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hoseoksluna · 1 month

Text

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch.

That’s a good girl. Messy for me.

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is.

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully.

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses.

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth.

He is not, in fact, on his way home.

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy.

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny.

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.”

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?”

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display.

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.”

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself.

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen.

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking.

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do?

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice.

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.”

Naked.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.”

And with that, he hangs up.

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you.

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend.

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form.

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer.

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience?

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad.

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you.

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done?

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you.

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer.

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you.

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had.

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to.

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all.

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream—

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment?

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call?

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person.

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult.

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there.

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.”

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred.

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body.

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man.

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water.

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober.

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross.

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially.

Was it out of the question or would he consider it?

Your leg jitters harder.

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin.

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.”

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion.

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek.

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?”

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one?

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks.

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness.

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you.

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.”

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?”

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did.

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently.

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side.

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.”

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?”

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself.

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.”

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you.

“Can I feel how wet you are?”

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.”

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted.

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue.

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently.

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?”

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.”

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?”

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?”

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine.

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?”

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.”

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?”

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath.

“Spank my pussy again, please.”

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while.

“Apologize first.”

“You didn’t tell me how.”

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.”

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours.

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples.

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged.

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?”

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times.

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think.

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants.

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing.

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half.

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath.

Such a stark, sudden change.

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that.

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.”

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving.

“Keep your legs where they belong.”

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin.

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under.

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?”

A question for a question.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration.

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home.

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy.

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?”

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start.

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down.

You fight against it.

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness.

And you decide to repeat history.

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants.

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat.

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?”

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether.

And then, you collect your essence again.

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest.

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.”

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you.

He parts his lips for you.

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally.

You’re in charge. And it feels divine.

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue.

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.”

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you.

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince.

And then—then he manhandles you.

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does.

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden.

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter.

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?”

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening.

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion.

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.”

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit.

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free.

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off.

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.”

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused.

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.”

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation.

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way.

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum.

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.”

Yoongi has had enough.

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’.

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.”

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?”

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix.

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone.

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?”

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him.

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.”

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you.

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.”

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.”

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something.

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.”

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you.

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.”

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come.

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them.

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.”

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes.

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.”

With that, he hangs up.

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again.

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself.

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you.

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing.

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?”

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.”

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief.

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you.

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind.

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles.

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.”

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours.

But you don’t let him take charge.

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.”

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you.

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed.

You hold onto his neck with your dear life.

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours.

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.”

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him.

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock.

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit.

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life.

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too.

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring.

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.”

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation.

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?”

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness.

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him.

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.”

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.”

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you.

BACK to masterlist / READ part two

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kithtaehyung · 6 months

Text

u suck !! (m) (3tan special) | myg

3tanoween special: u suck !! pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: jimin’s cul-de-sac is filled to the brim with autumn leaves, trick-or-treaters, and halloween spirits. but the scariest part of the night? yoongi himself. and the way he looks downright sinful in his costume. note: BOO!! :))) happy halloween and i love you all so so much. if you haven't read three tangerines or the rest of the series yet, i highly recommend diving into that first! this would make a whole lot more sense lol note 2: this is gonna be heavily unedited bc i literally started it on tues🥹 and consider this a pocket universe/side story for now until i mention anything otherwise :)) warnings: [explicit warnings under the cut] language, house party, alcohol/drug mentions, vampires are present but there’s a different type of sucking going on HEYO!!, tight spaces, yoongiiiiii🥺🥺🥺, one (1) uncomfy hug, jimin is a warning, yoongi is a bigger warning, kissing is a staple warning atp, yoongi in black leather and chains ahahahahah, tension, angst bc it’s me🤪, you have to be quiet :)), but it’s so hard :))), yoongi hands🥴, so many doll mentions, cus this reader is a barbie!!!, this yoongi is out of control and i’m not stopping him 🤷, ermmmmmm yoongi’s voice🧍‍♀️this is all i can say🧍‍♀️, ...VMIN??? drop date: oct. 28th, 2023, 12:17am est word count: 11.5k🫣

explicit warnings: choking, head/hair tugging, min yoongi king of consent wbk, fingering, breath play, oral (m rec), ass play, chains lmfaooo, tears, face fucking, back shots, cum swallowing, breast play, protective sex, …public sex🫣, nasty dirty talk, he’s rude and we love it and he knows that we love it😩

—

“Oh, did you get the cookies?”

“Yeah, they’re already in the back,” you huff out as you rush around the car. After getting in and catching your purse strap on your very pink heel, you explain while slipping it free, “And don’t worry, I made un-iced ones for you.”

Your brother sighs in relief, as if you’ve never done that for him before. “Thank god.” As he backs out of the driveway, he gives your costume another glance. “That damn movie. I feel like I’m gonna see three hundred of y’all tonight.”

“Barbie was great and you know it.”

“Whatever. Aren’t you gonna be cold later?”

“I got this.”

Steering the wheel, he sighs, “Okay.. You’re gonna regret that.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Fixing your tee and smoothing out your skirt, you make a mental note that he didn’t comment the usual things about your costume this time. Whether it’s because you grilled him about the Dalo incident or not, you’re pleasantly surprised.

The only thing he complained about was that couldn’t dress how he wanted in peace.

“You still could’ve been Ken, you know,” you think out loud. “All you had to do was throw fur over that jersey.”

“Nah, the coat I got is expensive as fuck.”

“So is the jersey?”

“I have two of these.”

“…I will never understand you.”

The drive to Jimin’s isn’t too far, and the streets are already occupied with people in various characters. When you pass by a Ghostface costume with pink heels and a sign that says ‘This Barbie has a knife!,’ both you and your brother give it an approving laugh.

If the atmosphere in the neighborhood was buzzing, it’s Jimin’s cul-de-sac that bursts with the biggest Halloween charm.

Every yard around the semi-circle is chock full of decorations, from the ghoulish to the whimsical. Orange and purple lights scale whole houses, trees are covered in ghosts, and inflatable spiders and kittens rest on every surface you can see. Glee spreads throughout the whole setting as trick-or-treaters of all ages stop along the sidewalks, gawking at the views and running up to doors to procure sweets.

It’s magical.

But you can’t enjoy it at the moment because your brother has to park way down the main street. Which means you’re subjected to his teasing as you make the trek in enormous heels.

Ugh.

At least he’s carrying everything.

“Damn, look at that house,” you point, adjusting your purse and almost teetering over.

“That’s a shit ton of cobwebs.”

“The lights are so nice, though.”

“Uh huh.”

After forever, you finally get to Jimin’s house, going through the open garage and already greeting the yells and hugs upon arrival. Some people are dressed up and some are in their regular clothes, but everyone seems chipper.

And it’s even louder inside the house. All of you have to practically yell to hear each other.

“Hey! You made it!”

Damn, Jimin looks good as a vampire.

As your brother says hi, you try super hard to not stare at his silver hair, avoiding his bare chest under that ruffled white shirt entirely. “Hey, Chim! You’re all decked out, holy shit.”

“Ah, thank you! We both are. The lady at the Halloween place gave us a discount.”

“For what?”

“Uhh, being cute? What else?”

Adorable. If he went with Taehyung to get costumes, you wonder how extravagant your best friend looks.

When you laugh, Jimin stops to look at you with his jaw dropped. “Wow, look at you, Barbie!” Turning to your brother, he teases, “You let this happen?”

“I will throw you against the wall right now, fang boy,” he responds with no hesitation, which pulls a high cackle.

“No fighting tonight, please,” you drone, smiling while giving the handsome vampire a side hug. “Everything looks so good!”

“Yeah? Spent all day decorating.”

“Well, it shows.” Noting how Jimin always has great cologne, you take the trays from your brother while asking, “Where do you want these?”

“Ah, in the kitchen! Here,” he offers, sliding them onto his puffy sleeves. “Follow me. You can see what we have.”

His cloak brushes both your legs as you’re led into the big area, and your eyes feast on the assortment of themed desserts and drinks.

Whoa. There’s even a bubbling pot of red punch? Jimin really has gone all out this year.

Maybe Tae has something to do with this uptick in ambition.

“Yoongi! You, too?”

Huh? Him, too?

“Yeah, it’s fucking hot.”

Hot? What could possibly be—

Oh.

Fucking.

Hell.

It’s your fault for assuming it was Tae that Jimin went to the store with. It’s your fault for not even entertaining the possibility that Yoongi would dress up.

And it’s all your fault for not being able to process what’s happening because even your own brother teases you when you cannot form words.

You can’t help it. There’s literally no way.

Because seeing this man up close, decked out head to toe in shiny black leather and hair properly tousled as if he just had wicked sex?

How the fuck are you supposed to react!

“I think you broke a wire in there somewhere,” Jimin comments through puffs of giggles, finally snapping you out of your inappropriately timed trance. “Ah, there she is!”

Recover. Holy shit, you gotta recover.

“I just—” You gesture to the demon with your hands. “I didn’t think you’d ever dress up.”

And Yoongi has the audacity to respond with,

“Why?”

“I mean. I thought you were..” Flailing for anything, you blurt, “I dunno, boring?”

Amusement shoots out of both your brother and Jimin, carving a sickly upward curve into Yoongi’s face. When he looks away to poke his cheek, you know something’s coming.

But when he glances back and drags his eyes from your feet to your awaiting face, you're completely unprepared when he drawls,

“And you dressed basic for what?”

Disbelief slams your jaw straight into the ground, your little audience bent back with laughs so loud that some people around your group glance over.

Oh, you wanna launch yourself at him so fucking bad. Wipe that stupid, smug taunt off his face.

But there are other ways to come out victorious. And you can’t exactly do anything with your sibling so close.

“Alright. Okay,” you hum, nodding and thinking of a thousand ways to incite revenge in private. “I’ll remember that.”

“Won’t help you, doll.”

Shit, did he really just call you that out loud?

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it he’s just saying that in the open because you’re a Barbie. “Whatever, Neo.”

Yoongi quickly smiles in confusion. “Neo? I’m a vampire!”

“Oh, yeah, cus you suck.”

Your brother and Jimin are full on titillated now. While one blows out air, the other plants a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder while creasing over from glee.

And you spot your friends arriving, which turns into perfect timing for you to slowly retreat with a middle finger and a lip bite. “Bye, suckas!”

Your brother can only shake his head before turning to grab a cup, and you barely—just barely—catch the fiendish spark in Yoongi’s eyes as he bites his grin right back.

You can’t believe you got through that whole interaction so smoothly.

Because every time you’ve caught peeks of Yoongi since then, your body’s reaction is downright visceral. Borderline feral.

And it reaches its peak when you get a text from the devil himself.

Yoongi [10:02pm]: Fuck

Shit, you can’t do this.

If you start texting now, too? There’s no way you’re gonna be able to resist him.

But the two drinks in your system are very smooth talkers, and you’re convinced immediately.

You [10:02pm]: what🥺

“Let’s go!” Yuri yells, dragging you along.

“Where’re we going?”

“Garage. Table’s about to be open.”

From the backyard, it takes a minute for you all to weave through the people inside to get to the designated card game area. So you don’t get to read Yoongi’s text until you’re waiting for a table to clear.

Yoongi [10:04pm]: You know exactly what

You [10:04pm]: 🤪🖕

Yoongi [10:04pm]: I better not find you alone

Fuck, you want that. Frankly, there’s literally nothing you want more right now.

It’s been way too long since you’ve seen each other, and even more since you’ve gotten to do anything that leaves you breathless.

So being this deprived and witnessing him in that costume? Yoongi’s the vampire but you’re the one that wants to suck the soul out of him.

You [10:07pm]: maybe i want that

It’s official. You can’t hold back your replies tonight even if you try.

Between drinking and a haze of thoughts solely connected to him, you find yourself getting more and more needy.

Yoongi [10:07pm]: You don’t

You [10:08pm]: but shyyy

You [10:08pm]: whyyy*

This is bad.

Why can’t he be super annoying instead—

Yoongi [10:10pm]: 🤷‍♂️

Well.

You [10:10pm]: 😐

Yoongi [10:10pm]: Lmaooo

Taehyung chuckles next to you, and you immediately lock your phone while giving him a slight nudge. “Shut up…”

“I will once you stop sexting.”

“We are not!”

“Uh huh. And I’m not wearing a suit.”

Scoffing, you give him a once-over, wondering why everyone except for Yoongi decided to forego a goddamn shirt today. “What are you supposed to even be?”

“A model.”

He’s full of shit. “You just wanted to wear this outfit, huh.”

“Yup.”

Small huffs leave you both as you wait just a bit longer, and you let the night air and music lift your spirits until you get another text.

Yoongi [10:13pm]: You look great, doll

Why does he have to say all the right things?

You truly don’t know how you ended up here. To be able to receive compliments like this from him of all people? It’s a wonder this whole thing isn’t just one big dream.

Fueled by the excitement and comfort only October can bring, you lean into this conversation and type a genuine reply.

You [10:13pm]: so do you baby

You [10:13pm]: i better not find you alone either

Wait.

Have you ever been that bold?

Seems like tonight is making you a bit scary, too.

Yoongi [10:14pm]: 👀

And rude.

You [10:14pm]: 😛😛😛

“Get off your phone, babe! Enjoy the night!”

“Sorry, sorry,” you whisper, belatedly dropping your device in your purse and following everyone to scraping chairs and rustling clothes.

The air feels even chillier at the table, and you’re thankful for the warm metal seat this time when your bare skin makes contact. Peering out of the garage, you can see that the night is still active as ever with more and more people walking around.

Maybe poker and cool autumn weather will quell the heat swirling in your core.

Nope.

Even your card game can’t distract you from what happened. You still have the whole thing running through your mind, replaying Yoongi’s expressions and feeling more and more want build between your legs.

Under a skirt that's completely the wrong length for how it feels outside.

But you try your best to focus on having fun with all of them, especially since Dom and Tae keep eyeing each other and smirking at you whenever you try to ask what’s up.

“You know what’s up.”

“Dom!”

“Don’t act like we can’t see it.”

Hiding your smile with a cup, you break, “What!”

“Babe, you are thinking hard about something,” Dominique points out as she swishes her long white locks—a perfect Storm on your left. As she lays out cards, another comment flies out, “And I don’t like that smile you got going on.”

“Yeah, what’s that all about!” Yuri joins in, and you pout at her high pigtails while she stares at her hand, chucking her cards in the center.

Then Reia folds, too, her pretty nails extending the sleeves of her ninja getup so well. “Probably thinking about her boyfriend.”

“He’s not my—”

Four pairs of eyes instantly give you a look to just give it up already, and you flounder as they all tease you in various ways.

“Is he coming?”

“Yeah, are we finally gonna meet him?”

“Yeah, babe,” Tae repeats, resting his smug cheek on a palm. “Are we gonna meet him?”

Glaring, you respond to the pair of cards in your hand. “Not yet,” you answer honestly. “Call.”

It’s you against Taehyung, and Dom flips another card in the center.

“Hold on,” he stops. Turning to you, he bets, “If I win, we get a name.”

What?

Gawking, you try to send him every single signal in the universe telling him to take that back. The chills you get compound with the dropping temperatures, and you suddenly can’t move your fingers.

Even Dom is shocked trying to play fair. “Hey, we don’t have to force them.”

But Yuri and Reia are already all for it, siding with Tae and getting excited for the face-off.

Shit, shit, shit. Your cards are good, but you never fucking know with your opponent. Someone even more mysterious than Min Yoongi.

Fuck it. “Fine,” you blurt, watching Tae’s eyes fully enlarge in surprise.

Oh, shit, did he not expect you to call his bluff?

Fuck, what if his hand is better!

Sweating while frozen all over, you wait for Dom to flip the final card.

Damn, damn, damn. You can just make up a name, right? You can just brush it off with a pseud and call it a night.

But you know they’d be able to tell you’re lying. So you have to win this, you have to win…

That last card may have just saved your ass.

You and Taehyung give each other a look, and you can’t tell if he wants to beat you or is sad that he thinks he did. Either way, he looks stricken.

“Straight,” he claims, laying down his cards while Yuri and Reia cheer.

And you breathe, checking your hand one more time before regarding him again.

With a flourish, you reveal your cards with a boisterous, “Full house, bitches!”

Loud groans mix with Dom’s close-call hiss of an exhale, and all the slaps on the table get the attention of everyone in the garage.

And outside of it.

