharply as you erupted into a surge of pure bliss. Sheer ecstasy overtook your senses like a high you couldn’t get enough of. The satisfying heat of your release spread from your lower abdomen to your panting chest, rising up to form the post-orgasm glow on your face that had Yoongi under your spell. 
“_____,” he moaned deeply. His eyes were screwed shut in utter bliss as his thrusts became uneven and urgent, signaling his release. The fact that you were still clenching around him made him let out muffled whimpers into your neck and the vibrations of his throaty gasps made you hum in delight. 
“Cum for me, Yoongi,” you edged, repeating the words that he spoke mere moments ago while holding him close. On the brink of overstimulation, he bared his mouth in a silent hiss and snapped his hips into you roughly before letting out a guttural groan, burying himself hilt deep. His cock throbbed against your cunt as he came deep inside of you, releasing strings of warmth that coated your walls completely. While still buried inside your heat, he rolled his hips against yours, wanting nothing more than to push his release deep into you so that you knew you were his.  
Your insides clenched tightly when his cum dripped out. Pressing a final kiss to your raw lips, his member twitched a few more times before he pulled out slowly, making sure that as much of his seed remained inside of you as possible. Feeling it flow down your ass, you weren’t able to hold back the moan that came when you felt Yoongi collect it with his fingers and push it back inside of you. Your sensitive state caused you to arch your back and prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he started pumping his fingers. 
“Yoongi—” you hummed, rolling your head back as he concentrated on cleaning up your dripping center. Scissoring your combined releases in between his two fingers, he pulled them out slowly, making a string of wetness trail from his fingertips to your cunt. Popping them into his mouth, your jaw dropped as he sucked off the mixture from his fingers deliciously, smirking at your reaction. Right when you were about to comment on his actions, he buried his fingers knuckle-deep back inside you and curled them sinfully, making your breath hitch in your throat. 
This time when he pulled out, you grabbed his wrist and guided his sticky fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the unholy essence and humming at the oddly satisfying taste. Yoongi’s eyes remained fixed on you as his tongue darted out to lick off the remaining wetness from his lower lip, desperately wanting to taste whatever remained of your combined highs as possible. 
His lips pressed firmly onto yours the moment after your tongue traced a circle around your lips, the earlier battle of clashing teeth and tongues now soft and nurturing; a complete change of mood from earlier. 
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he chuckled with lips still connected to yours. Smiling against his mouth, you stroked his cheek softly, scooting over as he made room for himself beside you. Reaching over the edge of the couch, Yoongi grabbed the large throw blanket and draped it over your bodies and snuggled into you like a pillow. He wrapped his arms around your body and nuzzled his nose into you while he began placing soft kisses along the valley of your breasts. 
Cradling his head tenderly, you ran your fingers through Yoongi’s tousled hair and felt his breaths become calm and even, the soothing action lulling him into a deep slumber. Slowly but surely, you too felt your eyelids droop as the weight of sleep consumed you.
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The morning after trope was always a fun story to tell. A gigantic yawn spilled from your mouth as you stretched out your arms like old tree limbs. When your fingertips brushed the cold surface of a wooden headboard, your eyes flew wide open and you sat up like a shot fired from a cannon. Blood rushed to your head immediately as rays of sunlight blinded you, making you scrunch your entire face and smack your hand against your temple. 
Your mouth felt dry as a chalky taste coated your tongue, becoming more apparent now that you were fully awake. What time was it? What happened last night? When did you buy black pajamas? Why was it so goddamn sunny? 
Groaning, you cocked your head side to side to stretch your cramped neck, probably from sleeping in a position that had you ready to be shipped to Costa Rica. Feeling around the small twin-sized bed, a large puffy white linen blanket covered your body and you looked around to see that you were in one of the dorm rooms. 
Minimally decorated and tidy, the only thing that seemed to distinguish the room from an IKEA display was the disarray of papers scattered across the desk and the uncovered digital piano that was set up next to it.  
A rustling beside you made you jolt in surprise and clutch the blanket over your body tightly. With eyes the opened to the size of flying saucers, you stretched your neck over the bundled lump of the blanket and could only make out the fuzzy cap of blonde hair. As if your timing couldn’t get any better, a hand suddenly reached from under the crumpled fabric and grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you back down into the warm sheets. Landing on the mattress with a soft thump, your eyes came face-to-face with none other than the sleeping giant himself. 
You got into an argument yesterday. 
With Min Yoongi.
You had sex last night. In the practice room. 
With Min Yoongi. 
And you were now wide awake and sharing a bed. 
With Min Yoongi. 
As if life couldn’t get any better, the slight rustle of sheets beside you slapped you back into reality. 
This time, you had nowhere to escape. 
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you know where to find part 2 ;)
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honeymoonjin · 2 years ago
baby fever
A/N: I apologise for this filth. Doctor Min Yoongi is your fertility specialist, and during your artificial insemination procedure he decides to take matters in his own hands. 2.2k. Warnings for sexual content: inappropriate work conduct, medical fetish, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex. 
“Just relax.”
You let out the breath you’re holding and try to do as he says, but it’s hard not to be tense when the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen is lubing up a giant needle he’s going to shove inside you. Not needle, catheter, you remind yourself, although it still looks completely alien and scary. “I am relaxing.”
He laughs good-naturedly. “Most women I do this for say the blood test is worse than the insemination, so you’ve got the hard part done already.”
You frown at the little sliver of bandage he taped in the crook of your elbow. The blood test to make sure you were ovulating certainly wasn’t fun, but it could’ve been worse. After all, you did get to enjoy the feeling of a strong man holding your arm, even if it was to pin you down and stab at your vein. “I guess I’m a little worried it won’t work.”
Doctor Min puts down the catheter on a metal tray. “Well, stress certainly won’t help you conceive, plenty of studies show that. What can I do to help you calm down?”
You lift your head up off the paper slip beneath you, staring at him between your legs with that innocent fucking expression on his face. You know exactly what would help.
Truth is, this clinic doesn’t have the best reviews or the most reasonable prices. It’s not even close; you had to take a forty-minute drive to get here. But you choose this place every time because they only have one fertility specialist on-site, and that’s the glorious Doctor Min Yoongi.
Veiny hands, a sharp tongue that poked at his cheek when he struggled to take the wrapping off new equipment, slanted eyes that widened delicately when he paid attention to something. You were coming to this clinic alone to get artificially inseminated because you were sick of waiting for a man to help make your dream come true but having this insanely sexy and successful doctor talk about you having a baby certainly made you a little moon-eyed about him.
Instinctively, you clenched, and by the way his eyes dropped down to between your legs, wide-open on stirrups that he had raised way up for a better angle, you knew he saw your reaction. He chuckled quietly as you let your head flop down, staring at the off-white ceiling with burning cheeks. “Uh, it’s fine, just go ahead and put it in.”
The muscles in your thighs jumps when a glove-clad hand lands on your inner thigh, thumb dangerously close to your outer labia. He laughs again, low in his throat. “You want me to put it in?”
With a dawning dread, you can feel yourself starting to get wet at the innuendo. “Mhm,” you squeak, not trusting your voice.
Doctor Min tuts, and you suck in a breath when his hand lifts off of your thigh only to brush against your folds. “This is an expensive procedure, Y/n, I’d hate for your money and this sperm to go to waste because you were too high-strung. It’s my job as your medical provider to ensure you get the best care.”
You’re pretty sure your cheeks couldn’t get more red. You’re fighting to stay still; all the muscles from your abdominals down beginning to shiver from the excitement. “I… I guess I am kind of tense.”
He hums in agreement, pinching your inner thigh lightly to watch you jump. “I don’t think the sperm would take to such a hostile environment. It would be best if you took some deep breaths for me, Y/n.”
Oh. Okay, then. Not what you were expecting, but you can do that.
“In, and out. In, and out. Now, one more for me; in…that’s it, and out.”
Abruptly, two fingers are plunged into your wet heat as you exhale and you cry out in shock, going stiff. You crook your head up and stare at him in shock.
He’s watching your reaction, a small smile playing on his lips as he holds them there. “It looks like you might need a little more help with relaxing, hm?”
Shakily, you nod and swallow hard, unable to stop yourself clenching around the delicious intrusion. “Thank you, Doctor Min.”
Licking his lips, he curls them up and begins massaging your g-spot in a slow grind. Your hips begin to tilt up off the edge of the bench, seeking more, but he splays a gloved hand across your lower abdomen and pins you down.
He’d lifted the stirrups up so high earlier that you think you’d pull a muscle if you tried to take your feet out now, and so you’re forced to lie back and take it, trembling with pleasure as he fingers you.
“How does that feel? Have you calmed down enough for me yet?” His hand stops.
You shake your head wildly. “I’m not calm yet, I need more, please, doctor. I’m still so tense, see?” You clamp down around his fingers to demonstrate, and Doctor Min curses under his breath.
“Fuck, you’re filthy,” he mutters to you, “letting me finger you open in my office like this. How long have you been fantasizing about this, hm?”
You let out a relieved moan as he begins to move again, this time faster and with deeper strokes. “God, so long. Oh, it feels so good, Doctor Min!”
He sighs, and you lift your head up off the paper to work out why. He’s staring at the cheap plastic wall clock above the door. “Your appointment ends in twelve minutes,” he informs you, before rolling his chair closer and planting his lips right over your swollen clit, giving it a harsh suck to make you cry out. “You cum in the next thirty seconds or I’m stopping, and you’ll get nothing.”
With that, he buries his face between your legs again, speeding up his fingers to a merciless pace and pushing down harder on your stomach as you writhe beneath him, babbling incoherently about how good it feels.
“Fuck, right there, oh go-od,” you moan when he begins nibbling at the hood covering your clit, flicking his tongue underneath it.
His dark eyes look up at the clock, and then back down to you over your mound, detaching his mouth for a moment, lips and chin slick with your arousal. “Time’s up,” he announces, “cum.”
Like clockwork, your orgasm hits you full force, but he doesn’t stop, fucking you with his fingers hard enough that even in your euphoric bliss you can hear the wetness between your legs. You can feel the plastic edge of the stirrups digging into your feet and the paper sheet crinkling underneath your body, the single-use gown you’re wearing providing a maddening slight friction against your nipples.
When you come down from your high and collapse back against the bench, Doctor Min has calmly reached over to the metal tray, grabbed the catheter and re-lubed it with the slick on his gloves. His hand stays on your stomach, the warmth of his palm radiating through the latex glove and the paper gown onto your skin. Without warning, he begins sliding it inside you.
You’re too boneless to react much even in your surprise, and so you stay lying back, pondering the strange sensation of something firm yet bendy making its way deep inside you as your walls flutter around it with aftershocks.
“Do you feel relaxed now?” Doctor Min drawls teasingly.
You begin to feel sweat cooling on your temples, but you nod weakly.
He chuckles darkly. “Good. Now, that’s all done.” As earlier promised, the insemination isn’t nearly as bad as the blood test was, and he’s removing it almost as suddenly as he inserted it, discarding the catheter in a specially-marked bin.
You’re still panting from the amazing orgasm he gave you, your body limp. “We’re done?” you repeat in surprise.
“Well,” he announces, “there’s a couple more things that improve your chances.”
“Like what?”
He stands up off the roller stool, pushing it aside. You look up at him blearily as he smiles down at you, adjusting his coat collar. “Once you get home, I’d recommend staying horizontal for the afternoon.”
You frown in confusion. “That’s just one thing.”
He blinks slowly, catlike. “Several fertility specialists recommend multiple samples per session in the case that one is faulty.”
You swallow. “I only paid for one sample.”
A noise catches your attention, and you tilt your head to the side to see him unbuckling his trousers. “This one’s on the house,” he grunts.
Your heart races. “Okay,” you croak out, “th-thank you.”
He moves back between your legs, reaching over to the seat controls. Your hands shoot out and grab the arms of the examination chair as the lower half lifts, raising your pelvis into the air, until it’s level with his crotch, zipper open to expose his cock straining at thin white briefs.
“Do you want this?” he asks seriously, palming at himself lazily. “If you don’t just say so and I’ll stop. I can give you the number of a good nearby clinic and refer you to them, no hard feelings.”
Your head collapses back, eyes falling shut with desire. “I need you, Doctor Min. Please.”
Just like that, the professionalism disappears, and he smirks at you, fishing his cock out of his underwear, not bothering to get undressed at all. As he swipes the head between your folds a couple of times to lube himself up, your toes curl. Here you are, practically naked with your legs stuck wide open, and he’s not even dropping his pants enough for you to see anything more than a sliver of his hipbones. It makes you feel even more vulnerable than you already are, and you bite down on your bottom lip at the way your clit twitches at the thought.
Doctor Min chuckles. “Just been filled up and this cunt of yours is already greedy for more, hm?”
You whine in agreement, shuddering when he presses the blunt head of his cock into your entrance, steadily sinking in to the hilt. Without a moment to adjust, even though you probably need it with his girth, he’s slamming into you loud enough that all you can hear is your wetness and the slap of skin on skin.
“Fuck,” he growls between thrusts, “I can feel the sperm sample inside you. I’m gonna fuck that cum out of you, put my own in there. I bet you were wishing it was me fucking my baby into you, isn’t that right?” You nod frantically, breath catching when he reaches down to thumb at your clit in double-time to his thrusts. “Today’s your lucky day, then, isn’t it?”
“Oh god, yes,” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and arching up off of the table. The angle has his cock hitting your already-overstimulated g-spot on every stroke, and if it wasn’t for the pressure on your clit to balance it out, you’re sure it would be entirely overwhelming. “Want your cum, Doctor Min.”
“Well, fucking ask me nicely, then. Beg for my cum.”
One of your hands comes up to play with a sensitive nipple, the other still clutching at the bench for dear life. “Oh, please, Doctor Min, fill me up, ple-ease, hnng.”
He chuckles in dark satisfaction, but you can feel his thrusts stuttering. “Come on,” he commands, “squeeze it out of me. Cum for me again.”
You do as he says, head jerking side to side as your body tries to cope with the overwhelming burst of pleasure.
Doctor Min is growling on every thrust now, teeth gritted as he snarls with the effort. “What do you say? I’m about to fuck my baby into you, use some fucking manners.”
“Th-thank you, Doctor Min,” you cry out, babbling it over and over as your knees wobble helplessly and the pleasure becomes too much.
Finally, he cums with a shout and you sigh in relief when you feel his release inside you.
“Thank you,” you say one more time, shivering as he slips out of you and you clench around nothing.
Wordlessly, he reaches over, dirtied cock slowly softening, and picks up the phone, dialing in as he grabs a tissue and begins cleaning himself up. “Hey, Janice. Yep, another fainter. Could you push back my next appointment? Okay. Okay, that would be great. Bye now.” Upon hanging up, he tucks himself away and does up his pants before using fresh tissues to clean you up. Your hips jerk and your breath catches every time it brushes against your clit, but he works efficiently, and soon enough he’s lowering the bottom half of the bench and the stirrups back down.
Your legs flop down when he slips your feet out of the holds. “Mm, thank you,” you mumble sleepily.
He laughs good-naturedly. “Yes, you said that. Now, I’ll go get you some water to rehydrate and you just relax, okay? Don’t try and sit up just yet or you might pass out for real.”
After receiving a nod, he leaves you in a silent room, where you lie, boneless, and smile blissfully. Of course artificial insemination wasn’t a foolproof process, but you had faith in Doctor Min’s…abilities.
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jungcock · 3 years ago
babydoll⎜02 (m.)
Your childhood crush, now famous and successful, comes to visit you while you’re drunk and have a lot to prove.
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→ actor!yoongi x reader
→ smut
→ 7.6k words
a/n: an immediate continuation from the first part. sleazy, aged up by three years, bts. hint of significant age gap themes. dirty talk. a lot of foreplay. defloration. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. denied orgasms. creampie. unprotected sex. hint of jk.
↳ 01 | 02
Jungkook and Taehyung both gave Yoongi a look.
“These are ‘we clearly don’t believe you’ looks,” Taehyung explained, pointing between Jungkook and himself.
“I’ve known her since she was twelve!”
“She’s not twelve anymore,” Jungkook commented, hiding his mischievous smile behind his glass as he took a sip. Taehyung tried his best not to snigger with Yoongi’s eyes on him because he was alway more lenient towards Jungkook. Jungkook was the favourite, after all—Taehyung always tried his best to connect with Yoongi but his inappropriate, odd ways fell short. He had to pick and choose his battles and he was chill—buzzed and quite happy to just sip away at his glass of wine.
“Tae!” Jungkook called when no one responded to him.
“Are you really not gonna try fuck this girl tonight?” he exasperated and it caused Taehyung to splutter. His eyes flocked to Yoongi, cautious and anxious of his reaction and as expected—Taehyung had never seen Yoongi so livid. Now, Jungkook had gone too far. In a flash, the conversation had gone from playful jesting to rude, perverted remarks. What had gotten into Jungkook?! He was being extremely outlandish and plainly disrespectful—this wasn’t like him... What was he up to?
“No, dude! I don’t want me or the fairy to die,” he chuckled deeply and nervously.
"He's smart," Yoongi chimed in, more calmly than expected.
"I guess I'll have to take one for the team then," Jungkook winked at both of them, ignoring the looming rage that was Min Yoongi.