While you’re raking in everyone’s chips, you glance over to see Jimin and Yoongi looking in from the sidewalk, some of their friends also wondering what the hell happened.

At this, you get so shy that you don’t even acknowledge them, instead turning right back to the table and sitting down with your winnings.

When Dom gives you a look, she asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you stumble, rubbing the cold from your arms. “Let’s keep going.”

After another shuffle and deal of cards, you finally gain the courage to look out into the driveway.

Only to see them talking amongst their group again.

This is agonizing.

Why the fuck did Yoongi have to dress up? It’s doing things to your insides that you never would’ve guessed, and watching him be all casual while looking like sin incarnate isn’t helping.

Maybe it’s the way his hair is still so ruffled, or the way his shoulders stand so broad—which never fails to destroy you.

Or maybe it’s the way some people give him the biggest heart eyes and others rope him into pictures, knowing that you’re the one that he just texted.

Your next hand is quick to be tossed on the table, which gives you a chance to glance again.

Of course, the thought that some people here are probably ones Yoongi’s been with before awakens darker parts of you.

Like that girl that just caressed his arm.

But they aren’t as powerful as before, because you’ve been reassured a thousand times over.

He’s not like that anymore.

But as he’s pulled in for a picture with some other Barbie’s, you’re promptly reminded that he’s still not outwardly taken, either.

Which coaxes another, sadder side of you to come out of hiding, casting a shadow over a fun Halloween night.

How much longer can you take being the one in the dark?

Screw waiting to find Yoongi alone.

You’d rather be standing together.

Activities bustle about the house while the neighborhood is very much still alive.

Some kids do brave Jimin’s scary yard and, thanks to his foresight, anyone who’s near the open doorway simply tells them to grab as much candy as they want from huge plastic cauldrons—while hiding any drinkware they might be holding.

The only reason you know any of this is because you found yourself near his front door with your friends, and two tiny witches walk up to the porch with full buckets.

You and Tae are the ones to greet them, with him beaming a hi and you following up with a question,

“What’s your favorite candy?”

“Chocolate!”

“I like gummi bears.”

Ah, that might be a no-go for the second one.

Leaning forward, you rummage through one of the plastic bins. “Ooh, I know we have plenty of chocolate, but.. I don’t know if we have gummi bears out here. Tae, can you check inside?”

“Yeah! One sec.”

As he leaves, you keep searching while Reia asks them another question,

“Can we know what spells you ladies are learning?”

One of them doesn’t respond, but the other in a frilly dress fires out an answer,

“I’m learning how to turn boys into cats!”

Excellent. Wide-eyed, you wholeheartedly support their decision. “That’s the best spell to learn. Can I see?”

“Yeah!”

Just as timing has it, Taehyung is far gone.

But a wonderful replacement shows up in Jimin and Yoongi as they're spotted walking across the yard, and you quickly call them over. It seems they’re joined at the hip tonight.

“What’s up!”

“Come here real quick!”

When they oblige, you check with the parents on the sidewalk and see if you’re taking too long.

When they give you a thumbs-up, you turn back to the kids, “Alright, let’s see it!”

“Okay!”

Yoongi gives you a look, and you grin. “She’s learning a new spell.”

As soon as the girl waves her wand, she shouts, “Turn into a cat!”

Straightforward. Succinct. Admirable.

Jimin immediately lets out a gasp and holds paw hands in front of his face, which makes the little witch giggle like hell.

But what Yoongi does makes everyone react, and your jaw unhinges while something wildly potent rushes through your stomach.

The man puts fingers on his head in the shape of cat ears—something you didn’t even know he knew how to do—and in the plainest voice, lets out a low,

“Meow.”

Oh. God.

Not only does Jimin burst at the seams, but you, your friends, the little girl, and her quiet companion all start laughing.

And Yoongi’s wide grin at the child almost brings tears to your eyes.

“That’s not a cat!” she corrects while smiling, and he’s immediately affronted.

“Yes, huh!”

“No!”

“Look! I have ears!”

“No! You sound like a human!”

“You need to keep practicing that spell then!”

Delighted, the little girls burst into laughter again.

Who is this man? You feel like you know more about him than you ever hoped to, and yet… Yoongi’s still a mystery.

One beautiful, scary, amazing mystery that you will never get tired of discovering piece by piece.

When your thoughts dissipate, you notice that he’s now aiming expectant eyes your way, and your heart beats extra extra loud.

But quickly, you understand. Raising your arms above your head, you do the same ear-shape with your fingers, beaming when he looks satisfied and feeling full when the little ones try it, too.

“We’re all cats now!” you exclaim, and they shout in agreement before running down the sidewalk to continue their adventure.

You have no idea what just happened. Zero clue.

But what you do know?

You’re not letting that go. There’s no way Yoongi’s escaping that interaction and you’re gonna hang it over his silly old head forever.

“I didn’t find gummi bears but we have fruit snacks—oh, they left?”

Swiveling, you regard Tae with shock. “Wait, you really looked that whole time?”

“Ah.. Yeah. Felt bad cus, umm. All the gummies in there are definitely not for kids.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Chuckling, you give the other two boys a grateful look. “I think they left pretty happy anyway.”

There’s one other thing you know for sure.

Seeing how Yoongi can be with children?

Any sanity you had left to give has been absolutely, positively vanquished.

Jimin’s whole cul-de-sac seems to always throw parties that people love to stay at.

An hour later, it’s still packed around the semi-circle of houses, and even you are delightfully buzzed and joining in some of the action.

But even though the alcohol is helping, you are still freezing.

Of course, there’s no way you’re letting your brother get another told-you-so in his bucket, so you endure the cold as you watch him and Shiv challenge Yoongi and Jungkook in beer pong.

To no one’s surprise, the youngest one has also chosen to not wear anything under his white suit. With clattering teeth, you refuse to believe he’s not shivering under that thing, too.

“Y’all took so long to win that one,” your brother shit talks early. “You ready?”

Kook’s brows pinch as he whines. “I thought he was good at this!”

“I am!”

As Yoongi fires off excuses to an unconvinced Jeon, you and a couple people laugh at their spat. But it’s when he claims that he’s just rusty that your sibling interjects,

“Oh, bullshit, Yoong’s lying! I do all the work when we duo!”

Ah. There they go. Eyes and mouths adorably creased to hell, “The fuck you don’t!”

“Oh, yeah? You don’t do shit!”

“Me? What the fuck happened last time!”

Gosh, there’s a lot of bodies walking through the backyard right now. You have to shift around as they pass your area, and what the fuck did someone brush your ass?

You jut your head sideways to see if anyone looks guilty, but the whole crowd just keeps moving.

Well. It wasn’t a blatant slap or anything. You definitely would’ve thrown hands if that was the case.

Their argument comes back into focus as you shiver.

“When?”

“At Hobi’s?”

“Okay, wait, that doesn’t count.”

“It does—!”

Your brother’s unannounced shot drills into the cup right in front of Yoongi’s crotch, and everyone around the table stops on a dime.

“Can we play now?” he asks, tilting his head. “It won’t take long.”

Shiv adjusts the red cap on his head, and it’s hilarious seeing him so serious in a full pokemon trainer costume. Especially when he shrugs at your opponents while they pin him with annoyance.

If you weren’t freezing, you would’ve laughed a little more. Your arms are fully caging you in at this point, and it’s hard to even rub your legs together.

More people walk through the area, and you have to shuffle backwards again to make room as they pass by.

“You look so good, Barbie!” one of the girls praises, and you compliment her matching aesthetic just as genuinely.

Your brother was right yet again.

There are plenty of pink and white outfits walking around.

Unfortunately, this combo that you decided on pulls eyes the whole night, all of which you are choosing to ignore.

There’s only one person you dressed up for today. Everyone else can take a damn hike.

Maybe this is why you’ve gravitated towards your brother and his friends instead of wandering more. Taehyung and the girls went back to playing cards, but you wanted to watch this game despite going solo.

Oh, well. There’s a whole group of you watching and you’re getting a little warmth from body heat now.

“Course it won’t take long.” Yoongi rubs a wrist, and you puff out air when he gives Shiv flack. “Not with him on your team.”

“Hey!”

The game commences, and everyone’s missing cups by the slightest mistakes. But one by one, they get set aside as shots finally start falling for Shiv and your brother, and pretty soon they’re down to the last one while Yoongi and Jungkook have a bunch.

Frankly, you don’t exactly remember how it all went down. Because all you can think about is how attractive Yoongi looks when he competes.

And watching him dip soaking fingers in water cups isn’t helping your mental in the slightest.

Fucking hell, you didn’t think this through. The price of finally getting to be around him? You can’t do much else except watch.

And your self-control has never been tested so egregiously in your life.

“Any last words?” your brother asks, his partner rolling an airy ball in his fingers.

And Yoongi takes a deliberate sip of his liquor before responding with a drone, “Yeah, hurry up.”

Smiling, you feel pity for the vampire. Because he’s about to lose whether Shiv makes this or not—which he in fact sinks with no issue.

Your brother only shrugs as people yell around the table, and you taunt Yoongi with your eyes as he turns to poke his cheek, fishing out the shot with long fingers.

Still a goddamn menace.

“I thought you were good at basketball,” Jungkook complains in a huff, roping his attention.

“I am.”

“So do something!”

“Am I holding a basketball?”

Jeon groans, but Yoongi quickly eyes Shiv with all the confidence in the world as he switches his attitude with a resigned,

“Fine.”

And he makes a quick dagger shot, too.

All of you react as mister basketball holds lazy arms out, and your sibling calms the crowd down with swipes. “Fluke! Nah, hey, that was a fluke!”

“Don’t listen to him.”

“Okay then, do it again, bitch.” Immediately, your brother hits a fast one into the same last cup, and people erupt again while Yoongi and Jungkook regard the solo with dread.

Your laugh seems to reach both their ears, because they both look at you with different faces,

“Whose side are you on!”

“You got something to say?”

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” you clarify with a smile. “You all suck.”

While Yoongi cocks a brow, your sibling calls you out with a knowing laugh, “You wanna shoot for them?”

“No, I’ll make it.”

He chortles again, and you get the strangest look from his best friend—someone that doesn’t know you’ve had plenty of experience doing this with your brother when you were both bored at home.

Is that pride? Curiosity? An intriguing mix of both?

Whatever it is, you feel wings flutter about your stomach and fight to keep your emotions internalized.

“Just lose already,” your sibling taunts. “Then we can do that thing Jimin’s talking so much shit about.”

“The haunted house?”

“Yeah, that.”

After both guys fail to make a comeback, you watch your brother and Shiv gloat as much as they possibly can.

And you’re about to move forward when another group of people blocks your way, damn near tripping as you step back.

While you’re waiting, a guy spots you and throws his arms up in recognition. “Hey! What’s up, how’ve you been!”

Huh.

Who is this man? Are you supposed to know him?

“Hi!” you call back, deciding to stay polite more than anything else.

Truly, you kinda feel bad because you have no idea who this is oh he’s going in for a hug. Okay. Strange but that’s whatever okay whoa it’s a full hug. Ah, he’s really squeezing you. Alright. Interesting.

As he lets go, you try to make small talk and ask how he’s doing. Because you feel terrible for not… remembering him...

He’s already walking away.

And you feel the most uncomfortable you’ve felt in months.

Umm.

What the fuck was that? Did he know you or not?

…Did he just want a hug to feel your tits?

Motherfucker.

Your eyes find Yoongi as soon as you feel an ick, now exceedingly cold both inside and out. All this time, you’ve avoided all the stares and only smiled while politely leaving others behind.

So to feel that disrespected just because you were considerate makes you want to hurl.

But when Yoongi moves to strip off his coat, you freeze for another reason.

Because he’s watching that dude leave.

Looking pissed.

Something deep inside of you rumbles to life, and you can’t explain what it feels like wait what’s he doing now? Why’s he walking right towards you why is he—

He’s not—

What is he doing?

He’s not gonna—not in—not in front of everyone, right? Not in front of your brother, right?

Right?

…This is bold as fuck.

Your denial is so substantial that you don’t even move when he gets close, handing you incredibly warm material and looking murderous in a black tee and pants.

“Here,” he offers, voice hardened gravel. “Put it on, doll.”

Damn. No subtlety this time?

You don’t even wanna know what your brother could possibly look like right now. All you feel are several eyes watching your every move, including some that aren’t particularly friendly.

But you whisper out a quiet thank you before he shakes his head.

“I should’ve done this sooner.”

“You didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

When you take one look at his expression, you drop any other sentences you were gonna say.

Yoongi is actually furious.

Your stomach churns up a flurry of emotions as he turns, nodding to your brother that’s looking over with Shiv.

Ah, fuck. Did all of them see that, too?

They don’t need to do anything drastic. You’re fine if just.. feeling a little violated.

Okay maybe you’d look the other way if they avenged you.

“Y’all good over there?”

“Yeah.”

Oh. Your brother didn’t see a thing.

That’s probably best for everyone involved.

“Let’s go then!” he yells, finishing his drink while Shiv puts all the cups back in place.

And Yoongi stays next to you, not caring if people give him looks. “Come on,” he mutters. “Just stay with us.”

“Okay.”

No other words are spoken as you walk out the backyard.

But when Jimin pops up with Taehyung and your friends, Yoongi pulls him aside while you ask how the poker games went.

The usual comments spring up immediately. Yuri complains about Taehyung being too good, and Dom and Reia quickly tell her she needs to work on her face.

Laughing the edge off, you see your brother checking his phone.

And just like the shadowed expression Jimin now has on his face, the hand your sibling smoothes over his head doesn’t seem like a good sign.

The haunted house was amazing, and it was a wonder you got through it in your shoes.

But you need a break after all that screaming. And you already spent a lot of time saying goodbye to your friends before they left.

So instead of joining Taehyung and his group in conversation, you keep to your own thoughts, sipping on punch while watching balloons cross kitchen tiles.

Ironically, you need anything to get through the loneliness.

Even more people latched onto Yoongi earlier. Which you should’ve seen coming after his whole ensemble was revealed.

But he had to keep them entertained because he isn’t taken. Not officially; not to them. There couldn’t be hints of him being cuffed, especially when your brother could see him at any moment.

Did you feel jealous? Upset?

To your pleasant surprise, not really.

Because unlike New Years, there’s been more history between the both of you that can never be repeated anywhere else. Ties that have woven between your bones and connections that you have no plans to sever.

You cherish them. And you’d like to think that he does, too.

All the flirting just sucked to see up close, though.

A sudden tap on your shoulder makes you jump.

“Fuck, sorry. You okay?”

As you see your brother and not another stranger, relief floods your system. And you hate how jumpy you are.

So you lie a bit. “Yeah, why?”

Hmm. He looks… out of sorts. You’re halfway into questioning the bend in his brows when he quickly asks,

“You good to go home with your friends?”

Wait, huh? That’s new. “Oh. They left but Tae’s here. You okay?”

“Something came up at work so I’m heading back.”

“The fuck? On Halloween?”

He shakes his head before running a hand over his chin. “Yeah, I dunno. But if you don’t wanna leave just have him bring you back.”

Damn. He’s not even concerned about you staying? What the hell is going on?

And thinking about things… do you wanna stay anyway?

Looking out into the house, you do a quick sweep before deciding that you’re gonna tough this night out. Taehyung’s still here, and you can hang with his circle.

You’re staying. Wishing for the best, you let him go. “K. Hope it’s all good.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I just have to clean up someon's mess.” Your sibling squeezes your shoulder in a final goodbye before stepping away. Pointing to the ground, he warns, “No one better try shit with you.”

“Go,” you usher with finality. “Text me when you’re home.”

“K.”

He heads out, and you’re left with your cup that you forgot you even had.

Staring into it, you somewhat wish you heard a familiar laugh in your ears. Throwing yourself back to that New Years night when Yoongi hung back in the kitchen just to talk.

Maybe he’s still preoccupied. Even after you gave him back his coat, ignoring his look of confusion.

After another half hour of feeling alone, with no vampire man in sight, you admit you're a little defeated.

Maybe you should have left, too.

Your purse buzzes, and you slowly fish out your phone while not looking at anything in particular.

But when you focus on your screen, your heart squeezes in double time.

Yoongi [12:43am]: Where are you?

Feeling a mix of emotions—relief, confusion, anything in between—you text back.

You [12:43am]: kitchen. but i was about to leave..

Yoongi [12:44am]: Don’t

Yoongi [12:44am]: Gimme a sec

This is it.

This is why you stayed.

Because one thing Yoongi has always proven to you is that he will make time. Whether it takes him a day, three months, or two hours.