For the first time ever, the vibes stunned Taehyung into a silence—it could have been the acid mellowing out on him but he was almost sure it wasn't. At this point, he just wished Jungkook told him what the fuck he was up to. Disrespecting his friends was completely out of his character, it was frustrating him—he couldn't even imagine how Yoongi must have been feeling.
Jungkook was pushing every single button and for good reason. If Yoongi spoke up, really spoke up and told him no, he'd have to say why. Yoongi didn't have an answer to that question—not an answer he was willing to share, or even, admit to himself. He shouldn't care who you fucked or whether you wanted a fuck at all. Frankly, he had no business meddling in your sex life whatsoever—you were a grown woman. Yet, here he was, mentally damning his best friend to hell because he supposedly wanted you for the night. What Jungkook had planned out to do, was working.
"You're not gonna go there, are you?" Taehyung asked Jungkook, hoping it was a joke—unaware it was a plot.
"I am," he confirmed with a smirk and then prodded the inside of his check with his tongue. "Why not? She's hot as hell and she wants me. She told me at the bar."
Yoongi's hands balled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Bullshit," he called, acting believably nonchalant.
Jungkook cockily raised an eyebrow. "You saw her with me at the bar, she was basically begging for it."
"You're such a dick," Taehyung cackled, his worries of upsetting Yoongi were clearly fleeting. Jungkook chuckled with him before turning away—twisted humour they had. Yoongi didn't remember them being this savage in the past. Then again, he had never brought a pretty girl to dangle in front of their faces before. He made a mental note not to do that again, especially if it was you.
"Oh!" Jungkook suddenly bellowed, gesturing to a booth of people in the distance. "It looks like Namjoon's beating me to it."
The other two turned their attention but Jungkook had already turned away to grab another drink, leaving them both to imitate meerkats. Damn, that kid was just too cool, too slick, too much of a douchebag to handle. Yoongi made another mental note to channel this side of Jungkook for future roles.
Taehyung spotted the booth first and immediately strolled over, followed by Jungkook. Yoongi, however, took a moment, opening his fists to see red crescents indented in his palms.
You had no clue who called shots however you found yourself with a small glass of tequila and a lemon slice. Namjoon counted down from three and everyone knocked back the alcohol. You were facing Hyuna and you both pulled a face at each other at the taste—then she smiled and winked at you.
You were stunned by her beauty and grace, from her glittery nails to her pink pumps. You couldn't believe she could be even more magnetic in person, but she was. When you introduced yourself, you gushed about how much you adored her which led yourself into her embrace. She giggled and squealed in excitement while you two talked about girly things. You were both so engrossed you had hardly noticed Namjoon leading you all to a booth. It was a tight squeeze with Hyuna and her entourage, so you resorted to perching on Namjoon's lap. With Hyuna opposite you, she pulled your arm towards her so she could lean over the table and whisper in your ear.
"I don't usually get along with Namjoon's girls but you're so cool!" she said fondly.
"Oh, no!" you shook your head.
Hyuna furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
"No, she's not one of my 'girls' Hyuna," Namjoon expressed with distaste.
You could only giggle awkwardly.
"Oh! I’m very sorry," she apologised politely.
You swivelled in Namjoon's lap in a panic, waving your hands at her formality. She was your idol, she couldn't do anything wrong in your eyes for her to apologise for.  She giggled at you before lacing her fingers through yours. You squealed at the sweet gesture and bounced in Namjoon's lap. To Namjoon's dismay, you were a wriggler. Every word you spoke, every reaction was animated and it resulted in your ass rubbing against his crotch. He couldn’t help shamefully staring down your back as you leaned forward—the sight sending his thoughts straight into the gutter. If the others saw him now—
“You get a lap dance?! Not fair!”
Everyone’s eyes snapped up to Taehyung, with a laughing Jungkook and an unimpressed Yoongi in tow. Your cheeks were immediately fiery and you were absolutely unable to look at Yoongi. Hyuna squeezed your hand.
“Don’t listen to them babe, they’re all douchebags.”
“Ouch!” Jungkook chimed in, having leaned towards the table to eavesdrop.
“Especially him!”
Jungkook clutched his chest, overdramatically astounded and it forced a giggle out of you. He winked at you before leaning closer to Hyuna and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. You watched her face as he whispered in her ear—she rolled her eyes but you could tell was holding back a smile. It was common knowledge they were very close friends.
“She’s just mad he made her cum three times and then denied her round two,” Taehyung sniggered, earning a scolding from Yoongi and a chuckle from Namjoon. You, however, pretended not to hear it. You loved reading and hearing about the wholesome, older sister, younger brother, friendship of Hyuna and Jungkook—you didn’t want that ruined for you.
Namjoon’s phone buzzed from underneath you and you jumped in surprise. He chuckled, using the opportunity to quickly slip it out of his pocket before you sat back down.
“Jimin’s here,” Namjoon announced, “almost.”
“Don’t let him in,” Taehyung uttered with annoyance.
“Why?!” Namjoon questioned, leaning further back and twisting around slightly to look up at his friend. Looking over your shoulder, you could see he was chuckling at Taehyung's request and had quickly returned to tapping at his phone—most likely replying to Jimin.
“The idiot tweeted his maps route. He’s been texting me about it for the last 20 minutes. Fans and paps will be lurking around outside the whole night if they aren’t there already," Taehyung explained.
"Alright," Namjoon groaned, raising a palm to his forehead, "I better go deal with that." He tucked his phone back into his pocket and then tapped the side of your ass for you to get up. You squeaked and jumped up reflexively, gaining a disapproving stare from Yoongi. As you slid out of the booth with Namjoon following suit, Yoongi slapped the back of Namjoon's head. He winced and turned, holding his head and you were the one to call out an apology. Taehyung followed his friend, presumably to enforce the denial of Jimin's entry.
“Sit back down, ____,” Yoongi commanded you when you stood there for seconds too long, confused as to why you just apologised for Yoongi’s violence. Snapping out of it, you almost obeyed him—almost, if Jungkook hadn’t swooped in with his sidekick queen, Hyuna.
"Come," he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you away from the group, away from Yoongi. Yoongi began to follow and immediately, Hyuna latched onto him. What were they up to?
You were on the balcony again and Jungkook was handing you another cigarette. As you lit yours, Jungkook glanced over to his two friends nestled in the far corner, far away from you and himself. Hyuna was doing perfectly, and it weirdly turned him on to see his plans pan out so perfectly.
"I've noticed Yoongi has been eyeing you more harshly than before," you commented, pulling him out of his thoughts. "What did you do?"
"Don't worry about that, babydoll," he said with a smirk.
"Jungkook, please!" you pleaded, "I'm the one that has to go home with him—"
"Hell yeah, you are," he winked.
Immediately, you felt your cheeks heat up and you stomped your foot in aggravation. Jungkook cackled seeing you flush so red. He tapped the underside of your chin and you swatted him away.
"I'm the one who has to deal with him later," you continued, worry in your tone.
"I told you, ____. He's mad at me, not you."
Unfortunately, that did little to ease your mind and Jungkook could see it clear on your face.
"Listen, she's working her magic," he began to explain, pointing his cigarette at Hyuna. "I asked her to ask him about you, make presumptions, plant little ideas in his head—she can be a manipulative little minx when she needs to be. And I'm over here, working my magic with you."
"I don't know if I like this, Jungkook," you squeaked, your face shrouded in concern.
"Doll, you've been in love with this guy for what? Eight years? You're allowed to fuck with his head, he deserves it."
"Wow, Jeon Jungkook, the evil mastermind. Who would have guessed?" you joked, puffing at your cigarette.
He winked, grinning widely before pulling you into him. "Shhh, it's a secret," he whispered into your ear.
You stayed nestled under his arm for a while, chatting about everything and nothing in particular. He was incredibly charming, and funny and he smelt amazing. You were genuinely enjoying his company so much, you almost forgot Yoongi was metres away, you almost forgot that it was all just a plot to make Yoongi jealous. You would have felt sadder about the insincere nature of the conversation with Jungkook if he hadn't suddenly asked for your number.
"It's okay, I'm not expecting a text."
"Why not?"
"It's apart of your plot, isn't it?" you accused, however, far from bitter. He went out of his way to construct this elaborate plan in the shortest amount of time, just to help you score the love of your life. He really didn't need to text you.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, but that doesn't mean I don't genuinely enjoy your company."
Excitement flooded through your body but you managed to stay cool. "Yoongi's told me you don't text girl's back the next day."
"My one night stands, no I don't because I don’t want them to get the wrong idea. But I'm not fucking you tonight, am I?"
It was almost like a challenge. He raised an eyebrow at you, expecting a reply but you could only stutter. What was he insinuating? The games of a man, the concept of flirting, the hints of mild interest—sexual tension were all such foreign concepts to you. You couldn't decipher it. Jungkook chuckled, sparing you and busying himself with butting out his cigarette.
"I see Jimin, let's go inside."
He grabbed your hand and pulled you along—you swore as you passed Yoongi, he eyed your interlocked fingers. You did your best to ignore it.
When you all returned to the booth, Jimin was arguing with Taehyung. Jimin had a girl on his arm and it didn’t look like he was paying her much interest. Taehyung whispered in his ear and he let go of her to grab his friend and she walked off. Jungkook saw it too and chuckled.
“You can never properly pull them, can you?” Jungkook jested.
Jimin raised an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me, boy!”
Jungkook cackled and earned himself a slap on the chest. You just stood there, Yoongi now by your side, staring at the newly arrived BTS member. He was stunning, magnetic and his hair was a bright silver serving angelic vibes. He was quick to see you staring and he broke into a sweet smile.
“Who are you?” he questioned, his eyes then roaming up and down.
“This is our new babydoll, ____,” Jungkook introduced you.
“What?” Yoongi interrupted, becoming overwhelming overprotective. “For fucks sakes guys, she not a toy.”
“I’d sure like a play,” Jimin chimed in, making you blush. He sauntered the short distance over to you and threw an arm around your shoulder. “Where’s her drink, babydoll needs a drink!”
Jungkook laughed again, watching Yoongi’s anger boil and adoring his friend for unintentionally contributing to his plot. You declined politely and Jimin continued to try convince you. His face was so close to yours, you looked away and saw the girl he was with staring at you with such intense hatred you were beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“She doesn’t need one, Jimin,” Yoongi interjected. “And fucking hi, by the way, good to see you!”
Jimin immediately removed his arm from your person and placed it around Yoongi’s shoulders. He gave him a hug and Yoongi returned it half heartedly. Namjoon returned from the bar with a couple of drinks and Jimin took one off of his hands—he tried to give it to you but you declined, once again.
“Jimin, your girl isn’t happy,” Namjoon informed him and the group. “You should go see to her.”
Jimin made no attempt to do so and instead gestured to you. “This one is much lovelier.”
Namjoon chuckled and shook his head but then nodded in agreement. How were every single one of them interested in you? That was the final straw for Yoongi.
“Ok, time for us to go!”
You snapped your head in Yoongi’s direction with a frown. “But Yoongi—”
He squeezed your hand and stared at you fiercely. “It’s time to go, ____,” he growled.
You nodded.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Namjoon commanded. “It’s too early dude, what the fuck?”
As Namjoon, Taehyung and Jimin pulled Yoongi aside to convince him to stay, Hyuna skipped over to you and gave you a big hug goodbye.
“You can do this, babe!” she encouraged you, “Just tell him how you feel, it’s about time.”
Jungkook was next to hug you, you made sure to inhale extra deeply when he did so, remembering his scent to describe to your best friend when you’d tell her you met the Jeon Jungkook.    
“It takes a second of courage, ok? There’s no way he’s gonna turn you down, trust me.”
“But what if he does?” you squeaked.
Jungkook gave you a look. “Have you seen you? And besides, have I ever let you down?”
“I’ve known you for hours, Jungkook.”
He tilted his head to the side, considering your point but then saw your pretty face and polite smile. Yoongi would be a goner tonight, he was sure of it. He bent down slightly to kiss your cheek and then winked, “Have fun.”
Yoongi grabbed your hand and yanked you out of there so fast you were barely able to wave goodbye to the others. He didn’t say a word as he pulled you along, down to the elevators and through crowds. Before you knew it, you were at the front doors of the club and you ripped your hand from his to stop him.
“Yoongi!” you yelled, “The paparazzi, goddammit!”
He cursed under his breath and removed his jacket. You looked at him inquisitively and then the next thing you knew the jacket was over your head and you were led out the front doors. It was blind chaos, you heard flashes and screaming of Yoongi’s name. His arms were wrapped around you, other bodies pushed you but Yoongi held you tighter, fending them off. He helped you into the back of a taxi and instructed you to keep the jacket over your head until he said so. Paparazzi and fans knocked on the car windows, still screaming as you drove away.
With the jacket now off of your head, you both sat in silence and you finally had a moment to process what had happened, how the night had panned out. You really met your favourite idols and they really convinced you to hop on the cock of the man sitting next to you. Your heart was pounding. You had to do it, you were going to do it. Jungkook courage, Hyuna courage and liquid courage were counting on you, egging you on. You had to do it. You had wanted this more than you wanted anything.
The taxi pulled up to your apartment and Yoongi got out first, opening the door for you. You followed him as he unlocked your front door, leading you inside as if it was his place, not yours. He turned to you as if to say goodbye so you ignored him, walking straight to your bedroom. You tried to calm your breathing, pottering around your room, waiting for him to follow.
You heard footsteps stop at your door and the sound of him clearing his throat. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you responded, while taking off your earrings. “Can you please get me a glass of w—”
You turned to see him holding a glass of water and you smiled appreciatively. He grinned back before walking into your room, the door swinging slightly closed and placing the glass on your nightstand. You continued taking off your jewelry and you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, tapping his thighs awkwardly. Your eyes met in the reflection and he strode up to you. He kissed you on your cheek and bid you farewell before making his leave.
As he reached for the doorknob, you sprinted over and slid between himself and the door—shutting it. You felt his deep sigh blow over your shoulder. He knew what you were doing and if he was really opposed to it, if he really didn’t want it, he would have been more assertive—he would have shook you silly, really scolded you—but he didn’t. He was his patient, calculated self—leaning over you, hand still on the doorknob, thinking through his next move.
“You wanna talk?” he suggested, stepping away from you and sitting on your bed. “About what happened tonight… with Jungkook?”
You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You hated it when he did this, turned a situation around, twisted the agenda so he’d have the upper hand—and he did it so well. You immediately felt penitent, hanging your head and fidgeting with the bottom of your skirt.
“You know, I’m surprised it was Jungkook you went for... I always thought it was Taehyung you had your heart set on. That’s why I left you to it with him. He always calls the girls back,” he explained as if he would have let you end up in any other bed other than your own that night. “Jungkook doesn’t, I told you before.”
You kept quiet, calculating your thoughts, picking your words carefully. There were about a hundred points you so badly wanted to address, to argue—but you chose to let him talk. You let him play his game, until it was time to play yours.
“I’m not giving you his number, by the way,” he said with a little too much spite and then cleared his throat. “He’d only hurt you.”
“I can take care of myself, Yoongi,” you defended yourself in a small voice.
He scoffed.
“But, I don’t want his number,” you said, choosing not to tell him that he already had yours.
Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed and he pouted in confusion. “Let me leave then—”
“Yoongi, you need to stop playing dumb it’s getting awfully tiresome,” you interrupted him, slowly making your way over to the bed where he sat. You bravely straddled him, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and staring fiercely into his eyes. “We could all see how jealous you were tonight, stop fighting it… I want you more.”
Your confidence came from pure adrenaline and you went with it, beyond caring and unfazed by his indifferent reactions. He sighed uncomfortably, leaning back on his palms to create as much distance as possible—you ignored the resistance. You left a delicate peck to his cheek and another and another, starting at his cheekbone and moving down every kiss—your lipgloss sticking to his skin. He growled just before you got to the corner of his mouth.
"____," he warned.
"Please Yoongi, you know how I feel about you, I know you do. God, I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for so long, for years! I’ve touched myself to the thought of you so many times I can’t even count. Please fuck me Yoongi, I’m gonna go insane if you don’t.”
He was still and silent for a good few seconds. With your hands on his shoulders, you could feel the tension in them. You tried to massage them, relax him in any way, to get an answer out of him in any way. However, he continued to be as unreadable as he always was.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, ____,” he growled, guttural and pained.
“If you hadn’t been so opposed to giving in to me, like I know you want to, I wouldn’t have been forced to play.”
He stared into your eyes, resent in his own—you ignored it.
“Have you—“
“No,” you interrupted, knowing what he was asking. “I want you to be my first, please.”
At some point, you had nestled your face into the side of his neck and you could distinctly hear a rumbling in the back of it. It was his resolve, it was breaking, he was breaking. You put it all on the line, you uttered the words, the truth that hung in the air for years—it was now solid, in front of him, sitting on him and it was begging him for a fuck. How could he reject the notion, how could he reject you? He couldn’t... and he didn’t want to. And suddenly, he snapped.
“Just remember,” he growled before grabbing you by the hair and yanking your head back so he could look you in the eye, “you asked for this.”
You nodded to your best ability before he let go of your hair and you smacked your lips onto his. And you were kissing him—you were finally kissing Min Yoongi. His lips were soft and moist, tasted no less than delicious, although he was the one to devour you. He dominated your mouth, his lips moving yours, syncing yours into the perfect rhythm. You would have forgotten to breathe if he hadn't pulled away every few moments for you to softly gasp for air. Every nerve in your body felt electrified—you were so susceptible to his touch, it all felt and was, heightened. He was kissing you, he was finally kissing you and it was everything. It was better than you could have ever imagined.
His tongue was a surprise. It drove your mind into a foggy delirium, and sent your heart pounding to the point you'd thought he'd hear. You didn't know what to do with it, you squirmed when he first pushed the wet muscle past your lips—but he held your head, trapping you. Whenever you made a wrong move, flicked too much, swirled too much, he'd growl and you'd retreat. It was almost if he was teaching you how to kiss—which was fitting because you had only kissed two people in your lifetime and he had kissed actress after actor after actress. All that practice, it made sense he was so damn good at it.
Eventually, he got rougher—his hands sliding up your thighs, his teeth biting at your bottom lip. He was no longer giving you moments to breathe and when you pulled away to do so he grabbed your hair, yanking hard. With your head thrown back and your neck so inviting, Yoongi slowly licked a strip from your clavicle to the underside of your chin. Before you had a chance to process how downright kinky your make-out had turned, he had your lips enveloped by his, sucking, biting.
"Are you scared?" he growled against your lips, his hands clawing at your skin.
You squeaked at his abruptly aggressive motions—but you weren’t scared. You trusted him with your life, if he was trying to change your mind, as he probably was, it was the worst way to go about it. If anything, it was exciting you.
"No," you breathed.
Yoongi pulled you back slightly to give you a look. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, fucking hell, Yoongi!" you yelled, bucking your hips into his.
As much as he was enjoying your little body on top of him, Yoongi lifted you effortlessly and dropped you onto the bed. You almost bounced off of it but he grabbed you, flipping you over and pinning you against the mattress. Pushing up against your body, you could feel how hard he was through his pants, you could feel how big he was against your ass—it sent shivers of anticipation down your spine.
"If you're gonna act like a brat, you're gonna get treated like a brat," Yoongi rasped in your ear. You gulped, goosebumps formed on your skin and your core throbbed. He slowly let go of your hair, softly brushing it away from your face. "Are you gonna behave?"
You nodded yes, scared of the noises of unadulterated arousal that would escape you if you'd open your mouth.
Yoongi lifted his weight off of you but still held onto your hair. You had your cheek to the comforter so your shoulder obstructed your view of him—he eventually let go of your hair however your visibility was still poor. You were so in the dark, but it enticed you more, it had you wriggling and rubbing your thighs together. When you felt his touch again, it was on the backs of your thighs, stroking up and down, stopping just below your skirt, then dipping just under your skirt—until he was massaging you so close to your core you almost cried. Pushing your skirt up, you heard Yoongi let out a deep sigh at the sight of your lacy black panties, if they could be called panties at all. A slap fell to your right cheek and you yelped in surprise—followed by his chuckling. He grabbed at your hips, pulling them up off the mattress until you were on your knees, ass in the air, face buried in the comforter. He pulled at your panties, your dripping centre lubricating the friction and making you cry out.
"So wet," Yoongi mumbled to himself before kissing a cheek and then rolling your soiled underwear down your legs. Your breathing hitched, your eyes screwed shut. You could feel your clit throbbing and your whole body ignited realising he was just staring at all of your holes, all of your glory. You almost panicked until he licked a strip up your pussy—his tongue playing with your outer folds, tracing them, teasing you. With your face shoved against the bed, your moans and squeals were muffled, your breathing irregular and your body shaking. You were inexperienced in all aspects including how to receive. He held your thighs apart, taking his time to taste you thoroughly, to eat you properly. He lapped at your slit until he had you screaming, unable to handle the fervent pleasure—it felt like complete bliss, a mindblowing sensation that had your toes curling. He spread you further to bury his nose, his entire face, into your heat and craned his neck to reach your clit and suckled on it. Your eyes rolled back and before he even had a chance to stick a finger inside you, you were cumming all over his face.
"Already?" he teased, pulling away from you only after fully riding out your orgasm. All you could do was pant and he chuckled. "Another one?"
You shook your head frantically. "Please, Yoongi, it's too much!" your wails muffled into the sheets.
He was giving you a lot, your virgin pussy wasn’t used to such intense stimulation. Your thighs and ass were trembling, still having to hold the position for him and you didn't know how much longer you could. He ignored your pleas and delved his face back into your dripping heat, enclosing his lips over your sensitive bud once again. You cried out from the overstimulation and tried to crawl away but he was too strong—he grabbed you roughly and flipped you on your back. It was different seeing him, watching him do dirty things to you. It made your heart race and your nerves quake—as he spread your legs wide for him, he smirked at you and you blushed wildly. Thankfully, when he went down again, the pleasure was so heavenly you forgot about your shame. Eventually moving away from your clit, he rolled and dipped his tongue into your small hole. You immediately squealed from the foreign feeling and tried to shuffle away but he yanked your hips back down, holding your body in lock, before lightly tracing your entrance with a finger and his tongue moving back to massage your clit. Your moans and wails were uncontrollable, unfiltered, unruly. It was music to his ears. When he finally removed his mouth from you, you were whining for it back.
"You like it when I eat your little pussy, don't you?"
"Yes!" you moaned, cheeks flushed red.
He sniggered, kissing your inner thighs, two sloppy kisses on each. “Now, tell me, babydoll, where do you touch yourself when you think about me?"
He locked your gaze and you felt his words in the pit of your stomach. His lips and chin were glistening from your arousal and his eyes were dark and rich with desire. You stuttered so he demonstrated.
"Here?" He asked, tapping your drowned entrance.
You shook your head.
“Here?” He asked again, tracing his finger up to your clit and rubbing small circles.
You nodded shamefully, moaning and bringing a finger to your mouth to bite. He chuckled while prepping your small entrance. It was obvious it had been completely untouched so he wanted to be extra thorough, especially if his cock was getting anywhere near it tonight. You were squirming the entire time and it didn't take long for you to get anxious.
"Yoongi," you whined.
"Patience, baby," he hushed, "no one has touched you here before."
He initiated small pushes, only fingertip deep but it had you digging your nails into his biceps. You were tighter than he thought. Pushing that primal excitement to feel that around his cock aside, he kissed you to calm you down. It was also a perfect distraction to plunge his finger knuckle deep inside you.
You squealed into his mouth but he kept kissing you as he pumped, slowly and accurately. You were moaning so loud and brazenly, goosebumps were forming on his skin. It was a dream come true having you this way, trembling underneath him. Although his fantasies didn't come close to the real thing, close to you. Your mouth was so sweet he couldn't stop tasting it. Your lips so soft and your moans so sensual. He couldn't believe he ever tried to hold out from you. Once your walls started to mould to his movements, he decided to push another finger inside you and you didn't take it very well.
"Baby, you have to relax, ok?"
You nodded, trying your best to breathe through it all. He pumped you slower this time and peeled your shirt and bra off of you so he could trail kisses down your body. He stopped at your nipples giving each of them a lick. It was good but you knew what you wanted. Putting a hand on the top of his head, you shoved his head further down and he chuckled. Without any further protests he added his mouth into the mix, softly licking your clit, calming you, relaxing you and soon—he was smoothly pumping two fingers in and out of you and you were groaning and hissing in satisfaction. He sped up and it forced you to shoot up and prop yourself up onto your elbows. You watched him work with your mouth agape, enchanted, possessed by how good he was making you feel. Your second orgasm of the night wasn't far away as he pumped faster and faster, curling his fingers to hit a spot inside you that you didn't know existed and caused you to scream at the top of your lungs. You let go—your pussy clenching around his digits, your limbs trembling and your eyes rolling back.
"Oh my god," you breathed as Yoongi slowed down for you to ride out your orgasm and eventually, slid his fingers out of your warm cavern. He didn't reply or acknowledge you. Instead, he licked his fingers clean and then began to undress—this whole time he had been clothed while you were fully naked, offering your sweet body to him, giving him all the power. It made sense, you had begged for this moment and he was giving it to you.
"I’m gonna fuck you now," he rasped, having discarded his shirt and now undoing his belt.
You didn't know if you had it in you, but there was no way you were about to back out now—especially when his rock hard cock sprung free and he let out a low sigh. The imagery, the moment, had you drooling. You wanted to touch him so bad. You wanted to feel how velvety and warm and pulsing his length would be, you needed to. You reached out for it, wrapping your small palm around the girth and stroking smoothly. A bead of precum leaked out of his tip and you tapped at it, playing with the sticky fluid before spreading it down his shaft. He hissed and you snapped your head up to watch his reactions. You gripped tighter and stroked faster, earning deep groans.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he cooed, fighting the urge to thrust up into your hand. You kept going, encouraged by the praise, until he grabbed your hands to stop you. "But, I really need to fuck you now."
You nodded before shuffling your nude self back onto the bed. You sprawled out across the bed, offering yourself completely. You focused on your breathing as he loomed over you. This time, he didn’t kiss you or caress you or prep you in any way and instead, lined himself with your entrance. Within seconds, within a few strokes of his cock up your slit, it was happening—he was gradually pushing inside of you. You grabbed onto his forearm to squeeze through the pain but he didn’t say anything, only groaning when his entire length was lodged inside of you, filling you to the brim. Your thighs were shaking, your walls were throbbing at the intrusion. He was still for a few seconds, still refusing to utter a word before he began moving—thrusting into you at a decent pace. You really didn’t expect to be so vocal but as the pain subsided into a subtle sting and then into actual pleasure, moans spilled out. He was fucking you and god, it felt amazing. You were enraptured by his cock, stuffing itself into you over and over, stretching you deliciously. You were pulling at the sheets, pulling at your own hair just needing something to hold onto. God, he felt amazing.
You started to get embarrassed again, watching him just stare at your centre, watching his cock slide in and out of you. You covered your face and your mouth, whimpering into your hands whenever he’d deliver a particularly hard thrust. Your muffled moans pulled him out of his trance and he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty, your walls clenching around nothing—you almost whimpered at the loss of him, at the loss of feeling so full. He flipped you over, yanking your hips up, ready to continue fucking you from behind.
“You’re such a good girl for me,” he cooed, slapping his cock on your ass.
“Yoongi, please,” you keened, wiggling your ass back, needing to feel full again.
He listened to your pleas, shoving himself back into you and pounding you at an unruly pace. From the angle, the position, he reached deeper inside of you, knocking you forward every time his hips were cushioned by your ass. You gave him all the control, submitting to him entirely. Every thrust was tinged with pain, but brought you closer to your end. You should have asked him so slow down, to be more gentle but you were hypnotised, entranced by the pleasure. You didn’t know how much longer you were to last. Yoongi felt your walls tightening and pulsing around him and he hissed.
“Are you gonna cum, huh, baby?” he teased you, keeping up his pace, pushing down the small of your back so he could pound deeper inside of you. You whined your answer and he sniggered, picking up his pace and then pulling out again, leaving you high and dry. You body gave out, flopping down onto the mattress—you whimpered feeling your release slipping away from you. He climbed over you, pulling your hair back. He really loved pulling your hair.
“Not yet,” he rasped into your ear, “I wanna see your face when you cum.”
You whined and he flipped your over, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist. He kissed you, which was a surprise, as he entered you again. He hit your sweet spot inside and it had your mouth agape and your eyes rolling back. You decided, then and there, it was your favourite position so far. He began rocking into you and you couldn’t control your moans. Having been so close to the edge, to be slowly built back up again, had your body trembling. He kissed your more, holding your hands above your head and from that angle, his pelvis began rubbing up against your clit.
“Oh my god!” you screamed against his lips.
He suddenly began thrusting faster and harder and sloppier. You could tell he was close, his breath jagged against your ear. He repositioned your legs, his arms hooking underneath your knees and pushing them to your chest. He jackhammered into you, chasing his release and before he found his—the coil snapped at the pit of your stomach.
“Oh fuck,” Yoongi groaned as your walls clenched wildly around him. He pumped, one, two, three times before spilling his seed into you with a growl. Your orgasm continued to rack through your body, igniting every nerve with ecstacy. He pulled out and jerked off violently, continuing to cum all over your pussy, splurts landing on your stomach. You felt his warm seed leak out of your entrance and drip on the sheets as your walls constricted. Yoongi groaned at the sight, slapping his softening cock on your soiled folds and making you whimper. As your high hit you and then dwindled away from you, so did your consciousness and within a minute or two, you fell into the most relaxed, dreamless sleep.
The other side of your bed was cold the next morning and surprisingly, you succeeded at holding back the tears. You didn’t ask for anything other than sex, you couldn’t expect more than that. You laid there, staring at the ceiling, nailing those words into your brain, repeating them, thinking them over and over until you could swallow the lump in your throat.
You fished for your phone on your nightstand, slapping wildly until you felt your cool screen. Tapping your lock button, you were surprised to see a lot of texts, two from an unknown number and the rest from Yoongi. Your heart felt less heavy knowing he didn’t just sneak out of your bed without leaving a note. You decided to leave his texts for last.
Speedily typing in your passcode, you were embarrassed to see Safari open on a news google search of Min Yoongi. Before meeting him last night, you had heard through the grapevine he was back from shooting a film overseas—you had to verify that information and there was no way you could ask your best friend who was also his sister. You thanked the heavens you didn’t pull out your phone at all throughout the night. If anyone saw that, if Yoongi saw it—you didn’t know if you could have lived that down.
Still groggy and squinting at the brightness, you accidentally refreshed the page and froze for a moment. You really needed to clear some memory. You tapped around until it finally loaded on articles posted 5 hours ago and pictures of Yoongi at the airport posted 3 hours ago. The articles, however, were about you and Yoongi. You couldn’t believe it, your eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. You tapped into the first article to read and it was just like any other tabloid, harping on about this new mystery girl in Min Yoongi’s life—also spotted canoodling in the club by an inside source. You shook your head and sighed at the shamelessness of the gossip and the intrusive photographs. Thankfully, Yoongi did a good job of hiding your face and was a pro at fending off paparazzi. Your identity was safe.
Next, you tapped into your messages from the unknown number and the content made you gasp.
unknown [11:19:am]:
u better hav gotten laid last night or next time i’m layin u myself ;)
unknown [11:21:am]:
it’s jungkook btw x
You giggled while thinking of a reply and how wrong Yoongi was. No matter how flirty or sleazy his front was, you knew he was a decent guy—surely, Yoongi knew that too otherwise they wouldn’t be best friends.
you [1:01pm]:
mission completed!!
couldn’t have done it without u, evil mastermind ;)
Biting your lip to prevent the stupid grin from spreading across your face, you stared at the messages for a minute, hoping to see the three little bubbles initidicating typing. They didn’t appear so you tapped out of his messages, moving to Yoongi’s. You took a deep breath, scrolling up to the first one.
DON’T txt when drunk [7:31am]:
i had a plane to catch
DON’T txt when drunk [7:32am]:
trust me, i wouldn’t have left like that if i didn’t…
last night wasn’t a one night stand, i promise
i really do have feelings for you, ____. i have for a while
DON’T txt when drunk [7:34am]:
we’ll figure this out
i’ll see you in a couple of months
You really didn’t know what to feel. You were willing to wait for him, of course you were—he was all you ever wanted and finally, you had him. You weren’t about to let him go. Although, you just wished so hard that it didn’t have to be so tricky, especially regarding the next text he sent.
DON’T txt when drunk [7:44am]:
oh and don’t tell my sister… not yet
And just as you read it, another text came through.
platonic loml [1:13pm]:
wtf were u doin w/ my brother at a club last night??
platonic loml [1:14pm]:
I kno ur the mystery girl bitch i helped u pick out that skirt remember
you [1:15pm]:
we were meeting up with a mutual friend
Your phone pinged almost immediately.
platonic loml [1:15pm]:
the fuck does that supposed to mean??
… are you….
you [1:15pm]:
platonic loml [1:16pm]:
you [1:16pm]:
platonic loml [1:17pm]:
wHO IS HE?!?
You sighed. If you continued to deny her claim she’d only grow more persistent she was right and maybe, even put two and two together and realise it was her brother you were fucking. And you agreed with Yoongi that that couldn’t happen… not yet. Open on her messages, another message from unknown popped up at the top of your screen that read, “proud of you, lil babydoll ;)” and it gave you an idea. A terrible idea, but you did what you had to do. You typed out her reply without thinking it through and pressed send. You knew you were going to regret it. You definitely were going to regret it.
you [1:20pm]: 
jeon jungkook…
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solastia · 3 years ago
Tuqburni | 2
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Pairing: Yoonmin x Reader 
Word Count: 6,968
Genre & Warnings: Angst, Fluff, explicit smut. Threesomes. 
Notes: Enjoy this smutfest before we delve back into angstville. 
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Saturdays were usually your favorite. You’d sleep in until noon, wake up and make breakfast, then you and Yoongi would binge-watch Netflix for most of the day. Today, however, was your three-year anniversary, and usually, those involved him taking you out somewhere. Even though he didn’t seem to remember it, you continued your routine in the hopes that maybe he was just being sly and trying to spring something on you. 
So despite how tired you were from a night of tossing and turning, you get up to make breakfast. You make the usual heart-shaped pancakes complete with chocolate chips, strawberries, and whipped cream. You make his coffee using the special expensive beans that are only brought out for holidays because you guys had to special order it from some hipster place that grows and roasts them on site in limited batches. You even make his usual bowl of rice on the side, because even though rice isn’t usually paired with pancakes, he’s an old-fashioned soul that “feels weird” if he doesn’t start his day with rice. 