Yoongi [12:50am]: Come up, doll

And you will wait forever.

However long it takes.

You [12:51am]: ok

It’s a short trip up the stairs from near the kitchen, and you wonder what’s gonna greet you when you get to the second level.

Are people up there? Is he just telling you to come so he could be near you? Or is this a clandestine meeting where he steals you from the night like the fiend he’s dressed as?

All of these thoughts wander about your head like specters.

But as soon as you reach the top, all you see is Yoongi, glancing up from his phone before stowing it in a coat pocket.

So unfair.

In the obnoxiously red and orange lighting, he looks even more devastating, standing like he’s been haunting your dreams for years.

And you hate how small your voice is when you greet him with a measly, “Hi..”

Very much unlike yours, Yoongi’s energy is loud. Powerful. He takes his time, consuming you with his gaze and making you feel so, so shy in heels that are somehow still on.

“Come here.”

“You sure?”

He hesitates.

And with a heavy heart, you wonder if he has the same question.

But he walks toward you instead, and you feel vulnerable. Nervous.

What’s he doing? What are either of you doing?

There’s a lot of people here still, and it’s not like they don’t know you. And they clearly know Yoongi quite fucking well.

God. You hate this uncertain, murky feeling. Because it could be solved so simply, so quickly.

But nothing in life is ever quite that easy for you, nor for him. So the paranoia lingers and lingers.

However.

When this man leads you away from the stairs, your fear spins into thrill, your nervousness taking on a new meaning.

“Yoongi…?”

With a shuffle of leather, you’re positioned right in a corner, breath catching because holy shit anyone could come up at any moment.

Why is Yoongi not nearly as concerned as you feel? Is he not jittery with nerves?

Judging by his lowered lids and unbothered line of lips, no, he is not.

As he looks around, warmth from his coat slowly swallows you on both sides. His hair cascades forward; his breath can be heard in the space between.

And you really do feel like he steals you away—from the night, the party, the world.

“Now what,” you whisper in pure nervousness. “Gonna bite me? Drink me? Suck me… Dry…”

His lips ghost along your neck, and you grant him all the access you have when he murmurs,

“Is that what you want?”

Your check for understanding is a sigh, “Want…hmm?”

“Me to suck you dry.”

You know what he means. And you’re already fighting for air as your exhale shakes. “Yes,” you admit. “Lemme do it, too.”

His dark hum rumbles your core. “Uh uh,” he rejects, one arm separating you from the rest of the room. “Only good girls can do that.”

That’s unfair. Fuck, that is really unfair.

You pant before gripping his coat in your fingers. “I’ll be good.”

“You’ll be what?” he asks, licking a small stripe along your throat and making you flinch.

“Fuck.” Your breath is harsh now. Very, very harsh. “A good girl.”

“Good.”

You feel the slightest nick of teeth as he lunges into your neck, and you have to clamp your lips shut to keep from mewling out loud.

Holy fuck, you’re already so wet.

There’s no way Yoongi can suck you dry at this point. Certainly not with the limited amount of time you have.

And the motherfucker knows it, his laugh pulsating down your spine. “So sensitive.”

“Yoongi—”

Again, he attacks, sucking hard once before running his tongue along the sting.

Thoroughly overwhelmed, you dissolve into mush. Your legs buckle under the pleasure, sparks of desire firing along your limbs as your ankles work double to keep you upright. “Baby...”

“You taste so fucking good.”

More. You need more and you need it now. “I wanna—”

Without warning, his lips finally find yours, arms fully encasing you in leather as he slams both hands on the wall.

“Yoo—”

And your heart leaps into the kiss while your fingers zip right to his face, tugging him in until your noses smush.

For someone with a million concerns before, you’re devouring him without any shits given and it’s magnetic. Electric. Magic. Sparks zip down your skin, pebbling your nipples and sending your toes in curls.

Hints of whisky and smoke pepper your tongue, and you know your breath proved similar if just a bit more reserved.

But you can tell something’s off.

He’s holding back.

Why? Why are his hands still firmly on the wall? Why is he keeping his distance even though you’re standing right here?

If you’ve been fiending to touch him the whole night, he had to be feeling the same way.

So what’s with the sudden hesitation?

Your body thrums with need, yearning for those large palms to roam and venture across every inch. Aching for him to erase that stupid hug from earlier in a way only he can.

“Baby,” you whisper. “Please.”

“Please what.”

“I need you.”

“I’m right here.”

“No, I”—you grip one of his wrists—“Please touch me.”

“In here?” He pauses, pinning you with concern. “You sure?”

Swallowing, you take in the music and conversations downstairs, hearing laughs and other exclamations.

Were they always that loud?

“I’m doing this for your own good, doll.”

Heart stuttering hard, you question, “Why?”

Yoongi only lets out a huff. “Cus…” Leaned in fully, his hot breath fans your face, all of his dark syllables drenching you in hellfire,

“If I touch you, I’m not gonna stop.”

“Fuck,” you rush out, breathing so hard your chest billows out. “I want that.”

“You don’t.”

Fuck yes, you do. You aren’t letting another chance pass by. You’re feasting on him whether it’s for two seconds or one thousand, and he’s gonna do the same to you.

Because as much as he’s holding back, you can tell he wants nothing but to tear you apart. A monster in the red lights strung around the game room.

And you’ll let him.

Consequences be damned.

“I do,” you finally admit with a whoosh. “I don’t give a shit right now, Yoongi, just do it—”

Any other words are snatched from your mouth as you’re pinned against the wall, your reward in the form of rough skin and thick leather sliding all along your sides.

Immediately, the coil in your belly rumbles to life, tightening click by thrilling click as you tug him in even closer.

Between kisses, you grit out how stupidly attractive he looks, and his chuckles are so dark that you feel them shake your core.

“Thought I was boring.”

Another groan into his mouth. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

“Say sorry then.”

It’s your turn to giggle, “And if I don’t?”

Fingers ghost along your throat before they squeeze in warning. “Try it.”

Attempting a whine, you press your shoulders back into the wall, fingers still clinging to his dark shirt. “I kinda… I kinda want to.”

“I know you do.” He shoves one of your legs away with a strong thigh, pushing his weight forward and accusing, “Wanna be a brat so bad, huh.”

Desire is doing wonders for your confidence. You’re not gone, but you’re influenced enough to let your thoughts flow.

All you needed was the last hit of this man’s magnetism. “Wanna be a lot of things for you..”

Amusement rumbles out like thunder. “Like what.”

Giggling, you admit, “I didn’t dress like this for nothing.”

“I know.” He kisses you in a way that has you swooning. “I could get used to this.”

“This wouldn’t get old?”

“Fuck no.” His hands move straight to your ass. “Not if it’s you.”

Confused, you pout in a whine. “You said it was basic.”

“It is.” He goes right for your neck for another feast. “And it’s fuckin’ hot.”

He then nips your skin in earnest, tugging his name out of your throat and causing you to claw into his hair.

“That guy just wanted to feel me,” you suddenly sigh, hating how you’re still thinking about it even now.

“I know.” Yoongi stops before watching your eyes. With a finger on your chin, he checks, “You okay?”

“Just make me forget it.”

He keeps his gaze on you for a moment more, forehead pressing against yours before he vows, “You will. He won’t.”

And your lips are fully captured before you can respond.

You missed this. You missed this so fucking bad and you’re pretty sure you’re saying everything out loud but you don’t mind. Yoongi deserves to hear it and you are gonna live this out to the fullest.

If he doesn’t hear you, he certainly feels you. In the way you rake at his hair, tug at his chest, sling your arms around his beautiful neck.

But your frantic actions are stopped when he growls,

“Fuck, you shouldn’t’ve come up here.”

“Wait, why—”

“Cus now I’m—Fuck it, come on.”

Before your mind catches up, your body is being rushed into the nearest door: a guest room that’s surprisingly not occupied.

“Yoongi, what—”

He holds a finger on his lips before peeking through the door, and he shuts it with a click when he seems convinced.

And you’re even more alone with the demon of your dreams—now shrouded in bright white from the string lights in this space.

You have no choice but to submit to his hands, stomach flipping as he seizes your lips with newfound energy. When you respond in kind, he backs you up until your legs hit the guest bed, setting off another alarm in your fizzing brain.

“Baby, you sure?”

“I won’t do much.” Yoongi lowers you down, steadying himself on an elbow. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” His gaze is steady on yours. “Nervous, though.”

Because it’s true. Even if your brother isn’t in the house, there’s a high possibility one of his friends walks through that door. One of Yoongi’s friends, even.

“We don’t have to, doll.”

And if you’re honest…

The thrill of it is enticing.

“We can.”

“I got us,” he assures with a kiss, now grinning like mad. “Lemme live this out just once.”

A bit shy, you bite your lip to combat your nerves. And the million butterflies raging in your ribcage. “And what would that be.”

“Not telling.”

Of course. “You suck.”

Puffs of mirth leave his mouth before he consumes you, and you feel unbelievably scandalous and loving every second.

Because you saw Yoongi leave the door unlocked. There’s no recovering if someone opens it without you both hearing them, because the closet is opposite from the bed. You will absolutely not get there in time.

Be it the holiday itself, or the fact that Yoongi’s positively enjoying himself, you feel more enthralled by the danger than you’ve ever been.

And the fluttering in your chest triples when he lifts your tee. “Baby—!”

“Chill, love,” he laughs, a glint in his eye as he kisses your bra. “Never done this before?”

“No, but—fuck.”

Your soft moan stems from him slipping your bra down, licking at your chest and groaning at your scent.

“God, you’re so perfect.”

Fervently disagreeing, you reply so lightly, “Not at all.”

“You are.” Another kiss to your lips before he moves down to your throat, squeezing one of your breasts with purpose. His weight feels heavenly on your torso, which you label the most ironic given how sinful he looks. “Couldn’t fucking wait to get you alone.”

Fucking hell, do you feel the same. Truthfully, you didn’t think you’d even get the chance. As you arch into his chest, your bare skin heats under his mountain of dark clothes. “Wanted to be with you all night…”

“Same.” The next kiss proves deep, and he slides a hand under your head to claim as much of you as he can. His lips leave yours with a pop before he grips you with conviction. “Fuck, you should’ve been.”

Oh.

You know why he’s holding you so hard.

And it touches the deepest, softest parts of your soul.

Gently holding his taut wrist, you whisper, “It’s okay, baby.”

His eyes stay closed, blocking you from hearing anything that he could be thinking.

But it’s your turn to lift his chin with a finger, and you reassure him with everything you have,

“Nothing happened. Don’t worry, okay?”

Yoongi still doesn’t answer, which makes you sad. One dude shouldn’t ruin both of your moods hours after the fact. He can eat shit and Yoongi deserves to be the one enjoying a perfect night.

So you vow to make that reality.

“Besides,” you continue, waiting until he finally looks at you. When he does, you slyly smooth both hands over your breasts, pushing them together right in front of his face. “These are yours, right?”

Like a switch abruptly flipped, Yoongi’s whole demeanor changes on a dime.

Hungry eyes rake over your chest before he plants a kiss on your fingers before anything else. “What else is mine.”

Your cunt quakes at the question, making you drag one of his hands down to the side of your ass. “This,” you whisper, biting back glee as he grabs right at it.

His mouth hovers over yours now, voice so low it sounds more like distant thunder, “What else, doll.”

And whatever made you so bold washes away in an instant. Because you know what you wanna say but it’s the hardest one to let fly.

Of course, Yoongi knows this. It’s the only reason he’s being so cheeky about it now. “That it?” he asks with a lilt. “You sure?”

Gnawing your lip, you shake your head, garnering more and more courage to tell him one last answer.

“Don’t be shy,” he orders through a wicked grin. “Tell me.”

Just say it. All you have to do is whip it out of your mouth and you can get on with it—

A bunch of voices start getting louder and louder from outside the door, and Yoongi reacts before you can process what to do.

Tee shoved back on and skirt rumpled to hell, you’re quickly rushed to the closet, thankful that Jimin’s house is fucking enormous and gives every bedroom double-doored enclosures for clothes.

Conversation gets even closer. Someone is definitely coming in holy shit shit shit.

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you settle on a sidewall, and the fact that there’s enough room for you to stand sideways is enough to distract your harrowing thoughts.

But Yoongi shuts the doors with practiced ease, dousing the space in darkness with only small strips of light to illuminate.

So fucking unfair.

Just him peeking through the crack in the doors makes you suffer, chains dangling from his chest and the mischievous glint in his eyes giving you pain.

Why does his side profile have to be so perfect? Why is this bad boy adjacent version of him enough to send you into orbit?

Suddenly, two voices burst into the room.

And you recognize both of them.

“—like you said, right?”

“I know, but…”

It’s Tae.

And Jimin.

“Then hey,” you hear your friend say with hope. “It’s okay.”

The coincidence of those words in that room does not get past you.

“You really think so?”

There’s a bit of silence before Taehyung responds, but you suddenly get distracted by someone much, much closer.

Because Yoongi’s slowly roaming a finger along the hem of your skirt, hooking it in and slowly tugging you forward what the fuck!

When your wide eyes meet his, you can tell he’s thoroughly enjoying this. And you have to clamp your mouth shut when he casually starts feeling over your shirt.

What the fuck is he doing!

This man is going to be the end of you.

“So yes. Let’s go back down, yeah?”

“Okay… Just give me a moment.”

Delirium. You’re approaching delirium as Yoongi now watches you suffer, and you buckle when he travels under your tee—up, and up, and impishly ducking his thumb under your bra.

And you almost can’t deal with the feeling.

Because your senses are upped to the highest setting, body on full alert and having to keep quiet when at his mercy.

You feel legitimately wild, mad, drunk off Yoongi’s presence alone. There are literally people on the other side of thin wood and he’s driving you up every closet wall in the house.

Out of your mind, you aim for his neck when you launch your own silent ambush.

And it’s his turn to suffer when you grab at his chains, because you tug him enough to get access to his neck as soon as you hear your friend again.

“Even this room looks nice and it's unused. Seriously, you did a good job.”

“Most of it was your idea.”

“Me? I only suggested it because I knew you could do it.”

Yoongi’s breath puffs over your shoulder, and he buries his head in your tee while you lick and suck him with a vengeance. His hands grapple your hips, taking no time in circling back over your ass.

“Thanks. Okay, I’m ready.”

“Finally. It was getting boring in here.”

A laugh tinkers out before Jimin hums in confusion.

“Weird. Thought I told people to not touch this bed.”

“You just sat on it.”

“I didn’t sit on that side.”

Taehyung responds right as you grope Yoongi’s crotch, and his body locks so hard you flinch at his grip.

“It’s probably nothing. The bed’s still made.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Mercifully, the guest door opens again before shutting, and you’re left in the weighty silence and faint bass of music coming from downstairs.

Adrenaline still at its peak.

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

“Says you,” you pant, mewling when his lips latch onto your neck for the umpteenth time. “What do we do now?”

After another suck, Yoongi lifts his head. “With what?”

“This,” you clarify, gesturing to the closet space. “We have to leave, right?”

“Do you want to?”

You pause.

If you leave now, you can sneak out of the room and no one will ever know you spent seven minutes in heaven with Min Yoongi.

But if you stay…

“Not really,” you whisper in admittance. “You?”

“Fuck no.”

Your giggles end up in his mouth when he claims you, and you grab at his chains in earnest, tugging him closer before raking impatient fingers through his ruffled locks.

And you’re already fine with this situation. Making out with this man in a closet? Who would’ve thought you would have this opportunity in the history of ever?

So when you feel wandering fingers between your legs, your reaction comes out a high mewl. “Wait—What are you—”

“Careful, doll,” Yoongi quells. “Gotta keep that mouth shut, yeah?”

You nod before realizing he probably can’t see, so you whisper an affirmative before slamming your lips shut.

Because one touch of his fingers on your covered slit has you already losing it.

A manicured hand slaps over your mouth as you widen your legs, gripping his coat with the other as he surrounds you mentally and physically. All you can think about is the way he’s calmly shifting your panties, expertly sliding over your cunt and chuckling right in your ear.

“You’ve been this wet this whole time?”

Gasping, you hum out a yes, and Yoongi laughs the scariest you've ever heard him,

“Nah, we’re fucking in here.”

Holy fuck, what?

“Baby,” you plead in his ear, wanting him in every way possible but knowing you don’t have a condom. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have—”

“Yeah, we do.” When he senses your confusion, he peeks out the closet door before... leaving.

What the fuck! What is he doing why is he going for a casual stroll with a boner right now?