You hear the shower start up and assume it’s Jimin since Yoongi likes to have his coffee and breakfast first. You go ahead and start plating now that they were awake. 
You’re humming to yourself when Jimin finally wanders into the kitchen, no doubt following the smell, no sign of Yoongi behind him. His puffy and half asleep face was slightly covered by the hoodie he’d put on, and frankly, you’d find him adorable right now if you weren’t so determined to not like him. 
“Sit,” you order softly and place a plate in front of him. He quietly thanks you, smiling drowsily before he takes a bite. 
“Noona, these are amazing!” Jimin moans with a gravelly voice, thick from sleep. 
Ever a sucker for having your cooking complimented, you smile at him genuinely for the first time without thinking. Jimin freezes midbite, staring at your mouth. A strawberry falls off of his fork unheeded. You’re about to ask if you have something stuck in your teeth when Yoongi comes strolling into the kitchen, pecking the both of you on the cheek. 
“Good morning, loves.” As you observe him cheerily fixing his coffee, you realize that besides the odd phenomenon of him being fully aware before his caffeine, he’s totally showered and dressed like he’s ready to leave. 
“How many pancakes do you want, Yoongi?” You ask, setting his rice and a plate next to Jimin at the table. 
“Mmmm, as good as they smell, babe, I have to get going. We have a comeback starting in a couple weeks, and I can’t leave Namjoon alone in the studio.” He chuckles then drains his coffee quickly, leaving the cup in the sink. 
“Oh, noona, did you drop this?” Jimin asks, peering at the trashcan. He leans over and grabs the card you’d thrown in there, Yoongi’s name in bright red glitter glue. You always use glitter glue instead of markers. He hated how the glitter got everywhere, and you found it hilarious when he grumbled for days. 
You want to be furious at Jimin for not keeping his mouth shut, but you suppose it’s more your fault for waiting until after breakfast to take out the trash. Yoongi’s eyes widen when he spots the shiny red of his name. 
“Oh, did you write me a love letter, Princess?” He smirks and grabs the card from Jimin, who is glancing at you curiously, no doubt wondering why you’d suddenly gone tense. 
Yoongi opens the card and pulls out the two playoff tickets you’d had to promise so many favors to get. Your friend Baekhyun was as adorable as they come but was really a diabolical mastermind. He’d made you promise to treat him to pizza once a week for a month and petsit his puppy. However, the way he’d worded it made you unsure if he’d really meant his dog or his boyfriend. 
“Shit, babe! These were sold out! How did you get these?” Yoongi’s surprised gaze flitters between you and the tickets as you smile at him with smug pride. 
“I have my connections.” You say airily as you prepare coffee for yourself. 
Yoongi grins at you knowingly. “So, what do you have to do for Baek this time?” 
You huff at the loss of your mysterious cover. “Pizza for a month,” you moan dramatically as Yoongi chuckles. 
“Shit, babe this is amazing, but these are for today. I really have to finish at work, the last piece is due on Monday. You and Jiminie should go. I’m sad that I’ll miss out, but at least my babies can have a good time, yeah? Love you, gotta go.” Yoongi pecks the both of you on the lips and rushes out, leaving you staring at the tickets he’d left on the counter. He didn’t even seem to wonder why you’d gotten him the tickets. 
You sigh wearily and begin cleaning up, not much in the mood to sit down to eat anymore. Besides, you’d had your fair share of stolen strawberries while you’d cooked. It’s silent for a good two minutes until you hear Jimin clear his throat behind you. 
“Noona?” His voice is soft and unsure, and it makes you feel terrible. You were generally well known for being a kind person, and the fact that someone was too scared to even talk to you was an uncomfortable experience. Even if a small part of you reveled in the last shred of dominance you had over him. 
You turn to Jimin, your eyebrow raised in question. He clears his throat again and squares his shoulders like he’s going into battle. 
“I’d love to go with you if you’ll have me. We could make it our first real date because I think you’ll agree that ice cream thing that Yoongi sprung on us doesn’t count. I’ll even take you to dinner. Please?” His eyes are wide and pleading, his generous lips pursed in a slight pout. You wondered if there was a secret school that people like Jimin and Baekhyun attended. Pout perfection 101. It had even you melting momentarily. 
“It’s okay, Jimin. You don’t have to pretend to date me. I know what you’re here for.” You mumble, unable to stop yourself from allowing hurt to color your tone. 
“No, Noona, it’s...I know we don’t have to date each other too to be in this, but I think it would be good if we at least try? It would certainly make things easier, and it’s not like I don’t find you attractive.” His voice tapered off into an almost whisper towards the end, and you peek over to find him staring at his hands, his cheeks covered in a deep blush. 
You were slightly flattered, you couldn’t lie. Someone as ethereal as Jimin saying he found you attractive in any way would flatter anyone. 
“Jimin...I don’t know.” You know that what he’s saying makes sense if you want things to work out in the long run, but it seemed too hard. You were still so hurt, and in your head he was still the dastardly villain, twirling his evil mustache.
His head shot up, eyes filled with fierce determination. “Y/N, give me a chance. This is the first time we’ve really been able to talk one on one, something we should have done a long time ago, but still. I know this is all unfair, and that a good chunk of the blame lies on my door. Allow me to make an attempt at making things better for us. You’ve been trying so hard, and you do so much for us. But you’re unhappy, I can see that, and I don’t blame you. Yoongi seems to love you as much as he loves me, and I know it would break him if you became so unhappy you’d leave him. For Min Yoongi to love you so fiercely, you must be amazing, so I’d like the chance to learn for myself. Please? Please give me a chance to make you happy?”
You stare at Jimin in wonder, and for the first time, you see a glimpse of just what would make Yoongi fight to keep him. 
“I...” you chew your bottom lip in thought, observing Jimin’s eager expression. Finally, you sigh. “Fine, but you’re buying dessert too.” 
Jimin beams, his eye smile endearing. “Great! Let’s get ready, Noona.” He jumps up and places his dishes in the washer before running to the bedroom. 
He politely lets you shower first, which is a blessing because you’ve learned since he’d moved in that he takes forever to get ready. While he’s in there taking his turn, you get dressed, throwing on one of your favorite semicasual date outfits. A simple black dress accented by a silver leather jacket and matching pumps, as well as your fishnets. Yoongi loved your fishnets, and you wondered if Jimin would too. 
He wanders into the bedroom clad only in his tight boxer briefs as you’re finishing up your hair and makeup, freezing in the door as soon as he sees you. 
“Wow, you look incredible.” He says as his eyes travel your body up and down. You’re still a little weirded out by this sudden change, but you can’t help feeling a little smug. 
“I know,” you shrug, pretending to be unbothered, and go back to touching up your lashes. Jimin chuckles and grabs his clothes from the closet. 
You sneak a small peek, just out of curiosity since you’d never really allowed yourself to look at him in that way before. You had to admit he was built nicely. Surprisingly muscled and sharply toned despite the babyface. And even you had to admit the view you had of his ass as he bent over to pull on the black jeans he’d grabbed was fascinating. You quickly remind yourself that his ass is what your boyfriend has been buried in the past couple of nights, completely ignoring you, and that sobers you back up. You’re not doing this for any personal interest, just to try and be less unhappy. Maybe if Yoongi sees the two of you getting along, he’ll be more inclined to remember you’re a part of this too. 
You were so lost in your thoughts you slightly jump when Jimin suddenly speaks behind you. “Well, what do you think?” 
You turn from your vanity seat to see him smirking at you, his outfit a mirror to yours. Black shirt, black jeans, and a silver jacket with silver dress shoes. 
You can’t stop the giggle that escapes. “Couple outfits, are you serious?” 
“Hey, Y/N.” He says softly, his voice somehow still commanding in a way, enough to make you glance at his face in surprise. His expression is completely sober. “I am. Completely serious. I want to do this for real.” 
Your cheeks suddenly feel hot as a blush forms against your will. You flap your hands in a way that you hope conveys a lack of care. The fact that your heart fluttered a little was probably just due to lack of attention the past few weeks.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”
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The courtside seats were excellent; near enough to the players that you even smelled the sweat, and not too crowded. You felt terrible that Yoongi had to miss out because you knew he would have flipped out being this close. Not to mention that the seats were utterly wasted on you, someone who’s only knowledge of the sport came from what Yoongi yelled at the television. You spotted a few idols and actors you were familiar with in the crowd and exchanged friendly waves. 
“Noona, did you just wave to Gong Yoo?” Jimin asked in shock, his mouth next to your ear to be heard in the loud stadium. 
You smirk and lean in, trying not to focus on the fact that he wrapped his arm around your waist to bring you closer to his ear. “Yeah, he played a musician in his drama last year, and I was the one that worked with him. He still asks me out every time I see him, so don’t be surprised if he comes over here.”
Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up at that, and he quickly turns to glare in the man’s direction. You snort and poke his shoulder. 
“Stop glaring at Gong Yoo.” 
“Nope. Can’t let you become the Goblin’s bride. We all saw how that played out. Yoongi would kill me because you know he’s totally the grim reaper.” 
You throw your head back, unable to stop the genuine laughter at the image. Jimin glances back at you, smiling proudly for finally making you laugh. He opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the appearance of a food vendor. He unwraps his arm from your waist and leans forward to talk to the man. You try not to dwell on the fact that your waist suddenly felt naked without Jimin wrapped around it. 
“You want anything, baby?” Jimin asked absentmindedly as he looked over the options. Your silence prompted him to turn around, and he took one glance at your surprised face and hastily apologized as he realized what he’d said. 
“I’m sorry, it just...ummm.” Jimin stuttered, his cheeks blazing. 
“It’s...uh, it’s okay. No biggie. I’ll take a hot dog, no onions, and a beer. Please.” You shyly answer. Jimin nods and quickly turns back to the vendor, no doubt hoping for the moment to be forgotten.  
The two of you dug into your food as you pretended to watch the game. Honestly, it was more exciting to watch live, but you still didn’t know enough to really follow. And it quickly became apparent after Jimin starting rooting for “guy with the green hair” that was on the opposing team that he didn’t know anything either. 
“I’m beginning to suspect that these tickets were as big a waste on you as they were on me. You don’t know anything about basketball, do you?” You snicker at Jimin’s overly dramatic sigh. 
“Only a little that I picked up from Yoongi. Otherwise, it just looks like a very complicated game of monkey in the middle. At least they all look very nice doing it.” 
“True,” you agree, as a passing player winks at the both of you. 
Suddenly the crowd around you is yelling and shaking your shoulder, pointing up to the ceiling. You look up to find a nightmare. You’d forgotten about this horrifying tradition at sports games. 
You and Jimin were on kiss cam. 
You inhale a shuddering breath and glance up at Jimin, who is already staring down at you, his gaze dark and terrifyingly determined. As usual, your mind had to go into overdrive, questioning everything. Was he determined because he really wanted this, or was that more of a preparing himself for something unpleasant kind of determination? 
A hand gently cupped your jaw, and suddenly Jimin was coming closer until his lips were on yours. You were surprised to find you didn’t hate it. His plush lips were so soft and gentle as he tentatively coaxed you to respond. He began to pull back, but you mindlessly followed and finally kissed him back, marveling at how your lips slotted together perfectly. He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, nipping gently and grinning against your lips when you gasped. He quietly moaned against you, his heavy breathing as you finally moved apart awakening something in you. You stare at his lips that are wet and pinkened because of you, and you’re so confused as to why that makes you feel proud. 
Suddenly, you become aware of the roars of approval and remember where you’re at. The two of you soon sport matching blushes and Jimin grins at you sheepishly. As soon as the camera moves away and the people behind you stop poking your shoulders, Jimin leans over. 
“Wanna head out?” 
“Oh, God, please.” You plead, making Jimin laugh as he helps you up and escorts you out to the car. 
Once you’re on the road, he turns to you. “Still up for dinner?” 
“Yeah, I could eat. All I really had today was the hot dog.” 
“Can’t let my Noona starve! I know just the place.” 
Twenty minutes later he’s leading you into a tiny restaurant, following after a sweet old woman who greets Jimin like he’s her grandchild. After you tell him you don’t have any preferences, he places two orders of “his regular,” which turns out to be Kimchi Jjigae with pork belly and a plate of mandu. You take a bite and glance at him in surprise. 
“This is really good. Most places don’t make it sour enough for me, but this is perfect.” You explain, humming around your spoon. 
He grins, pushing some side dishes closer to you. “Yeah, she’s great. She learned a long time ago that I’m not into seafood, so she makes it with rice stock instead of anchovies. Same with the side dishes, all fish free.” 
“Aren’t you from Busan?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow.
He sighs theatrically, still smiling. “Yes, I’m a man from Busan that’s not into seafood. I’m a disgrace to my city. Please stone me and have me exiled.” 
“Don’t worry, I won’t go that far. Most you’ll get from me is a good shaking of my head in your direction. I’ve been with Yoongi too long. I’m much too lazy for a stoning,” you giggle. 
The rest of the dinner goes by smoothly, both of you too preoccupied with eating to make too much conversation, but when a topic arises, it’s not difficult. Jimin’s surprisingly easy to talk to, not to mention polite and kind. You’d never really noticed before since you’d been looking at him through a haze of bitterness and jealousy. Not that it had all magically went away. You’d just packed it into the back of your mind. Might as well enjoy your anniversary. 
Soon enough the two of you find yourselves walking along the street eating the crepes filled with ice cream he’d insisted on getting, despite your stomach near to bursting. You’re staring into the shop windows as you pass along, humming to yourself as you enjoy your treat when Jimin suddenly grasps your left hand and laces your fingers together. You glance up at him in shock before looking down at your combined hands. 
Jimin clears his throat and peeks at you with a little embarrassed smile, squeezing your hand lightly in a comforting way. 
“Soooo....” you mumble, trying to cut the tension a little. “Did you always want to be a dancer?” 
“Oh, well. Secretly, yeah. But for a long time, I planned to become a police officer because I figured that was more realistic.”
“You should have just become a stripper then. You could be a dancer and an officer whenever you wanted.” You chuckle mischievously.
Jimin cocks an eyebrow, grinning down at you in amusement. “Oh Noona, already thinking about lap dances? Feisty.” 
You choke on your own saliva, squeaking with indignation as Jimin laughs. 
“Shut up.” You groan. Jimin smiles at you happily and swings your arms back and forth as the two of you walked back to the car. 
“This was nice, Y/N. I’m glad this went so well. I'm serious when I say I want this to work. I know we didn’t start off well, but I’m hoping this is a sign we’ll be okay.” 
You sigh and buckle in, taking in Jimin’s seemingly genuine desire to include you. “I hope so too. I mean, everything is not going to be perfect all because of one night, Jimin. I’m still hurt, and yes, I’ll admit it, jealous and bitter. What we have going on here is weird, and I don’t even feel welcome in my own home half the time. However, you seem like you really are serious about making it work. I have just been so focused on making sure that Yoongi was happy that I forgot we’re supposed to be happy too. I promise to try harder.” 
“Let’s go home, Noona.” Jimin reaches over and grabs your hand, leaving a gentle kiss on the back of it. He grins cheekily then starts the car, humming as he drives home. 
You decide to take the time to check your phone. You power it up since you’d both shut your phones off during the basketball game and you’d just forgotten to turn it back on. You had ten missed calls and fifteen messages, all from Yoongi. 
“Shit, is your phone on?” You ask Jimin as you scroll through the messages, most of them just asking where you were and to text or call him back asap. 
“No. I left mine off too.” He hands his phone to you to turn on while he drives, and sure enough, he has an almost equal amount of messages. 
You quickly call Yoongi, who answers after one ring. 
“Finally. Where are you guys?” 
“We went to have dinner after the game, then walked around a little bit while we had dessert. Why? What’s up?” 
Jimin glances at you, worry evident in his eyes, and you shrug.
“Just...get home soon. I’m so sorry, Princess. So sorry, I love you. Hurry home.” 
The call abruptly ends, and you hold your phone before your face in confusion. 
“What’s wrong?” Jimin asks, and you shrug. 
“Not sure. He said sorry and to hurry home. Maybe he remembered...” you mumble, and Jimin peers at you in confusion. 
“It’s, ah, nothing. I guess we’ll see what’s up. Onward, Officer Park.” 
“You’re going to hold that over me forever, aren’t you.” He snorts. 
You smile innocently. “Of course not. Only until I lose my memory someday.” 
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“Yoongi? We’re home,” you call out as the two of you enter the house. You kick off your heels, looking up with a small smile as Yoongi exits the bedroom. 
He looks angry, and for a moment you’re terrified that perhaps he saw the kiss cam and was mad about you kissing Jimin. After all, you’d never discussed actual dynamics. Maybe Yoongi didn’t want the two of you to interact like that. 
He rushes towards you, and before you can think of an excuse, he drops to his knees and buries his face in your stomach, wrapping his arms around you to bring you closer. 
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” he mumbles into your shirt. 
You reach down and card your fingers through his hair, crooning. “It’s okay, baby. It’s no big deal. I’m fine.” Of course, you knew you were lying, but you hated seeing Yoongi like this. 
“I didn’t even make the connection, my mind was so wrapped up in work. The pancakes, the tickets. God, I’m an asshole. I didn’t even remember until Jin brought Namjoon lunch and screamed in my face for being at work today.” 
“What am I missing?” Jimin asked, prompting Yoongi to finally look up. Your heart clenches when you notice he was starting to tear up a little. 
“Jiminie, thank you for taking care of her today. I forgot today was our three year anniversary, but at least she had you.” 
“Anniversary? Noona, why didn’t you tell me?” Jimin’s jaw drops, and he turns to you dumbfounded. You just shrug and keep petting through Yoongi’s hair. 
“Because she never complains. She never fucking complains. I used to love it, but then she lets me get away with doing shit like this and I hate it. Baby girl, I’m so sorry. I love you so much.” Yoongi finally stands up and pulls you in by the back of your neck, kissing you harshly with slightly chapped lips. He pulls away and presses your foreheads together. 
“I got you a gift though. I didn’t forget entirely. I got it a few weeks ago. Hold on.” Yoongi suddenly rushes towards the fancy sound system he had set up for the entertainment center. He pulls the front off of one of the speakers and pulls out a velvet box, approximately the size of a tablet. 
“You sneaky son of a bitch.” You exclaim with a pout, seeing his new hiding spot. 
Yoongi chuckles as he walks back to you. “I had to get creative after you found my present stash in the hall closet.” 
He holds the box up in front of you and slowly opens it. “You know how much I like you in red. I saw these and couldn’t stop picturing you wearing nothing but them,” he explains with a slowly deepening voice.
When the box is opened, you inhale shakily, shocked by the glittering red contents. It’s an entire set of ruby jewelry. There is a ring and a bracelet, what appeared to be a thick ruby collar, and right in the middle of all of them was a ruby tiara. 
“A tiara, Yoongi, really? Why do I need a tiara?” You giggle, still peering at the contents in awe. 
He hums and kisses your cheek, pleased by your reaction. “Because you’re my Princess. Do you like them?” 
“They are stunning. Yoongi, this is too much.”
“Nothing is too much. You deserve everything, and I’m sorry that I’m lacking.” Yoongi mumbles. You stroke his cheek lightly, letting him know without words that you loved him. 
“Okay, now put them on me!” You laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. 
Yoongi’s eyes darken as he smirks at you. “Not yet. I told you I pictured you wearing nothing but them, didn’t I?” 
You peek at Jimin, a little embarrassed that Yoongi was talking like that in front of him. Yoongi notices and turns to Jimin. 
“What do you think, Jimin? Don’t you think your Noona would look stunning in these?” 
Jimin licks his lips and catches your eyes, his own slightly dilated as he stares at you hungrily. 
“Yes. She would look incredible.” 
You gulp nervously as Yoongi sets the box down and grabs the jacket your wearing, lifting his eyebrows in a silent plea for permission. You take one last look at Jimin, and not seeing any signs of discomfort, you quickly nod. Yoongi sighs and slides your jacket off, throwing it across the recliner behind him, before moving behind you and grabbing the zipper in the back of the dress. 
“Jiminie hasn’t gotten to see you yet, has he? He’s in for a treat.” Yoongi chuckles darkly and presses a kiss to the back of your neck as he begins to pull the zipper down slowly. The sound is abnormally loud and echoing in your ears. 
Jimin still hasn’t looked away from you. He’s just staring right into your eyes like he’s daring you to look elsewhere. It isn't until Yoongi begins sliding the dress off of your shoulders that his gaze finally lowers. As the black lace bra is finally revealed, Jimin visibly swallows hard and licks his lips. His gaze follows the path of the rest of the dress as Yoongi purposely lowers it slowly until it hits your ankles and you kick it away, allowing Jimin to feast on the view in front of him.
“Can he help with the rest, sweetheart?” Yoongi asks as he rests his long fingers along the side of your stomach and holds you close. You can feel his bulge digging into your back, and it takes you a few moments to remember he’d asked you something. 
“Yes...please,” and suddenly it was like he’d just been waiting for you to say something because Jimin rushed forward and buried his nose in your neck, inhaling and pressing a soft kiss there. 
Jimin’s fingers trailed down from your collarbone to either side of your breasts, teasing with light brushes before cupping them both. He lifts his head and watches you as he moves his thumbs over to brush against your nipples. 
“Is this okay, Noona?” He asks softly, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it before and looking at you like you were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Either he was the world’s greatest actor, or he was being genuine, which was just as confusing. He was only here for Yoongi, right? 
“It’s okay. You can...take it off.” You mumble shyly. 
Yoongi unsnaps your bra from behind. “Still good, baby?” He asks lowly in your ear. You nod and crane your neck around to peck his lips quickly before turning back to Jimin. 
He bites his lip and hooks his fingers under each bra strap, sliding them down slowly. As your breasts are revealed, he throws the bra behind him and stares down at you in awe, reaching out to cup them like before. 
“So perfect,” he groans, pinching your nipples slightly. You gasp in surprise but lean into the touch. 
Yoongi chuckles from behind you. “I guess you can tell Jiminie is a boob guy.” 
Jimin smirks then trails his fingers down until they rest near Yoongi’s that were still lodged against your hips. He tugs lightly against the top of your panties, peering at you in silent query. You take a deep breath, suddenly really nervous because holy shit you were about to be naked in front of Park Jimin, but you nod to give him the go ahead. 
He suddenly drops to his knees and begins pulling the panties down slowly, groaning as you’re revealed to him. 
“Fuck, Noona, you are so wet already. Your panties are soaked. How are you so wet?” He holds up the panties in question, causing you to blush profusely. Yoongi groans at the sight, leaning in to nibble on your neck. 
“I think we’ve been neglecting her, haven’t we? Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you. You have two cocks at your disposal, baby. Nothing but the best for the Princess.” Yoongi growls against your neck. “How’s the view, Jimin?” 
“She’s perfect, hyung. So pretty. Even her pussy is pretty,” Jimin responds as he strokes your thighs, staring at the dripping sight in front of him. 
Yoongi smirks and releases you, reaching over to get the box of jewelry. You give a startled squeak when a wet tongue suddenly slides up your pussy. You look down to see Jimin grinning at you with wet lips. Yoongi peeks over your shoulder and laughs. 
“Yah, you brat. Are you sneaking a taste?” 
Jimin whines dramatically, still smiling. “I couldn’t help it. She’s dripping down her thighs, and she smells so good.” 
“Sounds like she’s going to need to be serviced soon. Strip while I get her ready.” Yoongi orders as he clasps the ruby bracelet around your left wrist. 
You take a moment to admire it on you before you notice the shuffling in front of you. Jimin is taking off his clothes speedily, throwing them everywhere until you were faced with the view that you had earlier today. He stood there with his sculpted body, his hands holding the tops of his boxers as he waited for the go-ahead from you, like you would actually turn him down at this point. You scoff quietly but nod, following the path of the boxers down his body. 
It was strange seeing another dick in front of you after only being with Yoongi for three whole years. He was thicker than Yoongi but not as long. It was a pretty pink and clear of all the veins that stuck out on Yoongi’s. You were suddenly struck with the desire to see what he tasted like and unconsciously licked your lips. His dick twitched like it heard your thoughts and he stalked back to stand in front of you. 
Jimin helps Yoongi put the rest of the jewelry on you, wrapping the ruby collar tightly against your neck and placing the ring on your right hand. Yoongi comes around to face you with the Tiara, grinning naughtily as he places it snugly into your hair. 
“Damn, Jimin, have you ever seen a more beautiful woman?” Yoongi asks as he observes you. 
“No. She’s stunning. The perfect Princess.”
You can’t stop blushing, never having received this much attention in your entire life, but you can’t say you don’t like it. In fact, you probably loved it a little too much. You were supposed to hate Jimin, he was your rival, but all you wanted right now was to know how he felt buried deep inside of you. 
“Jimin, since you were so desperate to get a taste of her, why don’t you eat her out while I undress, make sure she’s nice and ready for us.” 
Jimin led you to the couch and sat down, positioning you so that you were standing on the cushions with one leg on either side of him and leaning over to grasp the back of the couch. You blush and glance down at his head between your legs. He winks at you cheekily before sticking out his tongue to lick your clit. You groan and buck your hips into his face. He grabs your ass to pull you closer, the lewd slurping noises as he basically feasted on you filling the living room. You reach down and slide your hands into his hair as he works, your cries increasing in volume. His plush lips felt so incredible, like they were made for pleasure. 
“Fuck...” Startled, you glance behind you, surprised to find you’d actually forgotten Yoongi was there. He was staring at the sight of Jimin underneath you, his lips working against you as saliva and your juices dripped down his chin. 
Yoongi has his long fingers wrapped around his cock as he watched, tugging lazily. You whine, desperate for him, and he smiles as he comes up behind you and kisses the dip at the base of your spine.  
“Are you ready to sit on your throne, Princess? Wanna try out Jimin’s?” 
You pull your hips away slightly to glance down at Jimin, suddenly unsure. Did he even want to go that far? You were in such a pleasure induced haze, you’d probably agree to anything right now, but that didn’t mean he had to. 
You guessed he sensed your hesitation because he suddenly smiled shyly, his drenched face contrasting perversely. 
“Please, Noona? I’ll make you feel so good,” he asked quietly, pressing a light kiss against your thigh. 
You chew your lip in thought, assessing his face for the truth. He seems to really want this, amazingly enough, so you nod and let him ease you down. Yoongi reaches between you and grasps Jimin’s cock, leaning near your ear one last time. 
“Still all good?” He murmurs and kisses your neck when you nod. 
He lines Jimin up with you and Jimin’s hands on your hips slowly ease you down. The slight stretch as your body adjusts to the new thickness isn’t bad, and you practically slide right down you’re so wet. 
Jimin gasps and bangs his against the back of the couch. Yoongi looks up from your neck, releasing the bit of skin he’d been sucking on to laugh. 
“She feels fucking amazing, doesn’t she?” 
Jimin nods but keeps his eyes clamped shut. “So fucking tight and warm. I’m not going to last long,” he whimpers, his fingers clenching hard against your hip.
“Give him a good ride, baby,” Yoongi whispers into your ear before sitting in the recliner next to the two of you and grasping his cock in his hands. 
The desire to just watch Yoongi was strong, but the twitching cock inside of you reminded you of your task. You peek at Jimin, surprised to find him watching you. He suddenly lifts you up before slamming you back down, the both of you moaning at the intense sensation. You adjust yourself so that your hands are on his shoulders and dig in your knees, and ride him hard, giving him your all. A tiny part of you insists it’s to show Jimin that Yoongi lacked nothing while he was gone. The other thought that you’re not quite ready to explore says that you are just enjoying how pretty Jimin is when he’s falling apart under you. 
And pretty he is. His lips are parted with little whimpers and groans escaping, his heavy-lidded eyes pleading with you to look at him. You stare into his pleasure filled gaze as the room is filled with skin slapping against wet skin, cries from the two of you, and the occasional grunt from Yoongi. 
It doesn’t take long before you feel his grip on your hips tighten painfully. 
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum, Noona!” Jimin groans and tries to lift you off of him, but you smack his hand away and slam down hard, rolling your hips slowly as he cums inside of you with a stuttered moan. He stares at you as he comes down, breathing heavily and petting every part of your skin he could touch. 
“Is the Princess ready for me now?” A voice growls against your ear. 
“Yes, Yoongi, please.” You plead as he helps lift you up so that Jimin could slide out of you. 
You try to back off from Jimin a little bit, so you don’t smother him, but he just pulls you closer, kissing you softly before tucking your head into the crook of his neck. This angled you towards Yoongi, so he entered you effortlessly, the remains of Jimin’s release easing the way. 
“Shit, this is so dirty. You like this, baby? You like me fucking Jimin’s cum out of you? I’m going to fill you back up when I’m done. Can’t let my Princess be empty.” Yoongi grunts as he slams his hips into you, already overly excited from watching. 
You moan into Jimin’s neck as he wraps his arms around you, petting your sides and whispering things into your ear that you were too far gone to make out. Jimin slides one of his hands down to rub your swollen clit. 
“Oh, God, I’m going to cum! Jiminnnnn....”you whine, nipping his neck as your orgasm rips through you. 
It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to follow, pounding into you fast as he fills you up with one long groan. He leans into you and kisses the back of your neck as he catches his breath, then pulls out slowly. It’s completely silent for a minute, so you glance behind you to find him staring down at the mess between your legs. 
“Stop looking at me.” You whine, shoving your head back into Jimin’s neck in embarrassment. They both chuckle as Yoongi helps you up. 
“Can’t help it if my Princess is prettiest when she’s messy,” Yoongi smirks and taps your butt on the way to the bathroom. 
Yoongi props you on the bathroom counter and runs a warm rag across you and helps you take off the jewelry. Jimin was apparently in the kitchen getting water for all of you.
“Was that really all okay? I know we didn’t talk about it, but I thought it was amazing.” Yoongi asked softly, peering at you with a hint of vulnerability and worry. 
“ was good. New, kinda strange, feel like a porn star, but nice. I felt like I was wanted.” 
Yoongi suddenly appears horrified. “Baby, did you not feel wanted before?” 
“Um, not for awhile, no.” You whisper, staring down at your hands. 
Yoongi sighs and leans his head into your lap. “You are wanted. God, you are so wanted. I’m sorry I’m such a bastard. We’ll talk, properly this time. Okay? We’ll all sit down and figure things out better. I’m not good with actually talking about shit, I know, but I can’t have you going around thinking that you’re not wanted.” 
“Okay. It’s okay. This was good though, alright? I enjoyed it.” You quickly reassure him, not wanting to end the night on a sad note after everything that happened. He nods and kisses your thigh. 
Jimin brings water for everyone, and you all finish your bottles before climbing into bed, everyone content and sated for the first time. You smile happily as Yoongi cuddles you close to him, and Jimin sweetly tells you goodnight. Maybe it was okay to have a little hope that everything would soon work out, because this day wasn’t bad at all. 
Little did you know this was merely the calm before the storm. 
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2K notes · View notes
badbhye · 2 years ago
firsts (m)
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pairing: yoongi x reader
word count: 1.9k
warnings: like straight up smut but it’s like domestic, cunnilingus, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, squirting, cum play, a little cock warming?? (me listing all these and feeling ashamed???)
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“I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“Your dick isn’t anywhere near me yet, Yoongi,” you respond, eyeing the hand he put on your shoulder, fingers lightly tracing your skin.
“I know…I just want you to be comfortable since…you know,” Yoongi stammers a bit, cheeks blushing at the mere thought of you still being a virgin.
You and Yoongi had been dating for a good six months, and you had told him from the get-go that you wanted to wait until you were ready to have sex. It wasn’t as if your virginity was something you held sacred, you just wanted to do it with someone you were comfortable with and trusted completely. And Yoongi was that.
“C’mon babe,” you lace your words with an uncharacteristic sweetness that has Yoongi flush a deeper shade of crimson, “I can’t wait any longer.” At his lack of movement, you take the hand still on your shoulder and slowly drag it to your breast, squirming a bit when he squeezes the soft mound.
“Yoongi,” you moan softly, “please..”
“Maybe I should eat you out so it won’t hurt as much,” he laments, eyes fixated on where his fingers play with your nipple.
“As much as I’d love nothing more, you already ate me out twice,” you pout, “I. Want. Your. Dick.” you punctuate your words by rolling your hips against Yoongi so slowly that he can probably feel how wet you are through the thin fabric of his boxers. As much as you wanted to tease him, your movements make you shudder when you feel the tent Yoongi’s sporting and you’re shocked he’s been so patient thus far. He grits his teeth, sucking in cold air and trails his eyes down your body till he sees just how wet and ready you are for him, following the path with his hands, he lightly trails over your center and you shamelessly whine but continue to watch him, enthralled by the concentration he’s giving your pussy. You feel time move slower when he lifts his finger, you’re upset at the lack of contact but you can’t stop watching when he puts the same finger into his mouth and he groans. “You know I actually wouldn’t mind that,” he says, still sucking on his finger.
“Huh?” is all you can say, and it’s obvious that you aren’t paying attention to anything but his mouth and he knows.
“Your pussy,” he smirks, “I could eat it all day,” and places his finger right on your throbbing clit. He doesn’t apply pressure, but just the presence of him grazing your clit has you quivering. You never thought teasing could feel this good.
“Yoongi,” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as his fingernail grazes your clit repeatedly. You feel like you’re tumbling over the edge and you all but wail, confused at the feeling of wanting to move away from his fingers but also aching for more of his touch.
He hums, eyes following the trail of wetness that drips down your sex and immediately dips his head to lap it up before it reaches the bed sheet. The drawn-out moan you let out at the feeling of his tongue on you again. He’s ruthless this time, fixated on your clit alone and the combination of his tongue and teeth has you holding on for dear life. “Ah, Y-Yoongi, I’m gonna–” you’re interrupted by a high pitched moan that slowly tapers off and you’re suddenly coming so hard you can’t breathe. Your eyes roll back inside your head and you feel your veins thrum with such an intense pleasure you feel like your soul ascended from your body. When you come to, you’re breathing hard and with languid movements, you manage to lift your head up to see Yoongi’s eyes wide as he stares at you, cheeks wet and chin dripping with your release. Your vision moves down to the absolute mess you made of the sheets and your cheeks immediately heat up at the sight.
“Wh-” you begin, eyes imploring Yoongi’s in shock and slight worry but he beats you to the punch.
“That was so hot,” he groans, eyes moving back between your legs. You notice him grinding his hips slightly as he stares and you gasp at the sight of his hands gripping the base of his dick so hard that his knuckles go white. “I had to stop myself from coming, god, now you know why I love your pussy so much,” he fists his dick once more and you watch as a drop of precum trails down the side, eyes trailing its path and your mouth almost salivates at the sight. He notices you and chuckles, “As much as I’d love to have you suck my cock, I don’t think I can last.”