Oh, he’s back already. But you’re still holding your heart with a goddamn fist.

When Yoongi holds one up, he laughs. “I actually didn’t know if he had some up here, by the way.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

He smirks before pocketing the package, grabbing your face and kissing all the lingering fright from your features. His tongue slides all along yours before he sucks, and his teeth drag over your plush when he lets go. “You down?”

Drunk off his continuously great make-out sessions, you slur out, “Hmm?”

“We don’t have to.”

Your smile is automatic. Knowing Yoongi’s still asking even though he was dead set on it makes giving him the go-ahead even easier.

But you both hear another smatter of activity in the game room outside. And it seems like people are starting to use the pool table.

Fuck.

Do you really go for it?

You’re gonna have to be silent as the grave if you do, because this will be the most sordid position you can be found in.

…Fuck it. Screw it. It’s Halloween and you’re dancing with the devil.

“Yes we do,” you scoff. “But if you break my heels we’re gonna fight.”

His quiet bout of laughs makes you melt, and his fingers feel positively intoxicating when they find your cunt again.

Your shoulders hit the wall with a soft bump as you arch, back to sewing your mouth closed and smushing your head in his clothes. His name slips out on your breaths, and his growls make you quiver with more and more impatience,

“So fucking wet.”

Fuck.

“Gonna take this dick so well.”

Nope. You can’t wait anymore. You don’t care who the fuck is out there, you’re folding and folding fast.

“Please, baby,” you pant. “I need you. Now.”

Yoongi obliges immediately, spinning you around and pinning your front against the wall.

Well, you think he’s on the same page.

Until he clamps a hand over your mouth before fingering you from behind holy fuck you might come any moment now.

Your hands slide into fists on the wall as you moan in his fingers, shoving your ass back to glean as much delicious friction as you can.

“There you go,” Yoongi praises. “Just like that.”

You’re gonna come. You’re already gonna come and he’s hitting every fucking spot to speed up the process. It’s almost unbelievable how quickly he can launch you off the edge, but you suspect this time has something to do with the thrill of your whole situation.

You feel bad.

And it feels fantastic.

“Babe,” you whisper, turning your head. “I’m already close.”

When you clasp a hand around his wrist, he finally finally finally grants you into heaven’s gates. You feel him let up, and you wait with tiny shakes as he rips the condom pack open with ease. The clink of his belt tickles your ears just right, and you quickly think about other dark things.

After a moment and more clothes shuffling, you feel his hands slide along your hiked up skirt before gripping your ass, never failing to worship your body and making you feel fucking pretty.

When he leans forward, his warm shirt and chilly chains on your bare skin alone push you even further. “Hands over that mouth, doll,” he rasps in your ear. “Can’t be loud for me this time.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good girl.”

As soon as you do what you’re told, you regret not pressing down harder.

Because Yoongi plunges into you so smoothly that your moan almost flows right out of your fingers.

Holy shit you really were that wet. But he's still so big. So, so big, and filling you too well fuck are you being too loud because it feels so fucking—

“Thought you were just gonna dip without saying bye?”

Oh, fuck.

Yoongi did not wait until he was inside of you to say that.

“Think you’d just show up looking cute and talk some shit, huh.”

Damn it. He did. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s a demon and you have nowhere to run now.

Delightfully frightened, you shake your head in denial. Repeatedly and full of terror.

“Show me up then.”

He stops all his movements, and you’re left to your own devices. Stranded on his dick with only the wall and your heels to support you.

Oh, he’s a killer.

And he’s all yours.

Thrusting back, you start slow, groaning into your hand at how large he is. It’s a wonder you can even move, and your jaw unhinges when you feel his dick hit a certain spot just right.

Again, and again, you fuck him as deep as you can take, slamming your ass into his pelvis and finding pride in the divots he’s sinking into your cheeks.

Yoongi’s still unhelpful, but you can tell he’s breaking. His grip is getting harder, his minuscule groans lower and more forced. Even the tiniest curse makes you preen, and you throw a look over your shoulder to hear him better.

Which is the worst best thing to do.

“Fuck, doll.”

With quickness, he rams himself into you, a sweaty hand clasping right over yours just as you yelp.

“We aren’t finished with that,” he promises through gritted teeth, and he takes over before you can process what that means.

And his pace is relentless, pumping into you so well that every thrust catapults you across space and time.

You’re outright panting now, feeling him deep in your guts and the strong lines of his forearm pressed into your chest.

“Breathe in for me.”

And you do, feeling his hand close around your throat while fingers lodge themselves inside your mouth.

Fuck!

Your eyes roll so far back you can probably see him if you had light, and you’re mercifully let go before you need to gasp for oxygen.

“Again.”

When you obey, Yoongi chokes you again, and you’re finding it euphoric as he clasps your column even harder. Every time he does, you clench around his cock, and a warm feeling washes over you every time he lets go.

“How’s that feel, baby girl,” he asks, humming in approval when you drag a reply out,

“So good.”

“Good.” He kisses your sweaty cheek before easily admitting, “I like it, too.”

Stilling, you turn as far as you can to regard him, asking in the tiniest voice, “You do?”

He darts his eyes to your lips before nodding. “You can try it next time.”

You smile, not knowing why you feel shy in this position of all things. But maybe you’re just happy that he said that. Because he didn’t need to admit something so intimate in the moment.

“We’ll do whatever you want,” you vow in a murmur, closing your eyes when he captures your lips.

After sliding a tender hand down your cheek, he whispers, “Turn around.”

You immediately do, untwisting your back and relieving the tension in your neck. When you slowly move to face Yoongi again, he steadies you the whole way.

And as soon as you’re settled, he kisses you so hard you fall back against the wall again.

Hands come up to shove your tee upward and unhook your bra, and he gropes at your chest before ducking to take a nipple in his hot mouth.

Surging with pulses, you bury your face to muffle your moans, squeezing your eyes shut from pure ecstasy.

How the fuck are you doing this? With him? If you travelled back in time to tell yourself that this was gonna happen at a party someday, you would’ve been told to piss off.

“Love these tits,” Yoongi grits. “Fuck.”

“I didn’t wanna wear a bra.”

He immediately chuckles. Darkness and sin brushing your chest. “I would’ve left.”

You hum in mirth, knowing exactly what he means by that. As much as you wanted to tease him, you know that decision would’ve immediately gotten him in trouble.

And definitely other people, too.

But the more he keeps licking and sucking, the more you feel it coming. Release. The inferno. It’s on the horizon and you’re just awaiting the crash of relentless deluge.

“There you go,” he rumbles. “You gonna come?”

You pant out before nodding, every muscle thrumming like hell.

And he orders low in your ear, yanking your orgasm right out of your very center,

“Then come for me, doll.”

Your body wracks with jolts, stabs of lightning hitting every limb and locking them at hard angles. A rush of pleasure surges through, filling the closet with a heady scent that makes Yoongi groan pride into your neck.

“Uh huh,” he praises. “Still wanna talk shit?”

And you do. Tears leak from your eyes as you nod, orgasm riding farther than ever, waves unending and your mental shore nowhere in sight.

“Course you do.” Yoongi claims your mouth. “Fuckin’ love it.”

Still, you feel pulled, lost to the universe that’s him and him alone, and you want to reciprocate the same pleasure that he’s providing.

“Baby, I’m still—”

“Fuck—”

You don’t know what comes over your brain, or your body, or whatever else runs on autopilot. But you use the rest of your strength to shove him back, pushing him until he hits the other wall of the closet.

“D—”

You rush out a question before lowering yourself, “Did you come?”

“No, but—”

“Take it off.”

Stunned, Yoongi rushed to unsheath the wrapper, rubbing himself before you take control.

Nothing will stop you at this point. Anyone could come in and you’d still be pleasuring Yoongi until he breaks.

Because you want this. He’s earned this.

Your knees hit the ground right as you take him in your mouth, tasting the strange mix of salt and latex but knowing it won’t be for long.

This is what you’ve been wanting to do since he gave you his goddamn coat, and your imagination has been so vastly outdone by reality that you feel like none of it’s truly happening.

When you flick your eyes upward, you get another thing you’ve been yearning for.

Yoongi is fighting for his life.

You can barely see that his eyes are squeezed tight, and you catch a tiny glimpse of his mouth agape before he bites it shut. When you suck in hard, his whole body flinches, and for the first time that night, he’s the one with a hand over his mouth.

And you feel so fucking elated that you welcome the hot strings of cum painting your mouth, groaning around him and giggling when his essence slips right down your throat.

He’s promising dark and wonderful things above your head, and you feel him grip your chin as soon as you pop off of his dick.

“Open that mouth.”

You show him, hoping he can tell in the dim light that there’s no drop left on your tongue.

“Goddamn.”

You’re tugged up before your mouth is smothered by his, and you teeter on your heels for balance as he whips you back against a solid surface.

It looks like he wants to say something.

But nothing comes out as he clenches a fist next to your head.

As you both calm, only your breaths fill the closet, your scents of passion clinging onto coats and jackets, all of which you could’ve worn in place of the one he gave you.

But Yoongi did something so bold tonight that it was only natural for you to want to take the same risk.

As he kisses you slow, you respond in kind, rolling your lips with his and enjoying coming down from this high with him every time.

Shouts and yells from the game outside pierce into the closet, but both of you exist in your own little world. With you tracing the lines of his shirt and him gently straightening your clothes.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what, doll,” he asks in return.

“Making me yours.” When you slightly pull on his jacket, you hope he gets what you mean. “Even if no one else knows.”

His tiny peck on your cheek is genuine and, if you aren’t mistaken, a little prideful. “They’re going to, doll,” he vows into your skin. “I told you, you're gonna get tired of me.”

"Lies," you sigh in peace. “So I get Halloween pictures with you next time, too?”

Yoongi freezes, standing straight before fishing out his phone.

And you fuss up a quiet storm before he lets you fix yourself, smiling at his camera as he squishes his sweaty, satisfied as fuck face right next to yours.

If anyone ever comes across those pictures on his phone, you will never ever tell them the context. They'll never know why your makeup looks like that, or why his hair is even more haphazard, or why you both look way too happy to be in a closet.

Even if they frightened you to death.

Some time later—and after a stressful time sneaking out with a smug Yoongi in tow—you find yourself downstairs and heading out the door with Taehyung.

After he asks where you were, you simply tell him the truth: you were with Yoongi. And end it at that.

With one look at your neck, he hums in amusement.

And you immediately slap a hand over it in shock, embarrassed to hell when he laughs.

But you let Tae tease you all the way home, knowing that you also caught a small glimpse of his life with Jimin. Not that you’ll tell him that until months from now.

When your phone buzzes, you immediately check what awaits you.

And you dissolve into mush yet again.

Yoongi [2:45am]: Text me when you’re home

You [2:45am]: but im not going to your place :((

What is home, if not where you feel the most at peace? Where you feel like you can be yourself and not worry about sneaking around? Where you know someone will protect you and be that person you can go to without any questions asked?

Yoongi [2:47am]: Next Halloween you will be

It’s definitely with Yoongi.

Right now, you know your home is with him.

Smiling, you type another text, full of contentment and looking towards the day all of this can be lived the way you both want.

You [2:47am]: turn into a cat

Yoongi [2:47am]: 😒

Taehyung looks at you when you laugh, and his grin grows when he can tell you’re genuinely happy.

And when Yoongi actually sends you a selfie matching the ear gesture he did earlier, you feel the endearing prick of hot tears in your eyes.

Yoongi [2:49am]: 1 Attachment

He has a distinct matching mark on his neck.

And you are one thousand percent sure he took the picture knowing it's visible.

Yoongi [2:50am]: Meow :)

Happy Halloween indeed.

—

end :)

—

🍊ahhh what do we think !!🍊| join the taglist!

a/n: thank you all for reading! i know this is super super late to post but i wanted it to be decent for y'all before letting it free. if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, messages, and submissions in the feedback box are super appreciated.

a/n 2: to any men reading this series, let me tell you.. that hug situation happened to me and some people i know and it suuuucks :(( ladies - and guys, anyone really - if you've had that happen to you i am sending you the biggest genuine hugs and a 3tan yoongi to make it better. and if it hasn't happened to you, then good.

++feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

#BOO!! :)) happy halloween!#bts imagines #bts reactions #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #*ryenfictalk #ryenwrites #three tangerines #3tan #3tanoween #*latest #bts smut

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highvern · 4 days

Text

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

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

Length: ~9.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this morning you have notes to write.

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

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

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

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

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

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

“Get in line.”

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

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

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

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi,” you sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he smokes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

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

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

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

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

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

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What's this?”

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

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

Of course he has.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

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

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

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

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

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m getting coffee.”

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

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

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

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

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

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’

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

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

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

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

“Snooping for secrets?”

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

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

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

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They were out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because…”

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

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

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

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

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

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom.

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

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

“Yoongi?”

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

“Jesus, you scared me.”

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

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

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

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

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

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

“Could have fooled me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

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

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

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

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

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You thought about this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

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

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

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2hightocare · 23 days

Note

We’re jk oc deprived 😭😭😭

Any new Drabble ?

noooo I can’t seem to finish any of my works for them, there’s only like prompts of barely 500 words here’s sum for you guys🥳🥳🥳🥳

“Do you guys have triple extra-large condoms?”

“Your dick is not that big, oh please,” Yoongi bursts out laughing, throwing his head back and covering his face with his hands. You can’t help but snort softly as Lora tries to figure out how many inches triple extra-large would be using her hands.

“How is that possible..?” Jimin says, laying his head down on the hotel room bed beside Taehyung, who’s been snoring away since you all arrived.

“Just because you have a small dick doesn’t mean I do,” Jungkook retorts, crossing his arms and leaning against the colorful wall of the room.

You’re all in Las Vegas, celebrating Jungkook’s and your three-year wedding anniversary. It was a spontaneous trip planned just a few hours before catching the earliest plane. None of you are new to Vegas, Taehyung, who’s lacking enthusiasm. The moment he steps foot in your and Jungkook’s hotel room, he knocks out.

The room has become the main hangout spot for everyone.

“I aspire to be as delusional as Kook,” Ari jokes from her spot on the floor in front of the mirror, curling her hair. The group bursts out laughing as Jungkook rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around your neck from behind, joining in the laughter.

Jungkook’s strong personality is one of the things that drew you to him. He always knows how to make you laugh, no matter the situation, with his random remarks and perfect timing.

“I think this is the dumbest thing ever,” Jungkook sighs, bouncing his leg where Iseul is sitting, sucking on her pink pacifier. Her two small pigtails bounce with each movement of your husband’s leg.

“She needs them, they’re literally mandatory, baby,” you lay your head on his shoulder, glancing around the clinic and noticing a brunette mom making googly eyes at your husband. Jungkook, too worried about his daughter, doesn’t even notice.

“I know, but do you not hear all the babies crying?” Jungkook says, watching Iseul giggle at his worried expression. “I’m afraid you’re worrying more than her,” you laugh, squeezing Iseul’s cheeks, making her squirm in Jungkook’s lap. “Aren’t you so cute, huh?” You coo, eliciting giggles from Iseul.

“Oh no,” Iseul pouts, pointing to the pacifier on the ground. “Oh no, it’s right, princess,” Jungkook bends over, picking up the pink pacifier and passing it to you. Iseul reaches for it eagerly, but you scrunch your face, sticking out your tongue. “Yuck,” you say, and Iseul mimics you, making Jungkook laugh at her reaction. “God, can’t believe I made such a perfect offspring,” Jungkook exclaims, showering Iseul’s face with kisses, which only makes her laugh more.

“You did not just call her offspring,” you gasp, a snort slipping past your mouth, making Jungkook laugh loudly before quieting down, realizing where you are. “Jeon Iseul?” The door opens, revealing a woman, likely the doctor’s assistant.

You and Jungkook immediately stand up, making your way to her. “Iseul?” she asks, and you confirm with a smile, interlocking your fingers with your husband’s as he holds Iseul on his other arm.

“Okay, follow me,” she says, leading you through a hallway adorned with pastel colors and animals painted on the walls, catching Iseul’s attention as she points and babbles.

“Gee-raffe!” she babbles, her baby teeth showing as she smiles at the animals. “Aw, she’s the cutest,” the assistant remarks, turning to give a warm smile to your daughter. She opens a sliding door with a giant elephant in the middle, leading you inside.

“Take a seat. Whoever’s going to hold her, please sit there,” she points to the big chair in the middle of the room. Jungkook sits, placing Iseul on his lap and adjusting her dress.

“Okay, can you tell me her birthday?” the assistant asks. “November 10th, 2022,” you answer, adjusting your cap as Jungkook pokes Iseul’s cheek.

“Okay, the doctor will be here in a few. Bye, Iseul. Nice meeting you,” she waves at your daughter, who waves back before the assistant exits the room.

“I want another one,” Jungkook whines, attacking your neck with kisses. “Baby, no,” you moan as he sucks and nips, leaving red marks on your throat.

“Please, give me another one,” your husband pouts, finally looking at you. His tattooed hand holds the base of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss as he smiles into it, making your teeth clash.

The kiss is messy, strings of saliva connecting between you both each time you separate to catch your breath. Jungkook bites your lip, making you moan into his mouth, to which he replies with a cocky smile.

“I’ll fuck you so good, baby, please,” Jungkook whines between kisses. “Please,” kiss. “Please,” another kiss. “Please,” and another.

“We can’t,” you reply between kisses. “Why the fuck not? We can do them right now,” Jungkook says, pulling you closer by your throat.

Jungkook has been wanting another kid, but as much as you want to say ‘fuck it’ and do it, you just couldn’t at the moment. You’ve been too busy with school, and the same goes for Jungkook with work, but he didn’t seem to think it through. He wanted another mini you, turning the house upside down alongside Iseul.

“Please, Iseul would love to have a brother… or sister,” he adds late, causing you to side-eye him, which only makes him smile as he nestles into your neck.

“No babies yet, let’s wait,” you happily sigh as he places a kiss on your collarbone, twirling a strand of your hair.

“So we’re not fucking?” Jungkook peeks up with a grin as you burst out laughing. “Not without protection,” you scratch the back of his head, making him moan before he rests his head on your lap, looking up at you with a smile.

“I see how it is,” you joke as you feel him shift in your arms before laying his head on your lap. “What?” you ask, placing your small palm over his face before moving it around. Jungkook sticks his tongue out, licking your palm, which has you quickly retrieving your hand.

“Ew, you’re nasty,” you scrunch your nose as he reaches for your hair, pulling gently.

“That’s nasty? You literally asked me to spit in your mo—,” before he could finish, you place your palm over his mouth again, shutting him up as his eyes widen with amusement.

“Shush,” a small giggle leaves your lips as you blush like a high school girl. You’ve known Jungkook for over ten years, and till this day, he has you giggling and kicking your feet whenever he looks at you.

“I miss your lip piercing,” you pout, squishing his cheeks with your hand as he laughs, poking your belly button with his pinky. “I do too, but Iseul literally ripped my shit,” he says, a pained expression on his face as he remembers his daughter pulling on the lip piercing with incredible force.

“Is that why you took out your ear ones too?” you ask, biting your lower lip as your finger plays with his pierced earlobe. He nods, his eyes fluttering closed as your fingers trace along his perfectly carved eyebrows.

“Well, I miss them,” you pout, tracing the outline of his lips.

“I’ll put them back on tomorrow,” he winks, making you roll your eyes before pinching his lips together.

“I still can’t believe you guys won’t add me to the group chat,” Jungkook whines, leaning his head on your shoulder and looking up at you with hopeful eyes.

“It’s only girls, so no,” Eunbi says, finishing braiding her thick blonde hair as Jungkook sends her a dirty look, which she returns.

“Namjoon is on it?” Your husband continues poking your cheek, as if that would make you add him to the group chat. But only if he knew that you weren’t even admin, and that it was Eunbi’s job to begin with.

“He’s part of the girls. He just gets us,” you give him an apologetic look, which he rolls his eyes at before scooting to the furthest edge of the couch and crossing his arms.

#ask! kuwtb💌#jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jjk #bangtan #fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk fic #jeon jungkook

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citrustan · 5 months

Text

slipping through my fingers [prologue] (myg)

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst, fluff, smut summary: you've always thought you had it way too easy. all of a sudden, your life seems to be taking a few unexpected turns. it's time your luck ran out. word count: 1.4k warnings: none, you're all good > : )

The soft whirring sound of the radiator echoed through your cozy apartment.

It’s homey and comforting to hear the constant hum in the background. Sometimes, you’d leave the window open for the cold air to enter your space just so you had an excuse to use your radiator.

Still, you ought to get that fixed up before your ex-boyfriend lectures you about getting a new one already.

It was one of those days when time seemed to have slowed down. As you folded your daughter’s fresh laundry, you went over your tasks for the day.

You were in no hurry because for once, you had everything together.

The living room bathed in the sun’s golden hue.

Your daughter sat on her favourite spongy floor mat, completely absorbed in creating her new art piece. Her fingers were covered in pink, purple and white paint.

Momentarily pausing, you take note of what type of paint she used.

Acrylic.

You sigh. That would be a pain to clean off.

After putting away the laundered clothes, you remind your daughter to get into the bath.

You stood in front of her with your hand on your hips, “Nao, do you want mommy to run you a warm bath or would you rather shower?”

She simply hums.

“Mommy needs to shower too. You better get in there…” You walk away after adding, “Before I do.”

At that, Naomi instantaneously stops and rushes into the bath.

Naomi was a lot like you. She hated using wet bathrooms, as do you. But motherhood had changed you. Now, you’d do just about anything for your daughter.

As if you just remembered, you yelp, “Hold on! Let me clean the paint off of you first.”

You didn’t want your pristine white bathroom tiles to stain.

After bathing and dressing your daughter in a sage green cotton dress that you stitched yourself, you decide to let her watch TV even though it isn’t time for that just yet.

“Is daddy coming to get me today?” Naomi’s enthusiastic voice stopped you. It’s a bittersweet moment for you. On one hand, you’re happy that your daughter’s happy, on the other, you’re reminded that Yoongi and you aren’t together anymore.

“Of course, he is. It’s Friday!” You match her tone. She perks up and resumes watching the Barbie movie you put on for her.

Naomi would be distracted for a good thirty minutes now.

That does not leave you a lot of time for your ‘everything’ shower, but you were aiming high either way.

While in the shower, you let your thoughts wander to Yoongi.

He suggested you have dinner together because he had a few things to discuss with you.

You don’t think too much of it. It’s probably something about his upcoming business trip. You’ve got everything covered either way.

Your breakup was… inevitable. It wasn’t mutual at first, but you knew it’s where you were headed to.

After five years of dating, while simultaneously parenting Naomi, you wanted to get married. Yoongi didn’t.

You yearned for the validation and commitment of marriage, while Yoongi held steadfast to his belief against it. He refused to confine himself to a traditional marriage.

When you opened up to him about your insecurities about him leaving you for someone else, he grappled to reassure and console you. It worked for about a month.

Your differences, once manageable, had now grown into impossible divides, creating a rift that stretched beyond mere disagreement.

Self-doubt and a lack of validation destroyed your relationship.

The water had almost run cold by the time you finished your shower routine.

You pick out a sage green dress for yourself, similar to Naomi’s, just longer.

In no hurry, you moisturize and blow-dry your hair.

Even though you’re broken up, you still try to dress up for him. You don’t know why.

Apart from some lingering stares, there hasn’t been any sign of a reconciliation since you broke up. Yet, you always try to look good for him.

Although, that’s just who you are. You’d dress up for anyone. But, it’s still different with Yoongi. You especially enjoy his compliments.

The doorbell rang, forcing you to hurry and spritz on the first perfume bottle you touch.

“Don’t open the door! You don’t know who it is!” You warn Naomi, but to no avail.

He’s early today.

Naomi races you to the door, “It’s daddy!” You let her win. You rush to tidy up the living room as you walk to the door.

“You’re so early!” Your daughter clings to his leg. Yoongi laughs and drags his foot in.

“How are my girls feeling?” He smirks at you. “A little troubled now that you’re here.” You bicker.

Yoongi vocalizes a groan, “Why’s mommy so mean to daddy?” He directs it to Naomi.

You smile and wait by the coat hanger stand to receive his jacket.

The apartment feels a little livelier every time he stops by.

“Why are you here so soon? I haven’t even begun cooking yet.” You walk into your kitchen to quickly gather ingredients to prepare a fresh pasta dough.

“No reason.” Yoongi cleared his throat, “Let me help you cook.” You gladly accept his help.

You assign both Nao and Yoongi to make the sauce and the salad.

Soon, your kitchen was filled with the clatter of pots and pans and laughter.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

After dinner, Naomi spends time watching TV and working on her masterpiece.

In the serene quiet of your kitchen, the clinking of dishes echoed softly as you and Yoongi worked in unison, a familiar rhythm of cleaning up after a shared meal.

The warmth of the evening meal lingered; the comforting ambiance contrasted with the weight of the impending conversation.

Yoongi sighed for the fifth time that evening before you finally asked him, “What is it you wanted to talk about? Is everything okay?”

As you wiped a bowl dry, you stole a glance at Yoongi, noticing the hint of unease in his demeanour. Your heart fluttered with a sense of foreboding, sensing something amiss.

Yoongi paused for a moment; his hands still submerged in soapy water. "I... I have something I need to tell you."

You laughed uneasily, “I know. Spit it out already. You’re worrying me.”

The air around you felt heavier.

You set down the dishcloth, turning to face him, a sense of apprehension settling in.

Yoongi stared back into your eyes.

"I... I'm getting engaged," Yoongi finally uttered, his words hanging heavily in the air.

WHAT?

The world seemed to pause for a moment as you tried to process his words.

Your chest tightened, emotions swirling within you—a mix of surprise, disbelief, and an (un)expected pang of sorrow.

You searched his eyes for reassurance, for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

"Engaged?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

You’re hoping he misspoke. Maybe he’s getting engraved or encased or embraced.

Yoongi nodded, his expression a blend of remorse and an unspoken plea for understanding. "It's been on my mind for a while."

“Has it, now?” You scoffed.

WOW, really?

You didn’t even know he was seeing someone like that.

Even though you’re broken up, you feel cheated on in some way.

“I don’t know what to say.” You deadpan.

Your conversation was interrupted by the distant sound of Naomi's laughter, a stark reminder of the delicate balance you maintained for your daughter's sake.

"I wanted you to know first," Yoongi added softly, his eyes a mosaic of regret and an unspoken apology. One that you don’t want to acknowledge or accept.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you look down at your floral dishcloth.

You have a lot of questions but you don’t really want answers to all of them.

Yoongi feels ashamed of himself. But he knew he’d have to have this conversation with you someday. The sooner the better. He thoroughly beat himself up for this too.

You excused yourself promptly, “I’ll check on Nao.” Yoongi simply nodded.

Alone in the quiet of the short hallway that connects the kitchen to your living room, you leaned against the wall. A mix of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself against the ache in your chest.

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ in my dreams by red velvet ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

note: this is a self-indulgent drabble series i'm writing, nothing is planned and i'll just write as i go

i hope u guys enjoy it!

find the series masterlist here.

#fic: slipping through my fingers #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi fanfic #bts angst #bts x reader #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga fic #suga angst #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x oc #dilf yoongi

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colormepurplex2 · 4 months

Text

Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop | MYG

▻ Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop ↳ ArtProfessor!Yoongi x Artist/CoffeeShopOwner!f.Reader ⤜ Strangers to Lovers, Cozy Romance ⤜ Coffee Shop/Art AU | fluff, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 8,028 ⤜ Summary: It’s like clockwork; you receive the same online order every weekday morning at eight o’clock: large decaf iced Americano, picked up promptly shortly after. His face has become familiar, as a part of your routine as the hiss of the espresso machine. Until, one day, that routine takes an unexpected turn, and you find yourself getting familiar with more than just his face. ⚠️ Very mild language, panic over student/teacher potential date (reader is a student, but she's the same age as Yoongi, just taking classes later in life than most), oral m receiving, fingering, kissing, mild dirty talk, cum swallowing, confessions of the heart

A/N: This is part of my 'Heartbeat Melodies' mini-series, where I write fics that are inspired by songs. If you'd like to hear the song that inspired this, you can find it here! A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi & @moonleeai for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

“Large decaf iced Americano,” you call out, barely glancing up from behind the counter.

A deep, familiar drawl pulls your attention, “That would be mine.” It’s only familiar for the fact you’ve heard that voice nearly every day for the last six months.

Your eyes snap up from the tablet, where the next online order has come through, to meet warm brown ones. “I should have known,” you reply before you can think better to bite your tongue. Heat suffuses your cheeks. You pull your lips between your teeth to stifle the groan of embarrassment that begs to be released.

The man chuckles, absently using a knuckle to push up the hornrimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if I should be offended or honored by that comment. But, I guess I do come here a lot.”

Nearly every day for the last six months, at least. That’s how often he comes here—to your coffee shop. It’s tiny, barely big enough for a handful of small tables and chairs. But it’s yours, and you’re proud of it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to seem…” you trail off. Not sure how to finish that thought because you’re not entirely sure how you meant it or why you said it other than the fact you’re a bit frazzled this morning and apparently forgot your mouth filter at home. It was a late night last night for you. It's not an excuse, but still.

He waves a large hand in the air, dismissing your apology. “Please, it’s quite alright. I’ll take it as flattery; could use a little boost to my confidence anyhow.”

That almost makes you sputter in disbelief. There’s absolutely no way this man needs any flattery. Surely, he comes by it in droves. Because, well, he’s honestly so gorgeous it should be criminal.

His hair is fluffy, somewhere between charcoal grey and black, though the warm lighting of your cafe gives it a golden honey halo effect. The eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses are dark swirls of espresso that match his coffee order—a straight nose sitting above soft, pink lips that have a light glossy sheen to them.

As usual, he’s wearing a pressed slack and jacket combo, a cream-colored collared shirt underneath with a bold print tie. His choice of ties is what drew you to him in the first place, and made you pay a little closer attention to the mysterious man behind the large decaf iced Americano.

You clear your throat, daring to be bold, while it seems you’ve no filter to stop you. “Well, if you ever need further flattery, you know where to find me.” It’s clear that you give him an assessing once over, his eyes locked onto yours as you do so.

“Do you paint?”

The question throws you off, nearly making you drop the tablet in your hands. Your fingers flex against the case, your thumb brushing along the glass screen. Busying yourself with reviewing the next order on the screen, you turn, giving him your back as you decide how to answer his random question. You’ve never actually had a conversation with him; this man that you feel like you know yet is a complete stranger.

“Why do you ask?” you deflect as you go through the motions of scooping grinds and swapping out the portafilter for a freshly filled one. However, you know it’s not always polite to answer a question with a question; you’re just not sure how to decipher his curiosity or where it came from to begin with.

The bell above the door rings, and you wince as the espresso machine gurgles and hisses loudly as you mechanically pop a cup in the machine and hit the brew button. The noise fills the quiet space of the coffee shop. It’s not until the cup is filled, you’ve added two lumps of sugar, and you’re grabbing a lid that the man responds.

“There’s paint under your fingernails. Or, at least, what I would guess is paint.”

Glancing down at the cup in your hand, you take in the colorful myriad of flecks coating your skin. The colors fill the grooves of your knuckles and hug around the bed of your nails.

“Double espresso with two sugars,” you announce, ripping your gaze from your hand to the interior space of your cafe. A woman steps around the man, giving you a hurried smile as she holds out her hand to receive the cup. You hand it off. “Have a good day.”

Giving the cafe's inside a quick glance, you ensure all the customers within are taken care of. A college student is busy pounding away at their laptop keyboard in the corner, utilizing your free wifi. A half-empty cup of hot cocoa sits cold and abandoned beside them. A trio of friends sit at your only table big enough to seat more than two people, laughing softly and sipping hot lattes and teas. No one seems to need your attention; except the man still standing there, large decaf iced Americano in hand.

You lick your lips, a nervous habit you picked up after endless stressful nights pouring your heart, soul, blood, sweat, and tears into opening the small cafe. Most believed it would flop; others rallied to your side and helped your dream come true.

“Look, sorry if I’ve overstepped somehow,” he begins, but you shake your head, letting him know he’s not.

Gesturing at the wall behind the man, you finally answer, “In my spare time.”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes zigzagging across the giant unfinished mural covering the windowless back wall of the cafe.

“That?” he asks. “You’re painting that?”

It’s hard to decipher if that’s disbelief or awe coloring his voice.

“I am,” you answer a bit hesitantly.

“Wow!” he exclaims, a giant grin spreading across his face, crinkling his eyes at the corners. “I’ve been meaning to ask after the artist every time I come in and see something new added, I just uh,” he brings his free hand up and rubs it across the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor under his feet, “well, could never bring myself to.” It’s pretty, the way his cheeks take on a flush of color as his eyes cut to you from over the frame of his glasses. “It’s wonderful work.”