At his words your eyes shoot up, looking at him with newfound excitement and energy you didn’t know you could muster after the earth-shattering orgasm you just had. You open your legs even further, to encourage him, “please,” you beg, breathlessly still eyeing his cock.
You should be cautious, you know this because you’ve heard this is supposed to hurt but the wetness between your legs aches for a feeling of fullness you’ve never felt before.
“So eager,” he hums, coming closer to plant a lazy kiss on your lips, your mouth immediately opens at contact urging him to deepen it. When he obliges, and his tongue enters you and you taste yourself in his mouth, you shudder. You never thought you’d be into this but after you met Yoongi, kissing him after having him eat you out was probably your favorite, it was just so intimate. He begins to trail his cock against your wet folds and you mewl, your pussy still so sensitive but that’s what makes it feel even better.
“You sure about this,” he asks once more, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck.
“Yes,” you answer immediately, voice breaking when he brushes against your clit, making your hips jump.
“You can tell me to stop at any time, you know that right?” he reminds you, making you face him this time.
“I know, Yoongi. Please hurry,” you answer impatiently, trying to feel as much of his cock as you possibly can. He stops teasing you this time and grips his dick to line it with your entrance. You brace yourself but keep your eyes on his movements and you see his hand shaking a little as he positions himself. You feel the blunt head of his dick nudge your entrance and you hold your breath, nodding at him to move forward when he looks at you for assurance once more. He pushes in slowly, barely inside and you bite your bottom lip. It’s a weird sensation, but not as painful as you were expecting. Maybe it’s because you were so thoroughly prepared before that it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as you thought it would. Your walls regardless, still clench down at the intrusion but the slick of your release eases his movements. He bottoms out at an excruciatingly slow pace, pausing after every inch to help you get used to the new feeling. He keeps trailing kisses around your jaw and neck to distract you from any pain you might feel, sometimes leaving a few chaste ones on your lips. You notice that he’s sweating and has his jaw clenched and realize that he’s really controlling himself so you can enjoy it as much as possible. At this realization, you grab ahold of his cheeks and guide him to your lips for a slow, deep kiss. You roll your hips experimentally once you’re a little more comfortable with this dick inside you and Yoongi groans, shuddering against your neck. You do it again, just to get a reaction out of him and he hisses, “You want me to blow my load right now?” he says against the juncture of your neck.
“Feels good though,” you hum, moving again but not as much as before. At this, he looks up, breath a little heavy, “so it doesn’t hurt?”
“Mmm,” you pause, really focusing on the sensation, “it’s a little uncomfortable at times, but not unbearable.” And it’s true. There’s a keen stinging sensation between your legs but it’s slowly becoming more and more enjoyable for you and it’s when you twist your hips in a certain way that has you curling your toes, “oh my god, Yoongi, please move,” you gasp. Hearing the desperation in your voice stirs something in him and he begins to move a little slowly. He’s gentle with his movements, every time he bottoms out, he slowly rolls his hips in a circle, adding more and more pressure each time. You let out small noises every time he rubs against one particular spot, nails embedding themselves on Yoongi’s back as you arch your back towards him.
“Mmm god Yoongi, I fucking love your dick,” you rasp, “I feel so fu-full,” meeting his thrusts and in turn forcing him into a faster pace and your gasps begin to become incessant every time he slams into you. “Are you close, baby girl?” he asks, voice an octave deeper than before and you swear you feel your walls flutter at the pet name. You don’t have time to answer as Yoongi begins to rub number eights on your clit and hisses when you clench down on him even tighter.
“Oh god, you’re so tight,” he pants, his thrusts still strong but pace becoming sloppier. Adding another finger, he rubs your clit between them and you immediately trap him in his position buried deep inside you as you feel yourself tumble into another orgasm. Your walls flutter as waves of pleasure spread from the base of your spine to the rest of your body. Your eyes shut tightly as you desperately grind your hips on his dick to ride out the rest of your orgasm. You’re too lost in the feeling of pure bliss washing over you to notice Yoongi swearing as he desperately grinds his hips into you, cock twitching at the intensity of your orgasm that he too finds his release, still buried inside of you. The two of you stay like that for a while, you feel his dick soften but can’t find it within you to move. Instead, you pull him into a kiss which slowly turns into the two of you lazily making out and trying to catch your breaths.
“So…” he says, leaving chaste kisses on your lips, “how was it?”
“Honestly…” you pause for dramatic effect, “I’m sad we waited until now to do it.” He chuckles, gums peaking through as he smiles down at you, kissing your jaw once more, he moves to get up, the loss of his dick making you shudder. His eyes stay transfixed on the way his come slowly dribbles out of your pussy and he collects whatever comes out with his fingers, “Open up baby girl,” you immediately obey, sucking on the finger he brings to your lips. Eyes wide, you moan, his fingers still in your mouth. Something about having the mixture of both yours and Yoongi’s release in your mouth stirs something within you and he smirks, recognizing this. “Keep looking at me like that and we might have to go for another round.”
You smile, popping his finger out of your mouth, “I might just take you up on that offer.”
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fortunexkookie · a year ago
Tip of the Iceberg (M) | MYG
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A/N: Co-Authored by @gukslut​​ / cross-posted to her blog.
Granny Park’s Gossip:
Oh, that Min boy? He’s a sweetheart, of course. Jimin said something about him getting into a new relationship with someone, but he hasn’t brought her by yet, so I can’t be sure. I just hope this one sticks around, he’s really so much more than he first seems to be. All those tattoos and whatnot, people tend not to notice that he’s really just so caring and gentle. You know he works at one of those stuffed animal stores in his free time? The ones with the dancing and the hearts and picking out your new best friend kind of theme. Ah, what a nice boy. I hope he has a good holiday. I’ll have to ask Jimin how it goes.
      ❄  Word Count: 20.1k
      ❄ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
      ❄ Genre: Tattoo Artist AU / New Relationship / Fluff / Smut / Angst / Humor
      ❄ Rating: 18+ / Explicit
      ❄ CW and other tags: swearing, reader has scars on her ass she wanted to cover up with a tattoo, the reason is left unsaid, but reader is insecure about her body cause of it, Yoongi is soft and understanding, sexual innuendo, Yoongi was a foster kid, Yoongi has some abandonment issues, and by ‘some’ I mean a lot, and it’s not just his upbringing but a lot of other things too, Yoongi has a lot of piercings and tattoos, Yoongi has pierced nipples, there may or may not also be a dick piercing, virgin Yoongi, like he’s done hand stuff and oral but no PIV/PIA, bisexual Yoongi, honestly the pair of them are both just hella insecure, Yoongi has emotional intimacy problems, Jimin gets blackmailed by a certain character (it’s funny/cute though, it’s not dramatic at all lol), Tae is soft, even more sexual innuendo, talking in code, mentioned to the aforementioned ‘Hobi’ incident in The: Holiday Unplugged, in which Hobi got a dildo stuck in his ass, arguments, honestly there’s just like multiple people with insecurities/abandonment issues in this fic, but they all love each other, Jeongguk is a mess and a freak, Star (Tae’s Y/N in another upcoming fic) is also a freak, you’ll find out why lmao, fingering, grinding, making out, filthy dirty talk, oral sex (male and female receiving), vibrating... tongue piercings..., masturbation, sexting, you’ve heard of dirty talk now get ready for S O F T talk, peaches and cream, nipple play, minor cum play, hard (but not rough) fucking, s o f t sex, 
The Snowball Effect Collab Masterlist This is the fourth fic in the series/project The Snowball Effect by @fortunexkookie​ (me!), @stutterfly​ (Kristi), and @gukslut​​ (Ashley). Please click the link above to see the summaries and genres for each fic! Also, while each of these fics can stand on their own, they all end up at the same place, occurring simultaneously. There are also little easter eggs and secrets for the other fics woven throughout each of these! For the biggest, fluffiest Snowball Effect experience, we highly recommend you read each of them!
"I want you to tattoo my ass."
Your tongue swipes across your lips as soon as the words leave your mouth. You press them tightly together, raising your eyebrows and blinking rapidly as if you were only just processing what you'd said. The man across from you says nothing in response, heightening your anxiety. Instead, he narrows his eyes and grunts, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.
"Um, I-uh, I..." Your mouth suddenly feels impossibly dry, and attempt to swallow only makes it worse. What is he waiting for? Does he have some weird superiority complex? Do you need to ask nicely? You try again. "Please tattoo my ass."
He clicks his pen a few times before dragging the drawer to his filing cabinet open and rummaging through a series of dividers. Pulling out a slip of paper, he asks, "which part?"
"My right cheek?" You didn't mean for it to sound like a question, you really didn't, but there's something beyond the piercings and tattoos he's sporting that makes you nervous. It's in his low tone, pouty drawl, and dark eyes. The urge to emphasize your point takes over, so you wave your hand in a wide circle and then gesture as if squeezing the air. "The, uh, whole area. Right cheek, and a bit around it too."
"So," he begins, blowing out a long puff of air, "this is your first tattoo, you want it on a pretty big area, and it's gonna be on your ass."
"It's not that big," you mumble, sounding more unsure than you'd like.
The man cocks his head to the side and smirks. "The surface area is pretty big. But sure, I can tattoo your ass — I just need you to realize that it'll hurt, we'll probably need more than one session, it's gonna take a while to heal, and it's gonna be permanent. Read this. We can sign later." He grabs a pink highlighter and drags it across a few sections on the page before shoving it your way. You look down and read the words just as he emphasizes them. "Per-ma-nent. I take it you already have a piece in mind?"
"Actually, I was hoping you could help me with that. I don't know how much you can work with."
His brows knit together. "Any concept work is included in my booking fee. Deposit upfront. Again, this is permanent, so I want you to like it. But what do you mean by, 'how much' I can work with?"
You blink a few times, chewing on your bottom lip as blood rushing in your ears. When was the last time you showed someone new? You know he's going to see it sooner or later — he has to in order to tattoo you — but you're still battling with the shame. As it turns out, vulnerability is terrifying even when it's with a stranger. When you finally work up the courage, you stand up and admit, "it's easier if you just see what I'm talking about. Don't get too excited. It's pretty bad."
"Hold up. Let me get a female apprentice in here," he says, raising a hand to stop you. Sticking his head out of the small office, he calls, "Eunha, come over here for a minute."
The young woman you'd seen at the front of the shop hums in acknowledgment, makes a final addition to the sketch she's been working on, and then comes over. As she shuts the door behind you, she wiggles her eyebrows and smiles. "Whatcha' getting done?"
You squeeze your eyes shut. It makes sense why he'd have her come over, but it's gonna be hard enough for you to show one person. "I, uh. I don't know yet, but it's in a personal spot."
"Oh, don't worry. I don't need to see if you're shy. I'm here to watch Yoongi. Not you," she says, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the door.
Yoongi rolls his chair around the side of his desk, walking it forward with a few small scoots. "Alright, show me what we're working with, and then we can go over pricing and run through some ideas."
You hook your fingers under the waistband of your yoga pants and hesitate for a moment. Just as you're about to begin pushing your clothes a little bit lower, you pause a second time, waiting for Yoongi to lift his gaze and meet yours. When he finally does, you drag your bottom lip though your teeth. "I want... something pretty."
As if he can sense your growing unease, his demeanor shifts. An unexpectedly wide, gummy smile graces his features as he flashes both sides of his hands and wiggles his fingers. "These were made for pretty."
It's not until his grin becomes a smirk that you realize your mouth is hanging open. You clamp it shut, unsure how to tell him that the sight of those long, nimble fingers made you even more nervous than before, and bite the bullet — dragging your pants over the curve of your behind, you let the band settle mid-thigh. No matter how hard you resist, the impulse to crane your neck and look over your shoulder is too great. You expect disgust, worry, or pity — what you actually find makes your heart skip a beat: simple, unaffected concentration as his gaze rakes over your marred flesh.
"I had a-"
"Surgery, injury, accident — you don't need to tell me what happened unless you want to," Yoongi says, cutting you off a moment after his eyes flicked upward to your chin. He must've seen the way it quivered. "This is a large area, and we don't know how well the ink will take to the scar tissue, so I'll give you a reduced price."
Your eyes flutter closed and you purse your lips. "I don't need a sympathy discount or compassion coupon."
His eyebrows furrow, but instead of looking offended or taken aback, he shakes his head and laughs. Wheeling himself back around to his side of the desk, he says "that ain't it, Peaches."
Yoongi licks and then bites his lips, looking off to the side at Eunha. A quick glance out the corner of your eye catches the way she winks at him. Just when you think there's no way this can get any more embarrassing, the apprentice snickers.
"Damn, boss. And I'm stuck tattooing oranges. Get me an avocado next time, yeah?"
"If Jisoo has to start with oranges, then so do you," Yoongi says. He sucks his teeth, loudly clicking his tongue against them. "Kids these days."
"I'm only a year younger than you," Eunha gripes. She flips him the bird as soon as your pants are back on, but the smile on her face as she shuts the door gives her away.
The air feels heavier with Eunha gone, but you're beginning to wonder if that has more to do with realizing the weight of the shame you burdened yourself with than any actual discomfort. Returning to the seat across from him, you fiddle with your hands in your lap, keeping your eyes fixed on a small cat figurine on his desk. "Listen, I know what I look like there. I know how ugly the scars are, but you don't need to tease me about it by calling me 'Peaches' when mine is all messed up," you say, finally looking up.
Yoongi scoffs, upper lip curling back into an actual look of disgust. You brace yourself, expecting the worst, but the worst doesn't come. Instead, he stands up and leans across the desk, supporting his weight on his forearms as he clasps his hands together. "Listen, Peaches, I'm toeing a line of unprofessional conduct here, but the only person in this room who sees anything wrong with your ass the way it is now is you," he drawls in low tones that make your breath catch in your throat. "And it's not charity work if I conjure up something pretty to make you appreciate yourself more. I can tattoo your ass — the only obstacle your scars present is that the ink might not take the same in every spot. I want to make sure you like and are happy with the piece before you pay me in full. Sound good?"
You swallow hard, pressing your lips tightly together, and give a firm nod of your head as he flips open a sketch pad. "Sounds good.”
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You had stopped in once or twice since he'd finished your tattoo, a large and elaborate flower piece, but it was only to get a couple of minute touch-ups done. This place is a small town, so unless you still lived in the neighboring city, it's not like Yoongi expected to never see you again in the following months. He just thought it would be at the grocery store or the park — somewhere he could mumble a few half-assed words of acknowledgment and then be on his merry way again. Somewhere he could bury the memory of how his hand steadying the bare backs of your thighs made his fingertips tingle. Somewhere he could pretend his proudest tattooing moment, the one that made his heart soar, wasn't the one when you saw your inked ass for the first time and tears welled in your eyes because, as you'd choked out, you finally felt pretty again. You know, somewhere — anywhere — that wasn't his shop. Somewhere safe where he didn't run the risk of asking you out.
But here you are, nervously twiddling with the broken zipper on your coat with one hand while the other clasps the garment closed in the middle. Resting his forehead in the nook between his pointer finger and thumb, he raises his eyebrows and waits for you to say something in response to his grumbling, early-morning, sleep-deprived greeting. Stepping forward to grip the edge of the desk, you beam a smile at him. "You bleached your hair," you observe, tilting your chin upward as if pointing. "I like it. Blond looks good on you. I liked the black too, but blond feels kind of edgy. Completes the image."
Yoongi tongues his cheek, wishing he didn't catch the way your gaze trails downward as you take in the dark tattoos scattered over his neck and arms. Without meaning for them to, your eyelids get heavy and your lips slightly part. It's barely noticeable, but he's seen that look so many times before that you couldn't hide it from him even if you wanted to. You're wondering if he has metal and ink in places your eyes can't see — he does.
"And what image is that, Peaches?"
You roll your eyes at him as you shrug off your coat, tossing it to the side to hang off one of the chairs nearby. Widely gesturing at him, all of him, you say, "you know... you've got this whole bad boy thing going on."
It's Yoongi's turn to roll his eyes, but the look is hidden behind his thick-rimmed black glasses. Of course you'd think that — everyone else does too. It protected him somewhat when he was younger and occasionally drums up business for Inkspires, but that misguided perception of him is a pain in the ass more often than it's not. "I haven't been a bad boy since I was in high school, sweet thing, and that was a long time ago," he says, pausing to take a long sip of his coffee.
"Image and reality aren't always the same thing," you muse. His eyes are drawn to the way your hands hover by your sides before your fingertips slide over your hips. Your tongue, all pretty and pink, darts across your lips, and he realizes what your nervousness means: you're not talking about him anymore. "With how nice you are, I'm surprised you were ever a bad boy at all."
He wasn't.
Ever since he was a kid, Yoongi had been what his close friends would describe as sensitive. They weren't wrong either. They just knew all the ways he hid it — snarky, cutting comments to hide the softness behind his words, cold aloofness to mask the fact that he was the one who wanted to hold hands, and even comical exaggerations of his own flaws to disguise the fact that he didn't want anyone making fun of him for what those flaws actually were. Before he had to drop out of college, Yoongi participated in campus poetry slams and would lock himself in the music room after hours just so he could play piano for a little bit more. Bad boy? Yoongi was never a bad boy. He'd just done his best to look like one.