“Thank you.” You can’t help your own flush of shyness at his praise.

“So, uh,” he lifts his cup and gives it a swirl, the ice sloshing around inside, before taking a small sip through the straw, “I know you probably see it on the order, but for the sake of propriety, my name’s Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi, to be more precise, you know. It’s a name you’ve read so many times it’s ingrained in your mind. However, it’s still nice for him to offer it to you. Willingly establishing your connection one step further than his coffee order.

You feel so silly tapping the name tag on the front of your apron, but you do it before you can think better of it, mumbling your name as if he can’t read it for himself after you brought direct attention to it. “Sorry, I’m not normally so weird,” you give a shaky laugh, willing yourself to shut up before you chase him off from how awkward you’re being.

Something changes in his demeanor, his eyes taking on a light twinkle that sits somewhere between mischief and wonder. “I like weird,” he offers casually as if that doesn’t make your stomach swoop and your heart beat a little harder. “Maybe we can talk more about your art sometime. Maybe over dinner? Or lunch if dinner is too forward.”

If you were a cartoon, you’re confident your tongue would actually be tied into a jumbled knot right now with you frantically trying to talk around it, a comical scene for sure. Yet, there is no knot, just a thick feeling that you have to swallow past. “Um, yeah, sure. That would be great. Dinner…or uh, lunch. Both. Either one. Though, dinner might be better considering my hours.”

Yoongi glances at the vinyl hours printed on the front window by the door. They’re backward from his vantage point, but you assume he has no issue reading them, considering he turns back to you and asks, “How does seven work for you?”

“Tonight?” The beating of your heart lurches again, and you can barely hear him over the rushing in your ears.

“Yeah, if that’s not too soon. Perhaps next week, if that’s better? I don’t want to come on too strong. Or well, rather, what I mean to say is, don’t feel pressured.” You can tell he’s feeling hesitant now, trying to backtrack and offer you a way to politely decline his offer for dinner tonight. You didn’t mean to come off sounding so put out. You just weren’t expecting his request to be for tonight.

Mentally, you dig through your schedule. You’re not closing today. Marvin comes in at noon to help with the lunch rush, and then you leave at four to make it to your five o’clock class. It would be today of all days that your new art class starts. It’s the beginning of the fall semester at the local university, and you just so happened to decide to take a few art classes they were offering, the first of which starts tonight.

The class should only be around an hour long, with plenty of time to get home and change before the date. Is it a date? Or just strangers getting together to talk about art? Isn’t that what a date is anyway, though?

“Seven. Tonight. That would be great.”

“Okay, perfect. Can I pick you up? Or we can meet here if that works better.”

It’s endearing he’d offer, both picking you up and meeting in a familiar place. Considering you live above the coffee shop, though, it makes no difference. Though, he doesn’t necessarily know that.

“Here is fine.”

“Wonderful. Have you tried that steak house on the corner yet?”

“The new one that opened last week?” He nods. “I haven’t, no.”

“Perfect.” Yoongi smiles. “Here, at seven. Consider it a date.” His smile falters, and his brows pinch, forming a line between them. “Not that I…well, it’s not that…it doesn’t have to be…if you don’t want this to be a date, that’s—”

“It’s a date,” you confirm, giving him what you hope to be a warm smile to ease his mild panic. “I’ll see you then, Yoongi.”

“See you then,” he responds, tacking your name on at the end in his deep drawl. The way it sounds coming from his mouth should be added to one of those spicy erotica audiobooks you may or may not have downloaded on your phone.

Just as Yoongi is leaving, it’s like the world finally takes a breath, and the exhalation that follows brings with it a rush of early morning commuters seeking their morning fix. The everyday bustle and hubbub of the day filter back in, and you’re soon lost to the sway of the shop, coffee, tea, and cocoa. It all comes alive beneath your nimble fingers, much reminiscent of the way holding a brush makes you feel: a thrill of the soul with each pour.

☕☕☕

Yoongi

In all Yoongi’s years of teaching, he’s never been late to a class, especially on the first day of the semester. Yet, he’s nearly fifteen minutes late getting into his classroom this morning. Students are already filled in and scattered around the theatre-style seating. No one says anything. It’s far too early in the morning for smart mouths and snarky remarks about his tardiness. Not that he would expect that from any of the students anyway.

“Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min.” He drops his bag and coffee off on his podium at the front of the classroom. Turning to the large chalkboard behind it, he scrawls his name to the side and then begins to write directions. “We will begin with Chapter 1, ‘Mediums and Forms’, in your textbook. Please read quietly, and I’ll be with you all in a moment.”

The day goes on, class after class, and the familiar monotony of it brings Yoongi a sense of peace. This is familiar territory; he’s in his element, not like this morning in the coffee shop. He felt totally out of control and swept up in the swirl of uncertainties and possibilities.

To say he’s relieved you agreed to go to dinner with him would be an understatement. From the moment he decided to change up his routine to check out the cafe Namjoon wouldn’t shut up about, he’s been hooked not only on the impeccable decaf iced Americano, nor the beautifully decorated and painted interior but on the smiling face behind the counter.

Yoongi feels a bit self-conscious thinking about how much he thinks about you. He’s always been too intimidated by the idea of speaking more than a few passing words to you. It’s like every time he gathered up the courage, it would abandon him at the last moment. Namjoon calls it a crush, Yoongi calls it frustrating.

The whole conversation this morning is a bit of a blur to him. Yoongi swears once he opened his mouth it was nearly impossible to stop the word vomit from gushing out…and the next thing he knew, you were agreeing to a date with him tonight.

The day's last class rolls around, and Yoongi feels much lighter as he steps out of his adjoining office and into the classroom to welcome the new students. A few offer him quiet hello’s, some he’s seen from other art classes he’s monitored across the entire department and fine arts program.

Turning his back as the last few students filter in, he makes the same spiel he has at the beginning of every class. “Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min…”

And so it begins, the beautiful dance of teaching and introducing fresh minds to the concept of forms and mediums. Yoongi is sure he could recite the entirety of Chapter 1 from memory now, with as many times as he’s gone over it today.

“What if you decide you don’t like your form or medium halfway through the project?” a student from the front row asks after Yoongi explains the medium and forms requisite for the final project for this class.

“We’re going to spend plenty of time during the first part of the semester testing out different mediums to know which best suits each of your individual tastes and needs. Regarding the form, I recommend choosing something you most likely won’t tire of. Something that means something to you but also isn’t so complex that you frustrate yourself and burn out before you can complete the project. You’re welcome to, at any time, bring me an idea of the form you’re considering, and we can talk about the intricacies and any potential issues that might arise with using it.”

Another question comes from somewhere in the middle, “Can we choose people, too?”

“A form can be anything that inspires you. If that happens to be a person, then of course. However, note that portraiture isn’t covered until Art 322, but I’ll do my best to help if that’s what you choose.” Yoongi glances at the clock, noticing there are only a few minutes left of class. “Let’s take the last few minutes to wind down, pack your things. If you have any further questions concerning your final project forms and mediums, please don’t hesitate to email me. Also, my office hours are open Tuesdays and Thursdays from two to six.”

As Yoongi turns to begin putting his things away from his podium, his eyes slide across the faces of his last class students, trying to cram them into his mind for the sake of remembering. He always likes to be as personable and approachable to his students as possible; knowing names and faces is always a good place to start.

He has to do a double take as his eyes flick over the very top row. The shock is felt throughout his entire body. It’s not that he’s surprised to see a face he already knows. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting it…wasn’t expecting to see you. Mild panic makes him jerk around, hands gripping at the papers on his podium, shuffling them mechanically.

The first thought that crosses his mind is he can’t possibly be going on a date with one of his students. Surely you’re just here to…to what? He turns over one of the papers, quickly scanning his roster that he hadn’t bothered to check yet. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to snag on your name.

Unease settles across his shoulders. He hates to cancel the date, as he was really looking forward to it, but it’s just…not right, right? There’s a line he shouldn’t cross with his students, even one who he is sure is his age and not the typical college freshman. Yoongi knows this because maybe, perhaps, he might have spent his lunch hour googling you and the cafe. You’re in your early thirties, given the birth year that was viewable on one of your social media pages, and own the coffee shop, have for several years now…a full-ass grown adult—the perfect person to date.

Except now you’re his student. There’s some moral code there somewhere, something about the skewed power dynamic. The thought of going on this date should have red flags flashing in his mind. Yet…yet, no matter how much he tells himself to cancel, he honestly doesn’t want to. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt that much, right? A harmless date.

That’s what he’s still telling himself as he dismisses the class a few minutes later. He intentionally avoided looking in your direction, unsure if you’d be comfortable with him acknowledging you as one of his students or not.

Much to his surprise, as the bubble of sound dissipates, a soft voice reaches his ears from a few feet behind him, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Yoongi has been so consumed with his own feelings about going on a date with a student that he hasn’t even thought about how you might feel. Are you about to cancel on him? Does he try to convince you not to?

He slowly turns, the stack of papers clutched in his hands, glasses slipping down his nose, yet he doesn’t want to pry his fingers from the bundle to fix them. “Look, I understand if you’d rather not—”

“I’m fine as long as you are.”

He’s relieved for your interruption, for keeping him from saying those words out loud. “Are you sure? If I had known this morning that you’d be one of my students…” he trails off, because he’s not so sure that would have stopped him after all. Considering he’s wanted to ask you out for at least the last four months.

“I’m glad you asked me. Student or not. I promise not to make it weird if you don’t.” You give him a brilliant smile, coy and full of mirth but light enough to make his heart jerk inside his chest.

“No weirdness, got it,” he agrees, unable to help his own teasing smile.

“So, I’ll see you then?” you ask, hefting your canvas bag on your shoulder. His eyes flick to it, noting the splashes and swirls of fabric paint that cover the outside. Yoongi wonders if you painted it yourself.

He nods, letting his eyes drink you in one last time before you turn to go. You’re still wearing the same jeans and thin cable knit sweater from the coffee shop this morning. Even in such casual clothes, you are stunning. A work of art all your own. He doesn’t stop staring until the door to his classroom shuts behind you.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. It’s not out of irritation or anger, just an acknowledgement of how truly and utterly he’s got it down bad for you.

☕☕☕

Seven can’t come soon enough. It only took you thirty minutes to get ready, putting on a simple black dress and flats. It’s not too fancy, but it makes you feel far more put together than just jeans and a t-shirt.

At five til, you make your way down into the coffee shop from your upstairs apartment. All of the main overhead lights are off, leaving only the warm accent lights that line the menu board and the display case lights on. Even now, the space smells delightedly of coffee.

It’s kind of funny, the fact that you’re not a coffee drinker. Everyone finds it odd that someone who doesn’t drink coffee would aspire to open a coffee shop. What they fail to realize is you love the smell of coffee. The warm, roasted, mildly sweet notes are what you thrive on, better than any shot of espresso in your mind.

There is a street lamp right outside your shop, flooding the sidewalk with a pool of yellow light. Standing just within the glow is Yoongi, his back to the shop door. You watch as his head swivels, looking down both directions of the sidewalk, completely unaware that you’ll be coming from behind him instead.

The sound of the lock turning over startles him. He jerks around and laughs softly, taking a step back, hand to his chest, as you pull the door open. “Can’t say I expected you to come from inside the cafe.”

“I would have been down sooner had I known you would be a bit early,” you say, locking the door behind you. “I probably should have given you my number or something.”

Yoongi eyes you, his gaze sliding up and down your body like he’s drinking you in. You hope he likes what he sees. “I think I was so excited about the date that I forgot even to ask,” he admits, giving you a sheepish smile when his eyes finally land back on yours. “You look,” —he gives you another quick once over, shaking his head and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip— “gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you preen under his praise. “You look quite handsome, yourself.”

You’re not just saying that to return the compliment, either. Yoongi is wearing the same thing he was this morning, except the tie is loosened, and the top button of his shirt is undone, giving you the slightest peek at his prominent jugular notch.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering you his arm.

You slip your hand into the bend of his elbow, falling into step beside him. The walk to the steak house is short, just enough for pleasant exchanges. He asks how your day at the coffee shop went, and you ask after his first day of classes. Neither of you bring up the fact that you were part of one of those classes.

“I’ve been meaning to check this place out. I’ve heard excellent things.”

Yoongi hums, nodding his head at your words. “I’ve also heard good things, though it might perhaps be biased considering all the praise I’ve heard has come from the owner himself.”

“You’ve spoken with the owner?”

“He’s one of my best friends, actually. This will be the first time I try it out. I kept telling him I’d stop by, but it always got away from me.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “I can’t believe you know Seokjin.”

“Wait, you know Seokjin?” Yoongi asks, surprised.

“I’d say know is a relative term. We get deliveries from the same produce truck. He tried to take my apples one time. I had to set him straight.” That makes Yoongi laugh along with you. “We chat sometimes, mostly about the quality of produce and the best places to get ingredients. I had no idea he was your friend.”

“Small world,” Yoongi says. His smile is warm and inviting. You’re sure you could get lost in it if he’d let you. It makes you wonder what his lips taste like. They have a slight sheen to them like they did this morning. Cherry chapstick? Maybe mint? A nice subtle vanilla?

You’re not sure the last time you laughed so hard you had tears in your eyes. But Yoongi has your sides in stitches and your cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so much during dinner.

“Oh gosh,” you wheeze between fits of giggling, clutching your stomach. “Ow, ow. Don’t make me laugh again. I can’t take it.” It just makes you laugh even more, the huffs trailing off as Yoongi reaches across the table toward you.

You pry your hands from your abdomen and slide them into his. His fingers are warm against yours, his thumbs rubbing across the backs of your knuckles. It’s a gesture he’s done several times tonight, silently asking for your hands any chance he could.

“Sorry, you just have such a beautiful laugh,” he says. “I could listen to it all day.”

His flattery hasn’t stopped. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two glasses of wine he had with dinner were going to his head. But, he speaks so assuredly and looks in your eyes like you’re truly something special.

Feeling so intimately connected with someone you barely know might be absurd. Yet, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. If you’re being honest, the attraction started long ago, and tonight has just made it blossom into something so much more.

Yoongi has been the perfect gentleman. He’s not tried to railroad the conversation or make decisions for you like other guys you’ve gone on dates with. Whenever a server approached the table, he would defer to you and your needs before his.

“You’ve been so wonderful to me tonight. Please let me repay you with coffee and dessert. If you’re up for it.”

Yoongi squeezes both your hands before letting them go and sitting back in his chair. “There is no need to ‘repay’ me,” he says, emphasizing the word repay. “But, I wouldn’t say no to a date after this date, say in fifteen minutes, coffee and dessert?”

“Fifteen minutes? Coffee and dessert?” You give him a thoughtful look, tapping your fingers against your chin. “Hmm. I think I’m available.” You both break into more fits of soft laughter, contrasting so highly to the high energy from before; it’s intimate, if laughing can be such a thing.

It’s easy being with Yoongi; he’s attentive and curious. “What made you want to open a coffee shop?” he asks as you unlock the door to the cafe.

“I liked the idea of having a space that could cater to people from all walks of life. Businessmen in a hurry? Get it to go. Students needing a place to study? I have a quiet corner for that. College professor looking for his daily decaf Americao fix? Would you look at that? I got that covered, too.” You usher him inside, closing and locking the door behind you. “It also doubles as a great place to have a private coffee and dessert date after a lovely dinner date.”

You watch as Yoongi looks around the cozy space, his attention ending on the mural wall. “What’s your favorite kind of coffee?”

“Would it be weird if I said I don’t like coffee?” you ask.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “Really?”

You shrug. “I love the way it smells, though.”

“Acrylic?” Yoongi asks, nodding toward the mural.

“Good eye,” you assess, stepping behind the counter to start making the coffee. You grab two pecan cinnamon twirls from the dry storage where you keep extra treats to take up to your apartment at the end of each shift and pop them into the small convection oven along the back wall. “You teach art, but it might be presumptuous of me to assume you also create. So, do you?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to. Pastels and charcoal are my favorites to work with. I like the mildly messy, chaotic feel of them. There are few things better than the feeling of taking something so uncontrolled and turning it into a thing of beauty.”

“Charcoal, huh?” Your mind instantly goes to the framed collection of pieces you have in your apartment upstairs. “I can appreciate that.”

“Maybe I can show you sometime.” Yoongi turns from his appreciation of your mural to watch you work behind the counter. He gestures to a few frames hung up on either side of the giant menu on the wall. “Arfé, right?”

You glance up, moving with automated motions to load the portafilter into the espresso machine. “Oh,” you laugh. “Yeah. An experiment. I wanted to try something new and needed some new decor. I thought it was appropriately on theme.”

The half-dozen pieces are all made with swirls of various shades in brown and tan and depict a mix of cups, mugs, bags of grinds, lumps of sugar, and piles of roasted coffee beans.

“Very appropriate. They’re lovely. You’re an exceptional artist.” You’ve lost count of the amount of compliments Yoongi has paid you tonight. You might have been the one flattering him this morning, but it seems he’s making up for that now.

“Thank you. Truly. That means a lot coming from you.” The hiss of the brew machine fills the air, and the soft gurgle of espresso trickling into the small mug follows. “One decaf Americano for one of my best customers,” you say, carefully carrying the steaming cup over to a table beside Yoongi. “Please, sit.”

Yoongi settles at the table, bringing the cup of coffee up to his nose and giving it an appreciative sniff. “Wonderful,” he murmurs before taking a tentative sip. “Thank you, that hits the spot.”

“If you think the Americano is good, wait until you try this,” you say, scooping the twirls out of the oven and onto a plate. They’re perfectly warm and gooey. “You’ve never tried any of our pastries, have you?”

You sit across from him. The table is small enough that you could reach out and cup his cheek if you wanted, and set the plate on the table before Yoongi. He whistles low, “Wow, these do look amazing. Maybe I’ll become a pecan twirl and coffee guy every morning instead.”

Your eyes track his movements, watching as his fingers pinch and slightly sink into the edges of one of the twirls. Some of the warm glaze and cinnamon sugar filling squishes from between the layers.

Yoongi’s lips part and the tip of his tongue peaks over his bottom teeth as he brings the pastry up to take a bite. The moan he lets out surprises you both. His eyes flutter before landing on you and going wide. He chews methodically, his gaze not leaving yours. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lips before he swallows.

“Well?” you ask, settling your elbows on the table and leaning into him, expectant.

The smile that tugs at his lips is coy. “Might be one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.” There is a heat in his gaze as his eyes search yours. “What other surprises do you have up your proverbial sleeve for me?”

“Now, if I told you, they wouldn’t be surprises anymore, would they?”

That makes him laugh. “Fair point. You know,” he glances around the coffee shop, “I never knew just what it was about this coffee shop I loved so much, but I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Yeah?” you say, feeling positively giddy.

“Mhm. So,” he mirrors your pose across the table, his elbows nearly touching your own, fingers toying with yours where they’re folded in the air in front of your face, “is it too soon to ask you on a second date?”

“I thought this was our second date.” You raise a teasing eyebrow, a smile quirking on your lips.

“A third then,” he offers, eyes hopeful.

Of course, you want to say yes. And in the spirit of trying to be coy and playful, you lean in with the full intent of showing him instead of telling him how much you want to go on another date.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker to your lips, watching as you deliberately lick them as you lean in a bit closer. Acceptance lies within their dark depths, a flash of hunger at the impending response that’s only a breath away.

As you advance, your elbows slide on the table, accidentally knocking the coffee cup. Liquid goes everywhere; it floods over the table and pours off the side…right into Yoongi’s lap.

“Oh fuck!” you yell, jumping up from the table and rushing around to his side. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance? Does it burn?”

Yoongi pushes back from the table, holding his arms up off his lap as he assesses the mess. “No harm done. It was already cooled off. It's just a bit of a mess, that’s all. I’m fine,” he laughs. “Truly, I promise. Do you have any towels or anything?”

“Oh god, your shirt, it’s going to stain,” you lament, staring at the dark splotch soaking through above his trousers. “Towels? Yes. Yes. Okay. And some baking soda. Come on, let’s hurry. Again, I’m so sorry!”

“Should we clean this up first?” he asks, motioning at the coffee-covered floor.

“I can mop in the morning. Please,” you fret, guilt making you a bit frantic and flustered.

Yoongi lets you lead him up the stairs in the back that go to your apartment. “You live here?” he questions. “No wonder you were coming out of the coffee shop earlier. That’s very cool.”

You make a noncommittal sound. “It’s cool if you like the smell of coffee and don’t mind rising early every day to open shop.”

It’s so hard to think right now, your mind solely focused on cleaning up the mess you’ve made of Yoongi’s clothes. That’s what you get for trying to be sly and answer his date question with a kiss. You’ll be lucky if he still wants that date now, surely.

The bathroom is barely big enough for the two of you. You insist Yoongi sit on the lip of the tub while you dig under the sink for the baking soda that you use for cleaning and removing your own coffee stains.

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly, grabbing your attention. You glance at him over your shoulder, bottom lip clamped between your teeth in an effort not to fall apart entirely. “I promise it’s okay, alright? You don’t have to stress over it. It’s just an accident. It's a pretty funny one if you ask me. If I’d have known we were getting wet on the first—I mean, second date, I would have planned accordingly.”

His words hang between you, full of static and charged with intention. He’s trying to lighten the mood…and it’s working. It’s also making you feel a certain kind of way. Words shouldn’t have the power to do that. Yet, here you are, flustered for a whole different reason now.

“Date’s not over yet,” you respond, unsure where the bold attitude came from, but you’ll take it. His eyes flicker with something like surprise mixed with desire, though it’s gone before you can really be sure. “Do you mind?” You gesture to his shirt. “It’ll be easier if I can soak it in the sink.”

Slowly, Yoongi undoes the buttons on his shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. Somehow, you weren’t expecting him to be naked underneath, but every open button reveals another swath of flesh. He shrugs out of the shirt, revealing a toned chest and taut belly. His nipples are hard, dark chips, standing out in contrast to his smooth, creamy skin. Yoongi is absolutely breathtaking.

In fact, you have to remind yourself to breathe, taking in a large lungful of air that’s so much it makes your chest ache. He holds the shirt out to you in offering. Your fingers tremble lightly as you take it, quickly turning back to the sink and the distraction of scrubbing at the stain.

Reading over the garment tag quickly, you make sure what you’re about to do is okay. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on your back, like heated dagger points pricking beneath your skin. You turn on the water, letting the tap run until it’s hot, before quickly swishing the area of the shirt covered in coffee under it. The hot water alone makes a world of difference, the dark liquid swirling away down the drain.

“Do you want my pants, too?” Yoongi asks, startling you.

Your eyes flick up to the mirror, looking at him through the reflection. He’s talking to you, but his attention is zeroed in on your backside. Suddenly, you’re intimately aware that your dress has ridden up dangerously high. You can feel the cool air of the bathroom kissing the crease between your thigh and asscheek.

Turning off the water, you slowly turn to face him. Your chest rises and falls as you try to take deep, even breaths, but with the way your heart is revving inside, it’s impossible to do so. “Let’s see the damage,” you say lightly, raising an eyebrow in question, giving him a chance to call you off.

When he doesn’t comment further, you close the distance to where he’s sitting and ease down onto your knees. You mentally tell yourself it’s so you can get a better look at the coffee that’s saturating the dark fabric, but you know better than that.

Being so close to him, you can feel the heat of his body. His chest rises and falls as rapidly as yours, and when you look up and meet his gaze, there is no mistaking the fire that you see blazing there. “Don’t think I forgot you still haven’t answered my question,” he murmurs, lips barely moving as he watches you.

You lift a hand, hooking your index finger under his chin and using it to angle his face toward yours. “I’d love that,” you respond, your lips brushing over his with every syllable.

He kisses you. Or maybe you kiss him. It’ll be something you tease each other over for many years to come. You open yourself to him, welcoming the glide of his tongue against yours. The kiss tastes mildly of coffee, yet for the first time in your life, you don’t mind the flavor.

“For me to take my pants off, or the date?” he teases, alternating between nipping and consuming kisses. Yoongi’s hands frame your face, holding you to him as he continues to ravage your mouth.

“Mm, both,” you manage to get out. “Definitely both.” Sliding your hands down his torso, you marvel at the softness of his skin and the already very prominent bulge that your fingers dance over as you try to get a grip on the button to his slacks.

Yoongi breaks away from the kiss long enough to help you with his pants, standing up from the edge of the tub and bringing you up with him. He toes off his shoes, leaving his pants puddled on top of them. “Good answer,” he chuckles.

You let out a tiny squeal as he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs and hauls you up, your legs automatically winding around his waist. Thick erection pressed right against your panty-covered pussy, he slowly walks you out of the bathroom and into your adjoining room. You land on the bed with a soft oomph, Yoongi following you down. His weight is a comfort, settled over your body in a warm, hedonistic embrace.

“I’ll change classes,” you pant, flexing your hips against his. “As long as our next date is to an art gallery.”

“Is it weird for that to turn me on?” he responds, groaning as you roll your hips against him again. “The art part, not the dropping classes part. You don’t have to do that if it’s too much trouble. I know your schedule must be pretty set with the cafe.”

You press your hands against his chest, giving him a gentle push until he’s rolling over and you’re hovering over him. “I’ll make it work. I want to make it work. Everything tonight,” you pause and sit back on your heels, dragging your hands along his torso as you do, “I want more. You’re driving me crazy in the best of ways.”

“Says the woman who’s been running through my thoughts for the last several months now.” Yoongi’s lips part in a gasp, turning his last word into a breathly plea as you trace the tips of your fingers over his straining erection. The fabric of his grey boxer briefs is slightly sticky when you brush your thumb over the head.

“It reminds me of making art,” you casually say, curling your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and tugging until he lifts his hips and lets you drag them down. You toss them to the side, marveling at the glory now resting against his belly. Yoongi’s cock is a gentle upward curve, all smooth steel and thick veins. It throbs, bouncing against his stomach, leaving behind a thick smear of precum. “The way you make me feel.”

“Art?” he asks, breathless. His eyes flutter behind his glasses, his chest hollowing as he sucks in ragged breaths.

“Being with you gives me the same feeling as viewing a Duncanson or a Matisse, calm and full of joy. Though, you can also make me feel the chaos of a Kandinsky when you touch me.” To emphasize your words, you wrap your fingers around his girth, angling it up, watching the emotions on his face. The tip of his tongue works at the corner of his mouth, lips parted with every pant and soft moan. “Is this okay?” you ask, leaning down and gently blowing over the leaking tip before tentatively giving it a kitten lick.

“More than,” Yoongi moans. His eye slide closed as you wrap your lips around the head and suck. The flavor of him bursts across your tongue. You can’t help but moan yourself at the idea you’ve made him like this, hard and leaking.

Working as much of his cock into your mouth as you can, you delight in the shuddering convulses you can feel from his body as he loses himself in the sensations you’re bringing him. Yoongi always seems like such a collected individual. He still appeared so well-kept even when he stuttered over his words asking you on the date this morning. Now, though, he’s unraveling into a puddle of debauchery.

It’s a satisfying feeling, similar to when you get into a perfect rhythm when working on a project, bringing him to the edge. You work your mouth and hand in tandem, never leaving an inch of his cock free of your touch.

“Mmm,” you moan, the head of his cock resting in the back of your throat. Yoongi jerks under you, half raising onto his elbows, his eyes zeroing in on where you’re wrapped around him.

His fingers twist into the duvet, bottom lip puffy and flushed as he worries it with his teeth. “I’m going to cum,” he grunts, throwing his head back and moaning his pleasures, deep and throaty.

You quicken your pace, hollowing your cheeks as you suck in earnest. Yoongi cries out a second before liquid warmth floods your mouth. It’s greedy, the way you swallow and continue to lave your tongue over him, eliciting tiny tremors and more moans.

“Just like art,” you whisper, finally letting his cock slip from between your lips. You’re riding your own high, wet and throbbing between your thighs. You can feel the ache in your clit, begging to be touched. All it would take is a few seconds, a few well-placed swirls of your fingers, and you know you’d be floating in orgasmic bliss.

Before you can even think of bringing your hand between your thighs to find relief, Yoongi is sitting up and urging you backward. Your back hits the mattress, and he settles on his side beside you. Somewhere between there and here, he pulled off his glasses. Despite having just found his release, his eyes are still so full of hunger and desire.

“May I?” he asks, pressing a hand against your inner thigh. You nod, eyes locked with his as he slowly trails his hand upward until his fingers brush over the soaked fabric of your panties. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in to capture your mouth in a languid kiss. Your lids flutter closed, consumed as you are by his touch.

Yoongi takes his time, toying with the edge of your panties before tugging them down past your knees. They pool around your ankles as he pushes your thighs apart, exposing your weeping pussy to the air of the bedroom.

“Yoongi.” His name is half moan, half curse as he brings his hand back up and cups your heat. The meat of his palm rests against your clit, right where you need to be touched, but the pressure isn’t enough to satisfy.

“An exquisite work of art.” His lips strum against yours, plucking and teasing just the way his fingers do through your wetness. The tips of his fingers briefly kiss your clit, dancing away before returning; a slow build of decadent pleasure.

It’s not above you to beg. “Please. Yoongi, please!”

“Open your eyes, look at me. Let me watch you fall apart so I can brand it into my memory.”

You snap open your eyes the exact moment he slides two slender fingers into your pussy, thumb finally giving the needed pressure to your clit. You’re so worked up that your body pulses around the intrusion, a tiny fluttering orgasm rippling through you.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

Yoongi gives you a wicked, knowing smile. “It’s not over yet, beautiful,” he assures you in a whispered promise.

His fingers are long, able to reach the perfect, special place inside you. As he strokes his fingertips, moving them in an undulating wave, his thumb swirls in a circle around your clit.

The next orgasm is less surprising, building to a heightened peak that has you crying out as you careen over the edge, entirely at Yoongi’s mercy. “Yoongi, fuck!” you babble, your whole body alive with sensations of pleasure.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “So beautiful.”

Your body shudders around his hand, his fingers slowing down their rhythm until you finally recover. The slide of his fingers along your walls as he withdraws makes you wish he’d put them back in…or maybe something else. The bereft feeling lasts only a moment before Yoongi gathers you into his arms. He’s completely naked, and you’re still wearing your dress, but you feel just as exposed as he is…only, it’s your soul on display for him instead of your body.

You wait for the feeling of vulnerability to filter in, that broken feeling of uncertainty. But, it doesn’t come. The only thing you feel is complete and utter content. It’s not even the post-orgasmic bliss that’s clouding it, either. No, there’s plenty of that, but it feels different; he feels different.

“Yoongi,” you begin, resting your cheek on his chest. You want to confess to him, but the words get choked in your throat. Is it too soon? Are you completely crazy? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Fuck. Here goes nothing. “This feels good, really good. Is it too soon to say…?”

“Too soon to say?” he prompts.

You absently trace haphazard swirls and lines across his chest, trying to think of how to word it. “I, well…”

“Too soon to say that I think possibly, maybe, I’m falling for you?” You look up at him, surprised by his words. Yoongi looks at you with so much warmth and affection in his eyes. “Because that’s exactly how I feel, too.”

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi imagines #coffeeshop au #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts yoongi #professor yoongi #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts imagines #micdropnet #bangtanwhq

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hollyhomburg · 4 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.65)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The truth always comes out one way or another, and with Jimin temporarily whisked away for surgery- it's up to you and yoongi to answer Namjoon's questions.

Tags: Angst, blood, guns, murder, discussions of morality, descriptions of dead bodies, discussion of past spousal abuse, confessions, hurt/comfort, sickfic, hospitals, reconciliation, vmin focus, Trans! tae, Everybody lives nobody dies,

W/c: 15.0k

A/N: this chapter is a bit heavy on the dialogue but! sorry that this chapter came out when it did, we're finally here! sorry for the break in chapters- I got some not great news about a family members health and wanted to spend some extra time with them over the holidays.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

The abandoned industrial building rises without warning from the mist and fog. You could almost call in lonely. Although it has its comfort in its stillness, the same way that monsters that do not move do not instill fear. A foe vanquished but not forgotten.

The body. The dust. The puddle of blood by the door is more than enough evidence for plausible deniability. The faint splatter of it here and there like confetti left after a parade, or flower petals that fall in spring and pile up like snow.

Moonbyul stands in the doorway, like a pagan in a house of God. Out of place and out of mind. Dark coat unblemished by dust or blood. She doesn’t stoop to touch the ground or try and clean up the evidence from Jimin and Jin’s misbegotten hours here. She doesn’t think Hobi’s name, although she knows it.

God does she know it.