Yoongi lowers his gaze but grunts in acknowledgment before bringing his mug back up to his lips. As if sensing the sudden change in the air, you wiggle your hips back and forth and ask, "so, wanna look at my ass again?" He unceremoniously spits his coffee back into the cup.
"It's-it's hot," he sputters, needing to clear his throat a second time to keep from choking. The mug makes a quiet clink as he sets it back down on the coaster. He eyes it for a moment, hoping the lack of steam doesn't give him away. When he looks back at you, it takes all of his willpower to keep from letting his gaze dip lower, especially once he sees the way you've already hooked your thumbs into your sweatpants. He shakes his head. "Eunha and the others aren't here today. Just me."
"I don't mind," you say, tone softening as color begins blooming across your cheeks. Yoongi swallows hard, reminding himself to not get caught up in your bashful charms. This could get him in a lot of trouble and not just the legal kind. "I just wanted to make sure it's healed okay."
"I really shouldn't do that at the shop without someone around," he says, holding his ground.
You come around to his side of the desk, leaning back against it slightly as you chew your bottom lip. What has you so nervous? Yoongi inhales deeply though his nose, scanning your expression as he tries to figure it out. Before he does, you offer as a solution.
"So come have a look at my place then," you ask, swallowing hard as soon as the words leave your mouth. Yoongi's heart skips a beat, unwelcome twinges of excitement tugging his lips upward into an accidental smile. "I know you close up early on Thursdays. We could grab a bite to eat somewhere."
Say 'no,' a small voice, the voice of reason, says from its spot in the back of his mind. He needs to say no, needs to shut whatever this is down, needs to put a stop to it before he can't anymore. Yoongi knows how this will end: in abandonment and in heartbreak. It never ends any differently when he lets someone get too close.
But before Yoongi can say anything that will protect himself, he feels your gentle hand cover his, and then his backstabbing lips move of their own accord. "I can't tonight, but what about tomorrow?"
Your entire face lights up, all shyness vanishing in a split second. He involuntarily turns his hand palm-side up, linking his fingers with yours. Yoongi lets himself linger there before reasonable thought gets the best of him, and he slips out of your grasp.
"Then it's a date," you say, clutching your arms to your chest, clasped hands settling just below the hollow of your throat. His gaze falls to your lips as soft words tumble from your mouth. "I can't wait to see you again."
"Then it's a date, Peaches," Yoongi drawls, watching your hips sway as you exit the shop. He rips his glasses from his face, tosses them across the desk, and then buries his face in his hands only to slink back into his chair a moment later. Keeping his face covered, he breaths out a long, arduous sigh into his palms, and considers ripping the silver barbell out of his traitorous tongue.
Sooner or later, you'll grow bored of his day-to-day life. Sooner or later, you'll tire of trying to whittle down his walls. Sooner or later, you'll discover something you don't like or understand. Sooner or later, you'll leave.
This can only end one way.
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The cold winter air stings your eyes and pricks the tops of your ears as you leave the restaurant. Even though your apartment is only a few blocks away, you regret not purchasing a new coat. The wind billows beneath it, teasing at the hem of your shirt and causing a chill to seep into your bones. You sniffle, taking long strides in between street lamps as if getting underneath the light of the next one can warm you up enough to make a difference, and almost audibly sigh as a gust of hot air from a nearby shop blows past.
A cursory glance at Yoongi reveals that he doesn't appear to be faring much better than you. The black sweater he's sporting looks warm, but not warm enough to effectively fight off the cold. His beanie is pulled over the tops of his ears, shielding his double helix piercings from air, but nothing else above the neck is covered. Three of his five earlobe piercings, the eyebrow bar, and the nostril stud are metal, and they all seem to color the flesh around them an even brighter pink, making you believe they've amplified the cold twofold. But if he's chilly, he doesn't say so. Instead, there's a comfortable lull in the conversation as you walk back with Yoongi, and it gives you some time to reflect on the dinner you'd had with him.
While you'd grown familiar with him from all of the sessions you'd spent at the shop, there was a lot you still didn't know about him. In fact, many of your first impressions about him were wrong, and you liked him more for it.
Even though he could be a little bit quiet at times, there were still plenty of moments when Yoongi would get bursts of energy. In those moments, he was surprisingly funny and charming. In between them, he truly listened to you talk, and whenever you seemed unsure if that were true, he would cut through your chatter with some witty comment, catching you completely off guard and making you laugh. Hard. It had been impossible for you to miss the smug grin and unvoiced laugh as he watched you blow soda out of your nose. With someone else, you might have been embarrassed, but things came easily with him.
You knew you had barely scratched the surface and that there was still so much more to learn, but you were looking forward to finding out more, especially when your favorite discovery of the night was the one you were making right now — the one that revealed that Yoongi was quite handsy, quite literally. It surprised you even though you'd spent a good chunk of time in his shop as he worked on your tattoo, and even though he'd already had his fingers in much more intimate places, the way Yoongi had sought out your hand whenever he could during your date didn't go unnoticed.
Just as you are about to stuff your fists into your coat pockets, an equally cold hand slips itself into yours. Staring straight ahead as he laces your fingers together, Yoongi gives you a gentle squeeze. You breathe out a laugh, causing a billow of condensation to fan across his face as you tug him closer. He stumbles into you, eyes widening as he struggles to regain his footing and stability.
"Put your hands on me once, and now you can't keep them off, huh?"
The surprise on his face vanishes, replaced by a lighthearted, playful glare instead. Puffing up his cheeks, he juts his chin forward and grabs at your coat. "It's cold out and your jacket doesn't even zip up all the way. Am I supposed to just let your fingers freeze? What kind of guy would I be then?"
You aren't sure what a broken zipper has to do with your hands freezing, especially when you have a perfectly good pair of pockets and, if all else fails, mittens. You're about to tell him as much, lips already parting, when you spare a glance his way and decide on letting it go.
His eyebrows are expectantly raised, disappearing behind the curtain of his bangs as he waits for whatever retort you were going to throw his way. A flash of pink and silver pokes out from his mouth, drawing your eyes downward until they fixate on where he has his bottom lip caught between his teeth. As if realizing where your mind has gone, Yoongi slowly scrapes over the soft flesh, breaking the silence with a quiet hum that is equal parts amused and knowing.
"Is that so? Cause I think you're just a secret softy, Min Yoongi," you say, flicking your gaze upward to lock eyes with him. In a moment of boldness that makes your heart skip a beat, you step closer and let your lips curl up into a smile. "I think you just like holding my hand."
Yoongi thoughtfully tongues his cheek and scoffs, but then surprises you by matching your grin with a small, lopsided smirk of his own. "Yeah. I do."
You lean in, entering his personal space until it feels as if you're only a hair's breadth away from him, and then bite your bottom lip, letting your gaze fall to his mouth a second time. As you watch the way his lips part, you barely manage to catch the shaky breath he hisses inward over the nearby ring of holiday music playing from the shops. When his tongue makes a second pass across his lips, the hoods of your eyes seem to grow weary, so you let them flutter closed and wait for him to close the gap.
You wait.
And you wait.
And you wait.
And he never does.
The butterflies that had been dancing in your stomach all night drop as suddenly as they appeared, sinking down low in your gut as disappointment washes over you. Hadn't he wanted to kiss you? Could you have read him wrong?
The moment your eyes open, Yoongi darts backward and focuses his gaze on a car parked nearby. His jaw loosely hangs as his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, and while is hand is still holding yours, his posture has changed. He says nothing, letting the silence hang in the air like dark storm clouds overhead, and for the first time all night, your face feels hot.
You swallow hard and cock your head to the side as if pointing up the street. "My apartment is right up there."
Yoongi nods and grunts in acknowledgment. A lump forms in your throat as you spare a cursory glance at him out the corner of your eye. After what just happened, you can't help thinking that the smile on his face looks as if he forced it on there.
"Let's hurry up and get a look at that ass then," Yoongi stiffly laughs, letting you drag him farther along the street.
As you make your way into your apartment building, you're pleased to discover that even the most obscure sidewalks leading up to the main entrance have finally been fully cleared of any black ice patches. You're in too much of a rush to get inside, show him the tattoo, and move on from the sting of rejection to properly avoid slipping on anything. Thankfully, Yoongi keeps up, trotting along behind you without another word to break up the increasingly uncomfortable silence. Once inside, you quickly lead him upstairs, unlock the door to your unit, and shuck your coat.
The familiar sight of your home helps alleviate some of the tension that had worked its way up your neck but not all of it. Now that Yoongi is stationed in the middle of your living room, there is a whole slew of new anxieties creeping their way across your skin. Clearing your throat as he examines the room, you wait for him to spin around and then ask, "can I get you anything?"
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. "I'm alright."
You lick your lips and then press them together into a tight line, eyelashes fluttering as you scramble for something else to break up the suffocating atmosphere. Before you can think of something, Yoongi steps around your coffee table and plops himself down on the couch. He mirrors your actions, brushing the tip of his tongue over his lips before drawing the soft flesh between his teeth, and then quirks his brow.
"Bring her here, Peaches."
The realization hits you like a truck, ripping the air from your lungs as blood begins rushing to your ears. Rational thought tells you that Yoongi is already intimately familiar with your behind. Fairness tells you that you were the one who had propositioned him, and that you'd even done it more than once. But fear? Fear tells you that you're disgusting. Fear tells you that deserve to feel ashamed. Fear tells you that no amount of ink will ever be enough to cover it up — you can camouflage the disfigured stretches of skin, but nothing can change the ugliness lurking underneath the surface. Your body is scarred and so are you.
"Let me hang my coat up first." The words come out as flat as if shedding affect could help you shed your skin too. You take your time shuffling back across the room and fishing out an empty hanger. The knot forming in your throat grows bigger by the second, swelling with every self-loathing thought flooding your mind. Of course he wouldn't want to kiss you. Tears prick at your eyes just as you start to choke, and then the emotions pour over, squeezed into a tiny sob.
Before you could completely crumple under the weight of the pain you carried, Yoongi's deep, raspy drawl slices through the fog of your mind. "Hurry up. Haven't I waited to see my artwork for long enough?"
You stiffen at the sound of his voice but make your way in front of him. As your fingers fumble with the button and zipper of your jeans, you chew your bottom lip and furrow your brow, trying to forget the fact that Yoongi's seated position brings his face completely level with your backside. Without sparing a glance at him over your shoulder, you inhale a deep breath through your nose and push your pants over the swell of your ass, letting them rest just below the groove between your thigh and buttock. A low hum rumbles in his chest, but the worries you have about his perception of you stop you from looking back.
"It's healed nicely. I did a good job." Just out of your peripheral, you catch his hand hovering by your outer thigh. You swallow hard just as he asks, "can I touch you here? I want to feel where the ridges and divots are."
You nod your head, but he waits. Your mouth feels so dry that you struggle to even get three words out. "Yeah, go ahead."
Any doubt regarding his intentions vanishes the moment he makes contact. Yoongi's fingertips ghost over both your tattoo and scars just as gently as they ever have, barely touching your skin as he admires his own work. "For once, I don't think I would've done anything differently," he says, brushing his fingers along a stretch of scar tissue that threatens to wrack your spine with shivers. "I'm glad I took my time, Peaches. This piece looks beautiful on you."
Your fingers had tightened along your jeans, ready to pull them back up when what he said hits you. Your heart skips a beat. This piece looks beautiful on you. He could've said it the other way around. If you were in his place, you know you would've. But he didn't.
As soon as you manage to collect your emotions enough to tug your jeans over your ass, Yoongi rises to his feet, letting his chest press against your back as he leans into you. If your heart wasn't already racing from what he'd said, the sudden proximity would quicken your pulse for sure. He's so close that you can feel his breath against your neck. Caught up in the closeness, you don't notice his hand reaching up to curl a finger under your chin.
Yoongi tilts your head towards himself, craning your neck as he leans forward to capture your mouth in a kiss. The soft caress of his lips as he works them over yours makes you whimper, which in turn pulls a low hum from his throat. Flattening his palm, he slides it upward, cradling your jaw.
The tip of his tongue is wet and hot as it swipes across your bottom lip as if begging for access to the warmth of your mouth. You turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck as you let your lips part. His fingers slide higher, tangling themselves in your hair and closing into a fist as he licks into your mouth. How he manages to kiss you so passionately without knocking his tongue piercing on your teeth, you don't know. Either way, the surprise of the cool metal centered on his tongue isn't enough to distract you from its expert glide.
Yoongi pulls away slightly, but doesn't break the kiss. Instead, he closes his mouth around your bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth before dragging it through his teeth. He soothes the ache he caused by teasing the sensitive flesh with his tongue for a second time, and then pulls you in closer, moaning against your mouth as if you were doing him the sweetest favor just by kissing him back. Your lungs are burning by the time you realize you've been holding your breath, but he breaks away just in time.
Yoongi lets another low sound reverberate in his chest as he reaches up with his free hand, heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth, and the sound shoots straight between your thighs. He traces his thumb across your kiss-swollen lips, making them tingle, and then drags it back the other way. Inhaling a sharp hiss through his teeth as he follows the movement, he pushes on your bottom lip enough to wet his thumb and then lets it pull slightly downward. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and then he flicks his gaze back up to meet yours.
"Is that what you were waiting for, Peaches?"
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Motivated by the holiday spirit, more people flood the mall today than what the usual Friday bustle brings. An older man with his cell phone glued to his ear meanders into your path, ramming into you with his shoulder. You grimace as your hand flies up to nurse your arm but mumble out an apology just the same. If you're honest with yourself, you weren't watching where you were going either.
Finding yourself deterred from your aimless wandering by the sudden crowd, you shuffle over to a couch and slink down low, resigning yourself to people-watching instead. It's busy, too busy, but you can't blame everyone else for braving the cold when you were lured out of your apartment too. For all you know, someone else is also trying to drown out the insecurities playing on repeat in their mind by drowning themselves in hot chocolate instead.
Or maybe you only want to think that so you'll feel less alone.
You hold the cup in your lap and fiddle with the cardboard sleeve, sliding it up and down as you worry over what's going to happen tonight. You have a date night with Yoongi again, and you feel far more conflicted about it than you would like. What started as excitement bubbling in your chest has quickly transformed into apprehension because no matter how many dates you've gone on with him up until now, you don't feel as if you're any closer to understanding him. No matter how close you try getting to him, you can never seem to peel back his layers.
The bad boy look might be a sham, but he still manages to be aloof even when he's being kind. He's not at Inkspires when you expect him to be, and whenever you show up unannounced, he rushes you out just as quickly as you came. Even though you've seen each other multiple times and text daily, he's never invited you over his place. Not even once. Whenever you saw him, it had to be on his terms.
Despite the mind-blowing kiss, how promising his teasing words had been, and the fact that he had literally had your pants down only moments before, Yoongi hadn't fucked you on the first date. He didn't fuck you on the second or third date either. In fact, he hadn't fucked you at all. Each time you tried taking things a little further, he'd back off and redirect your attention to something else or suddenly decide that he had somewhere else he needed to be. You kept waiting for him to become more comfortable and offer up an explanation for his behavior, but he never did.
Your eyes glaze over as you stare ahead and bring your cup to your lips. It's almost as if you believe that by keeping your expression blank, your emotions will fizzle out too. A small lump begins forming in your throat as your mind continues to wander from the scars on your body to the numbers tattooed across his knuckles. Your thoughts drift from there to the tiny detail you wish you had missed when admiring the ink adoring both his arms: the tiny break in his sleeve on his left arm, just above the crease formed between his bicep and forearm. You had only ever heard it mentioned once, but you still recognized it enough to wonder why the fuck your boyfriend has a woman's name tattooed on his arm.
A sinking feeling wracks your gut, and suddenly it doesn't matter what mall decorations you train your eyes on or who passes by because that name is all you can see. You don't want to pry, but as all of your insecurities come together, it's getting harder and harder to wait for him to come around. You want — need — to know more about what's going on, and you'd like to find out who the hell Jisoo is.
The world starts spinning and you realize you need to get up and get moving because you can't linger on these thoughts any longer. You can't. You set a course for nowhere in particular, occasionally dipping inside the stores to window shop. It's not long until you find yourself in the center of the mall, sidling between the other patrons as you wander closer to the display set up in the middle.
As your gaze flits over the decorations and forced smiles plastered on the costumed workers, you spot a familiar face. You do a double-take, whipping your head back around so hard and fast that your spine cracks. Reaching up to brace your aching neck, you squint at the disgraced mall elf, Jung Hoseok.
He lifts his fingers to his mouth and spreads them into a 'V' before fucking the space between with his tongue. The pained grimace on your face breaks, replaced by a knowing smirk, and you can't help glancing in the same direction as him. You nearly snap your neck a second time because instead of locking eyes with Hobi's long-term girlfriend Cat, you find yourself staring at a certain mint-haired tattooed artist. Mint. That's new.
Your lips curl into a smile as you watch him clasp his hands over a silk heart. He rubs his palms together a few times as if pretending to warm it up, and then lays one hand flat, centering the heart in the middle. Using the index and middle fingers of his free hand, he pumps three tiny compressions onto the heart and then throws his head back.
The back of his hand wipes his brow, and his shoulders heave as if he's breathing out a relieved sigh. Then he hands the heart off to the kid in front of him and waits for them to clutch the heart to their chest before mouthing the words, "make a wish."
Yoongi prepares the kit he'll need to finish sewing up the toy and then clenches the needle between his teeth as he pops the silk heart inside. After pushing his thick-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose, he threads the needle through the back, and then ties it off.
As he's handing the toy to the excited child, he steals a glance upward. His gaze lingers on Hobi, who is currently getting chastised very loudly by some old woman, but then it falls on you. The flash of recognition in his eyes steals away his smug grin, replacing it with panic as his mouth drops open.
So your boyfriend works at Construct-A-Cub whenever he's not running Inkspires. If this is what he'd been hiding, then maybe you'll finally be able to find the courage to ask him about everything else tonight.
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Yoongi watches you cross the room and plop down onto the couch next to him. He snatches the bowl of popcorn straight out of your arms and snickers at your cry of protest. Before you can grab it back, he hooks an arm underneath your legs and drapes your legs across his lap, careful to hold the bowl out of the way as he scoots in closer.
You furrow your brow and pout as you lay back. Making grabby gestures with your hands, you whine, “give it back already. I made it for me.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes and laughs, pinching a cluster of popcorn between his fingers before tossing it at you. “That’s just too bad, isn’t it,” he says as he pops a few pieces into his mouth. Despite his teasing, he’s already handing the bowl back over to you. “Mm, so buttery. Too much salt though.”
“Speaking of salt,” you say, segwaying into a conversation you’ve avoided as long as possible. You’ve reached your breaking point; the need to understand why he’s holding you at arm’s length has finally outweighed the risk of scaring him off. If you ruminate about it any longer you’ll drive yourself insane. “I’m a little salty that you didn’t tell me about your night job,” you complain, poking at his side.
The awkward smile on Yoongi’s face seems forced. He sits up a little straighter, shifting his body beneath your legs. “Uhh, yeah,” he clears his throat, buying time. “I work there for the employee discount. I save up what I make there and donate most of the toys I buy.”
He grows visibly uncomfortable under your soft gaze. With his admission, another layer is peeled back and it leaves you just as confused as ever. When you make no comment, he continues, desperate to shuck this attention off and nervous about where this conversation might lead. “There’s a lot of kids in the system who don’t get presents,” he tells you, avoiding your gaze by looking everywhere else in the room.
It’s not like you hadn’t realized that Yoongi is a wonderful human being with a heart of gold, but this is a whole different level of kindness. The man took on a second job with the sole intent of making donations. You ponder what could have inspired that kind of compassion for a moment and come up empty. It’s no surprise you can’t figure him out. He’s a closed book, and every page you manage to turn just leads to another cover.
“You are full of mysteries, Min Yoongi.” There is a concerted effort to keep your tone neutral as you say this, but there is an underlying sadness in your voice that Yoongi picks up on immediately. His traitorous heart grows heavy under the insinuation it leaves behind that he’s hurting you somehow.
Yoongi told himself not to fall for you. He tried hard to convince himself it was a trainwreck waiting to happen. Loving people is dangerous. He knows that better than anyone, but he still can’t stop the butterflies that erupt in his stomach when you’re near him. He can’t help the way you dance across his thoughts at every opportunity, or the way his heart skips a beat when you reach for his hand. The more he gets to know you, the more he realizes that not loving you is a lost cause, and that thought terrifies him.
Sensing his apprehension doesn’t deter you. You’ve come this far already, and if it’s not going to go any further, then you need to cut your losses while you still can. Despite the panic consuming your lovesick heart, you push on, blanketing your fear with nonchalance.
“How come you never invite me over your place?”
A chill washes over you as Yoongi’s entire body tenses up. He swallows hard and crosses his arms over his chest. The blatant avoidance hurts your feelings, turning you defensive as well. Pulling your legs off his lap, you turn forward, speaking out into the room rather than directly to him. “You know, you’re gonna have to let me in at some point. Let me in or let me go.”
Yoongi’s leg starts bouncing. The thumb that snuck up to his teeth is being chewed to a pulp. His silence heightens your anxiety.
“I don’t ask a lot of questions,” you meekly mumble, mulling over how Yoongi manages to find a way to build up another wall every time you knock a different one down. You run your palms over your legs repeatedly as if smoothing out the fabric of your clothes can smooth the knot in your stomach too. “I have questions: like why you have a woman’s name tattooed on your arm, or if there could be someone else, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, so I just keep them to myself. It hurts a little bit though,” you weakly admit, pulling your knees up to your chest.
Yoongi leans forward with his elbows on his knees and hangs his head to run his fingers through his hair. He mumbles something you can’t quite discern under his breath, and then sits back. “You know what,” he finally says, “there is another girl in my life.”
Your entire world stops turning and your heart drops right into your stomach. Of course there’s someone else. Someone prettier. Someone less broken. Someone who’s probably less pushy too.
Yoongi flips his wallet open and thrusts into your hands without a word. Where anyone else might have their ID, there is a picture of a little girl smiling up at you.
“You have a kid,” you wonder in amazement, confused about this turn of events.
Yoongi takes his wallet back. “Jisoo isn’t my daughter.”
You bristle, putting your feet back on the ground. “I need a little more information than that, Yoongi.”
“My sister was a troubled kid. Life wasn’t kind to us; we were orphaned really young,” he tells you, voice devoid of emotion. You reach for his hand anyway.
“I ended up with a good foster family eventually. Lived in a nice house in a safe neighborhood. I had good friends.” Yoongi uncrosses his arms to lace his fingers with yours even tighter. “Jiwon bounced around a lot more. No one wanted to keep her for long. She couldn’t stay out of trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, scooting closer to him to lean your head against his shoulder.
He presses on, knowing that if he stops now, he’ll ruin everything. His fears will consume him, consume all the progress he’s made, and push him right out the door.
“She was young when she got pregnant, and motherhood just wasn’t for her. I was still in college when she showed up one night asking me to babysit. She never came back, and…” He chokes up and shakes his head. “Jiwon isn’t around anymore, so Jisoo is mine now.”
Although the heaviness of this revelation weighs on you, you feel a different burden lifted off your shoulders. Another page has turned, and maybe the book is finally, truly open.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Being a single dad to a kid that’s not even mine scares a lot of people off. Even if it didn’t, Jiwon used to bring a lot of strange people around Jisoo when she was a baby. I wanted something different for her. Wanted to be sure.”
You nod, understanding perfectly and feeling relieved that you finally asked. “You sound like a really good parent.”
“I don’t know about that,” he laughs, melting the tension away with the melodious sound. He turns to you suddenly and chews his bottom lip. “Would you like to meet her?”
“Yeah,” you say, nodding, “I would love to meet her.”
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Jisoo is off school for winter break, and she’s got it all planned out. First and foremost, she demanded an audience with Jimin, and since she’s got all seven of her uncles wrapped around her fingers, he has arrived bright and early at their apartment for breakfast. She quickly roped Jimin into playing a round of Uno with the cards he brought her and is smugly laying down a draw four after already playing two skips and a reverse.
“Not fair,” Jimin whines, taking his cards from the draw pile.
“You can’t win them all, Jimin,” she informs him, sagely. “Uno,” she adds.
Jimin shakes his head, laughing lightly as she lays down her last card.
“Alright children,” Yoongi interrupts, placing a mountain of pancakes on the table between them. “Eat up.”
Jisoo downs the glass of orange juice Yoongi places in front of her in three gulps, immediately requesting more.
“You can have milk or water, Ji. All that acid and sugar is gonna rot your teeth.”
“I want what you have,” she states firmly.
“It’s coffee. It’s bitter,” he tells her, pulling it back when she reaches for it. He turns away from her, redirecting his attention towards Jimin. “How’s your time off been?”
Jisoo comes around the table and climbs into Yoongi’s lap, sticking her face in the mug he’s holding for a sniff. She tries to tip the cup into her mouth but Yoongi pulls it away, still engrossed in conversation with Jimin. With the exception of Jeongguk, all of them have become adept at having adult discussion in code. So far, Jisoo hasn’t caught on to the fact that Jimin is telling Yoongi what he’s been up to with his new girlfriend. All Jisoo cares about is getting a sip of that delicious smelling stuff in Yoongi’s cup. After a bit more prodding, he finally gives in and lets her take a big gulp from the mug.
Jisoo’s face wrinkles up in disgust, tongue sticking out as she coughs around the taste. “FUCK COFFEE,” she exclaims, sending Yoongi into a fit of shocked laughter.
“Language!” Jimin scoffs, jaw falling open as his hand smacks his chest. Unlike everyone else, Jimin has always been careful not to use inappropriate language in front of Jisoo. Even when she was too small to repeat them or even understand what they were saying, Jimin would chastise the others for swearing in front of her. He’d cup his hands around her baby ears and glare at them until they apologized. It appears that his effort, although valiant, was for naught.
“You shouldn’t swear, Jisoo,” Yoongi says in agreement, but he’s smiling even as he takes the mug from her. Of all the things she could learn from him, curse words are the least of his worries. He’s got baggage like nobody’s business and a whole closet full of skeletons. It doesn’t matter if Jisoo has heard him say ‘fuck’ once or twice. She is smart and kind. He makes sure she feels safe and loved. Swearing is of little consequence between two abandoned babies.
The pancakes quickly disappear between the three of them, and then Jisoo’s insists she needs a moment with Jimin, so Yoongi takes their plates to the sink. Once alone, Jisoo drags a big pink binder out from who knows where and sets it on the table where Jimin’s plate had been.
“What’s all this, Ji,” Jimin asks, smirking at her.
“Listen Jim,” she begins, “can I call you Jim?”
“Please,” Jimin says, barely concealing his laughter as he puts a hand between them. “Call me Chim.”
Jisoo glares at him. “This is serious, Chim. Please, control yourself.”
Jimin mumbles an apology and Jisoo continues.
“Inkspires is in desperate need of rebranding. I’ve drawn up some ideas here. Bear with me, I didn’t have time for digital renderings, so I just used crayon.”
“Of course,” Jimin says seriously.
Jisoo’s binder is full of drawings for logos, mock-ups of business cards, and advertising ideas. She’s somewhat of a marketing genius, drawing up her first business plan at age seven. She’s got a lot of good things in here that Jimin can definitely work with.
“Pro-bono,” she states, non-negotiably, as she closes the binder and presses it into his hands. “Or else I’ll tell Yoongi that you and the dog lady feed me candy and let me stay up until eleven.”
“Deal,” he agrees, shaking her hand.
“Oh, one more thing,” she adds, leaving the table and rushing back with a sheet of white paper clutched in her hand. “Please give this to Jin. He’s expecting it so you can’t forget, okay?”
Jimin takes the paper from her, holding out his pinky for a promise while he looks over the page in his hand. It’s a drawing of a birthday cake covered in little green caterpillars with the words ‘happy birthday, worm’ written in the middle.
“It’s for Uncle Tae.”
“I can see that,” Jimin nods. He doesn’t bother asking for an explanation, Taehyung and Jisoo have some strange kind of shorthand no one else understands.
“Are you done,” Yoongi asks Jisoo, returning to the table with his sleeves pushed up. His forearms are still wet from washing dishes and the tattoos that cover them are all the more vibrant. One arm is richly colored, blooming with reds and blues. The other is all outlines. Yoongi had planned to get the color filled in eventually, but Jisoo likes to fill it in with her markers so he leaves it blank. Someday when she’s older, and if she continues to practice, he’ll let her tattoo the colors into his arm herself.
“Come on Ji, we’ve got a client coming in at ten-thirty. Go get dressed,” Yoongi tells her, taking the chair she vacates.
“Don’t forget, Jimin,” she shouts on her way to her room.
Once she’s out of earshot, Jimin turns to Yoongi, mischief written all over his face. “How’s it going with Y/N,” he asks, nudging Yoongi with his elbow. Yoongi takes a big breath and lets it out with a sigh.
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise? Already?”
Everyone knows Yoongi is hard to get close to. Jimin is aware it can’t be easy on you to try to break down his walls. But as hard as it may be for you to work through, Jimin knows it’s just as hard on Yoongi. He knows his history. He is all too familiar with the strand of short-term relationships Yoongi had before Jisoo came into his life. The relationships he’s attempted since then, or lack thereof, are even more disheartening.
There have been a few dates, sure. There was a guy early on who Yoongi thought was pretty special, but Jisoo was two at the time, and the minute she started crying that guy left and never called again. Then there was a woman a couple years ago: a fellow tattoo artist that Yoongi had met at a convention. She insisted that she was okay with Yoongi having a child, but Jisoo hated her. That was the only red flag Yoongi needed to end it.
“Not exactly,” Yoongi finally answers. “It’s just... getting kind of serious. It’s about that time.”
“To meet Ji?”
Yoongi pauses again, no doubt weighing the importance of letting you into Jisoo’s life versus the option of being alone forever. “She thought there was another woman,” he grumbles. “So I had to tell her that there is.”
“You did the right thing,” Jimin assures him. “She seems like a really great person, Yoongi. This could be really good for both of you.”
“Unless it’s not,” Yoongi chuckles darkly. He’s always done this ‘laugh when things are scary, so no one knows how scared you are’ thing. “Jisoo could hate her, or she could hate Jisoo.”
“Hey,” Jimin barks. “No one on earth could hate Jisoo.”
“You know I’d really like to believe that, but the evidence I’ve gathered thus far points to the contrary.”
“That woman was insane, Yoongi,” Jimin insists, thinking back to the way Yoongi became a complete shut-in after his last failed relationship and hoping that he’s steering him in the right direction this time. Yoongi deserves love. He deserves companionship. “Think about what you know about Y/N. Has she ever given you any indication that she’s not serious about you?”
Yoongi thinks of all the times he’s caught you looking at him like he’s the only thing you see. It scares him. He thinks of all the times he’s stopped your eager hands from undoing his belt. That scares him too. He counts the times he’s woken up to a text or a call from you just because you wanted to talk to him. The answer is ‘no.’ You’ve never given him any indication that you’re not serious about him. If anything, you should be the one who’s nervous. He’s the one who has consistently been unclear about where you stand. Fear will do that to a person. Even if the idea scares him, he knows he owes you this. Not only that, but he actually wants to let you in.
“No,” he tells Jimin after a long pause. “She’s pretty serious.”
“Then go for it. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll all be there. It’ll be okay. But I really think you have nothing to be afraid of. This is a good thing.” Jimin lays a comforting hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and squeezes just as Jisoo returns with her brush and a couple of small mint green scrunchies. She likes to match.
Jisoo squeezes between Yoongi’s legs and hands him the brush. Jimin watches fondly as Yoongi quickly tames her bed head into two neat braids, remembering the time he caught Yoongi watching how-to videos on YouTube. It was just before Ji started school. Yoongi was terrified that as a single dad covered in tattoos and piercings, they’d find him an unfit parent. He convinced himself that as long as she was fed, well dressed, and had neat hair, they couldn’t fault him. As a result, he’s become both a skilled an efficient braider, and anything else Ji asks for, he can learn from a video just as quickly.
Once they’re good and ready, Jimin follows them downstairs to the tattoo studio. Jisoo drags a big bag of oranges with her. With one last squeeze, and a whispered reassurance that everything is gonna be fine, Jimin leaves them to their work.
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Jisoo pulls her print off Yoongi’s bulletin board and sets the stencil herself while Yoongi sets up her machine. They kill time this way when she’s in the shop and he’s waiting for clients. She’s probably the youngest tattoo artist on earth. Seated on his lap with his hand guiding her, she’s halfway through the cat she’s tattooing into a big fat orange when the bell above the door jingles. She greets the patron as she would anyone, thinking she’ll just finish up this line before Yoongi goes to help them, but she recognizes the answering voice and her cat is immediately forgotten.
Bringing with him a palpable anxious energy, Taehyung has arrived for his first tattoo. Even though you’d never guess from her calm, professional demeanor, Jisoo is absolutely thrilled to be able to witness it. She handles the paperwork, and once that’s all settled, she curls up on a chair at the next station while Yoongi gets started.
Already, Taehyung looks a little green and the needle hasn’t even touched him yet. Yoongi is unsure he’ll make it through what is about to be a pretty intricate job if he doesn’t relax.
“Hey, did you hear about Hobi,” Yoongi asks, attempting to soothe the tension radiating off of him with a little distraction.
“No,” Tae answers, “what happened?”
Yoongi is quiet for a moment, staring at Jisoo with a furrowed brow to see if she’s paying attention. “Hobi wanted to… share Cat’s peach,” he tells Tae, eyes still on Jisoo.
Tae’s eyes bug out of his head. Yoongi chuckles, loving the shock value this story provides.
“Cat said Hobi had to share his peach first,” Yoongi continues, grinning. Tae barely contains the cackle that threatens to jump from his throat.
Jisoo looks up from her tablet then, looking between Yoongi and Tae to see what’s so funny. “If they both have a peach,” she wonders, “why don’t they just eat their own peaches.”
Tae jumps in right away. “Because, Jisoo, my angel, sometimes someone else’s peach tastes sweeter.”
Jisoo shrugs and goes back to her tablet. Yoongi scrunches his face up at Taehyung with a completely disgusted expression. That statement dangerously toes the line of coded grown up talk.
“Anyway, Hobi got a, uh… a worm… stuck in his peach. He had to go get it removed.”
Tae flinches imagining what that must have been like, relieved that his girlfriend has a sturdy strap for the more adventurous escapades they share together. Yoongi is grateful, for once, that he can’t relate.
“That’s gross,” Jisoo says, quietly contemplative. “They should have just thrown the whole peach away.”
Yoongi grins, laughing to himself while Tae’s body shakes with silent giggle