She’s poured over all the files that her men have collected about your pack for weeks now. Searching out weaknesses like a snake searches rabbit holes for soft fur and an easy meal. She’d spent the most time lingering over Tae’s file. The photos that shift from short hair to long, lipstick that she finds too pink and distasteful.

Red is better color.

She'd spent a long time pouring over Jin’s too because she’d needed to. Jimin and her cousins had been glossed over. She already knows enough about them to last a lifetime.

But only one file had given her paper cuts. Revenge on paper is not as sweet as it should be.

She doesn’t need to read that file anymore. Although she hears the words that the youth said so many months ago on repeat, you and Hobi in the coffee shop caught only on security camera. “I think I heard something I shouldn’t have”. As well as the ones that followed.

Contrary to popular belief, Moonbyul doesn’t like killing. She views it only as a necessity. She looks at the blood on the floor without any disgust. It’s been a long time since she’s cleaned up any alpha's mess, and she’s not going to start now.

She looks down at the blood and smiles. It’s a rare thing- seeing her smile. It’s different from her grin that bares her teeth. Sharped incisors changed and honed just before she’d been appointed the head of the moon family.

She remembers her mother's words when she’d looked at them in the mirror for the first time, She remembers that she could still taste the file they'd used to carve them. Metallic, like blood on her tongue.

“All the most dangerous alphas have fangs; you’ll need to learn to use them if you want to fill your father’s shoes.”

Familial death is more of a rite of passage than a time for mourning in the family. A time when power shifts and secrets get covered up or aired out. Like the moon waxing and waning.

Moonbyul hadn’t been born with fangs, the way alphas always are. Moonbyul hadn’t been born with a lot of things.

A smiling Moonbyul is either a happy or a bloodthirsty one. And a happy Moonbyul, when properly stroked- means they get privileges.

Privileges in their pack, amount to small little things most of the time. A night where they don’t have to take the heat inducers. A night where they can wear comfy sweats instead of the lingerie and stifling silk. But if they're extra sweet and good they get better things. A free evening where they can see their families as long as they come home before sunrise.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Solar is dressed as her clone today, with stockings pulled up her milky thighs flashing beneath the long hem. Extra extra cute in the way that she loops her arm into Moonbyuls and pouts. as if she's upset that her alpha is paying more attention to the murder than her.

She still smells faintly of sex, moonbyul, and her own ginger scent. Not like fresh cut- the kind that baked goods have around Christmas time.

Moonbyul smiles, rapping her long nails against where Solar's arm is curled around hers clinging to her as if her life depends on it. It does- Moonbyul and her both know it does. But Solar has always been a good pet. She’s never needed quite as much correction as Wheein who likes to know exactly where her cage ends and begins, or like Hyejin- who needs nearly as much combatting and careful maneuvering as their enemies.

She'd learned from Hyejin. Had never let the others have quite as much freedom or get used to challenging her. There's a reason why Hyejin had demanded to wear her mating mark and why Moonbyul had let her have it.

Omega's however sweet and however docile, still need a cage. Moonbyul's only ever tried to branch out of her tastes once, and she won't ever do it again. Disastrous as alphas are. They make piss-poor lovers and disobedient needy pets.

She sighs. Alphas and their messes.

In truth, the pack could use someone truly obedient, someone for whom being good is as easy as breathing to balance them out. The pack could use a good pup. The pack could use you.

Moonbyul burns in want, stewing in it ravenous. It’s not love, it’s not even really lust either. She’s never been an easily sated person. She’s always wanted too much, always finished the whole pint of ice cream in one sitting. She’s always wanted everything.

That’s why she’s smiling, because she’s about to get it.

She stands a little straighter, holding out her palm. “Why don’t we go see.” Moonbyul doesn’t turn to leave, however. She doesn't walk towards the body dumped at the back of the building, still bearing Jin's fingerprints. A single strand of hair would do it. She doesn’t make any move other than to reach into her pocket and take out a lighter.

She thinks of the family's assassins; The Bee, The Spider and The Wolf. She thinks of Park Jimin. The snake. Hopefully either dead or in the process of dying.

The body in the back of the building is another one of hers. She never thought that this would be the end of the Wolf, he'd always been one of their most reliable killers. Always showed up on time too, an exemplary employee. Not to be easily duped. She'll have to figure this out and pin down What did him in. But that will take time and energy, only one of which she has.

He was only supposed to wait in the wings and ensure that neither Park Jimin nor Kim Seokjin left this building alive, nothing more.

Sometimes things are just coincidences, sometimes if you're lucky- they're just bad luck.

This doesn't feel like bad luck, this feels like revenge.

Solar makes a noise in her throat, a questioning chirp. She really is trying to be her cutest right now. Moonbyul won’t reward her in a way that she likes, a way that she wants. Even songbirds still feel the itch to fly. Clipped wings and all.

She looks at the flame, sparking.

“Why won’t you just leave the evidence? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Solar is not as good as Hyejin at handling this sort of thing, not as experienced. But she’s currently handling other more important things. Things that need her finer touch.

Solar doesn’t understand why Moonbyuls going to light this place up like a fucking Christmas tree and do Seokjin’s dirty work for him. Solar is only a pup, and she’s been kept like that because Moonbyul likes pupish omegas.

She likes the innocence and obedience that people who weren't made for this kind of life have. So eager to please that they're willing to debase their souls. There is no greater sacrifice, no greater sign of love than someone willing to do anything for you.

This also happens to be why she likes you. Why she will have you. because neither Solar nor Wheein have ever been as good at this as you were. The perfect medium between sinful and pious. Cute even while killing.

And 5 is a prettier number than 4. 3 pups for her and Hyejin is a prettier number than 2. They need more than one for each.

Just one more pup, and then their collection will be complete. It took them so long to find the right one, so much trial and error. (Moonbyul despises errors. She's going to try and kill one before this is through)

She won’t let you slip through their grasp, not a second time. You should have never been Yoongi's.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to leave this as evidence? So that the FBI gets them all? We could just like- buy them off if they wanted to take her too-”

“Oh pup” she croons, half gentle. Flicking the lighter and letting it burn in front of her face before she tosses it The soil is so soaked through with gasoline that it lights as easily as a candle, slowly spreading from wall to wall and then- in the doorway, until the heat is too much and they have to move away.

“That wouldn’t be any fun now, would it?”

~-~

(Now, Namjoon)

Namjoon’s shirt is soaked so thoroughly with blood that it makes him cold. The hospital always feels cold, goosebumps rise like a mini mountain ranges on his arms. The hair pressed down where the blood has dried.

It’s not his first time covered in blood, but this time feels different.

He’s shivering, teeth clattering. His hands shake almost too bad to fill out the intake paperwork because he’d rather do it now than later. Park Jimin (registered, Kim) Alpha, weight 165 lbs (give or take a few). Blood type AB. No medications. No known allergies, no known prior conditions. No no no.

No.

Namjoon’s hands shake. He leaves Jimin’s ‘occupation’ blank.

Yoongi sits a few paces back, staring vacantly off into space. On the surface Namjoon would assume that he’s having no reaction and is feeling absolutely heartless about everything that's happened in the last 3 hours. But his breath becomes stuttered every few minutes, like he has to manually force himself to inhale and exhale. Like it’s taking all of Yoongi’s faculties to keep himself breathing and upright and not in a heap on the floor having a mental breakdown.

He kind of wishes Yoongi was crying and screaming instead. Then at least- Namjoon would feel like he had to be the strong one.

He can't get the feeling of stabbing Jimin out of his head, or the sound it it, the wet squelch of knife hitting skin.

Namjoon has cut into people thousands if not hundreds of thousands of times by now. But he’s only cut into someone he loves once, and god Namjoon never wants to do it again- won’t ever be able to touch warm prone flesh and hurt it, not after Minnie. Never again.

The pen in his hand weighs a million pounds. He contemplates asking for a piece of paper and writing out his resignation letter. he breathes in for 5 and out for 9, then sets it down on the clipboard and slides it across the counter for the nurse to take. Namjoon doesn’t hear her quiet tone asking him if he's alright and if there's anything she can do. just shakes his head on instinct.

There is a gaggle of nurses looking around the corner peering at Dr. Kim.

"Do you think he dresses like that outside of work hours?" "I never thought I'd be so attracted to jeans and a tee-shirt." Giggling in quiet voices.

It feels so strange, to hear people laughing while Jimin is dying. Namjoon almost wants to go bite their heads off and report them for poor bedside manner to the hospital manager.

This is Namjoon’s hospital. But Namjoon can’t find it in himself to smile or say thank you to the nurse when she tells him that the second she gets any news on Jimin, he'll be the first to know. He can’t say anything through the mountain of emotion in his throat.

If Namjoon’s love is a mountain, then his anguish is a river threatening to drown him. Yoongi smells like it- the line where water turns clear to brackish, Yoongi’s miserable scent has always smelled like the churning sea and now something that feels an awful lot like seasickness makes Namjoon sway on his feet.

Since he’s done with the paperwork, he promptly returns to Yoongi’s side and sits down. Only once he's sure he's stationary, does he pull a nearby wastebasket over between his knees to upend the contents of his stomach. It hits the top of old gauze pads crumpled up at the bottom and smelling like piss with a surprisingly violent sound, drawing the gaze of more than one person in the waiting room. At least it finally quiets the giggles.

Yoongi’s hand finds Namjoon’s knee, the hole in his jeans, The back of his ribs, stroking once twice. steady and hard the way that Namjoon likes. And Namjoon wishes he could snap at Yoongi. Wishes he didn’t curl into the touch. Wishes he was angrier. Wishes Jimin was perfectly alive and breathing and not going to-

Yoongi’s hand settles on the back of Namjoon’s neck, his throat, pulse hammering, thudding.

They’re just kids and Yoongi's hands are calloused. They've always been.

Deep down Namjoon still feels like he’s only 8 years old. Is just a kid and just starting to understand that the world isn’t all just papercuts and skinned knees; that it means something when people hurt. That it means something when you tell them you won’t let them hurt anymore.

He remembers promising Jimin something similar- a long time ago, the summer they all first met:

Namjoon remembers Jimin, standing in the apartment that wasn't theirs yet, after a movie night, the first movie night that the pack had ever had togeather (not totally togeather, becuase you and hobi hadn't been there yet but still).

It was the first time Namjoon had ever seen Jimin in something other than a designer sweater, sweats and a tee-shirt so ordinary that Namjoon was surprised it didn't make him look less intimidating. standing in the doorway waiting for Namjoon to notice him and look up from his medical journal.

"Yes Minnie? Did you need something?" jimin had shifted from foot to foot. looking up at jimin, a first slice of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Tae and Jungkook, they've got a bit of pain in them. I want to know what you intend to do with it." namjoon set his glasses to the side, the papers rustling as he forgets his reason.

"Make it better hopefully?" Namjoon had been struck with how oddly intense he'd been. Jimin had opened up with time and had gone sweet and trusting with the right amount of love. But he'd looked intimidating in his dark clothes and the wrinkle between his eyes like he was used to furrowing his eyebrows. A cute detail that Namjoon already wants to brush away. To touch. to cradle. To love.

He'll catalogue all of Park Jimin's cutest things in time. He'll treat love as a scavenger hunt, to find the softness in someone who tries so outwardly to be gruff and strong.

Namjoon's stained sleep clothes and promises felt all the more shabby in comparison.

"I need you to promise."

Namjoon had avoided it. Unwilling to meet his words with the same intensity. Jimin doesn't take chances with Jungkook and Tae. Tae's low laugh from the other room, Yoongi's matching grumble, overly fond already. Overly fond from the beginning.

"What about you? Doesn't everyone have pain?"

"Just promise."

"I promise to look after the three of you." Jimin had scoffed. Puffing up like a bird with too many feathers.

"I don't need looking after. Just them- when I go away for work."

"I know, but let me do it anyway." Smiling at the pretty alpha was so easy, so easy with the sounds of Jungkook and Jin's giggles in the other room. Laughter building itself into the walls around them.

"I promise not to hurt you or them. You have my word."

Namjoon lied, Namjoon lied back then and he didn't even know it. He upends his stomach again and Yoongi rubs down his spine.

“He’s not going to die Joon, he’s going to be fine.” Namjoon continues to empty his stomach, it’s pizza mostly, a bit of coffee, and a half-digested protein bar from this morning as well.

“Does hurting the people you love ever get easier?” Namjoon asks. Honesty, not anger in his tone.

Yoongi’s hair has gotten longer and hangs in his eyes. Yoongi never grew his hair out before you, always kept it in that short black sort of coconutty style. It makes him look older and all the more beautiful. Namjoon wonders if that’s why you like it; How regal it makes your mate look.

Yoongi has asked so much of Namjoon in the last few years, from leaving to coming back and bringing you. To hiding the mating mark and now this. Namjoon tells himself he should care more about Yoongi's lies and less about the fact that he just lied, period.

“No,” Yoongi grimaces. He always gets so quiet when things are bad, steady in that consistent way. He still hasn't stopped stroking Namjoon's back. Namjoon knows this is simply all Yoongi knows how to do, his first instinct is to love and not much else. “It was never easy.”

It’s not weird that they re-hash this now. Every time Namjoon learns more about how and why Yoongi left, he understands it more.

“I threw up too, just so you know- when I left, leaving you made me so sick that I hurled the second I got on that train. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He blinks back wetness in his eyes, “I don't remember if I've ever told you that."

Namjoon nods. He can't remember right now either.

It’s been an hour or so now since Yoongi drove fast but steady steady steady to the hospital. Namjoon in the back while he stabilized Jimin in much the same fashion that you'd done earlier. The rest of the pack should be here soon. The three of you only lingered behind to clean up a bit and change your clothes, covered with blood and muck and who knows what else.

Yoongi sits like a statue and Namjoon can’t even look at him, can’t ask any questions or even start because he already feels like he’s yelling, and Namjoon hates yelling. This isn't isn’t exactly the most private venue for secrets that could land Jimin in jail.

Namjoon's still not entirely convinced that stabbing him was worth it. Namjoon’s brain is dizzy with terror. He’s still dizzy when he turns and sees you walking through the front doors to his hospital, Jin and Hobi trailing behind you.

He remembers the way you’d looked the day they’d gotten you checked out for the first time; how you’d run and pressed your face to his chest and buried your face there like just the sound of Namjoon's heart could make every demon and monster go away. For a moment, Namjoon thinks you might do the same thing. But your steps are measured, slow, and purposeful.

Namjoons eyes train on you, following you as you walk,

Yoongi stands, leaving Namjoon sitting with a cooling pail of vomit between his legs. he says something to you, to jin, but you don't pause, continuing until you're standing in front of him.

You don't say anything to him, just peer into the bucket and make a disgusted face down at it. Namjoon's teeth feel too sharp in his mouth with such a tense jaw.

Hoseok is on the phone, face gaunt and tired-looking. He must have drawn the short end of the stick and has the job of calling Jungkook and Tae and telling them what happened. They really shouldn’t drive themselves, but all Namjoon can reasonably do is restrain himself from cornering you and Jin and start demanding answers.

He barely even turns to Jin when the omega goes up to the desk and asks if they can have a room, please. A private place for the pack to nurse their worries and not crowd the already-packed waiting room. Namjoon couldn’t name the nurse by name right now if he wanted to but he’s well known here and well-liked too. They give them one of the adjacent exam rooms to wait- Jimin’s surgery will take a few hours more, and there isn’t anything to do but wait.

Terrible terrible waiting, terrible terrible time. (You get a bucket when you want a drop and a drop when you want a deluge. Time only comes in two increments; too much or not enough.)

You drop a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder without a word. After some beckoning Namjoon follows you into the room. Legs shaking and sluggish at first. The pack is quiet even as the door closes.

But once Namjoon's moving it’s hard to stop, careening like a comet or a bullet in your direction. Staggering.

You’d taken precious seconds to change your blood stained clothes before following Namjoon. You all pulled on the first things you could get your hands on. Which is how you’ve ended up in your mate’s shirt and Jungkook’s jacket, and how Hoseok’s in one of Tae’s extra-large pink sleep shirts stained from hair dye underneath Namjoon’s puffer coat and a pair of jungkook's grey work out sweats. Jin had been a little bit more purposeful- his sweatpants match- his matching purple set.

Namjoon's shirt is dark from blood, the bloodstain drying crusty, sticking to his skin like glue.

To say that Namjoon is angry is an understatement; rage rolls off of him in quiet unending ripples carrying with it the strength to change the pack for good if he’s not careful. He doesn't walk to the chairs no- he bee-lines it to you.

He watches you startle and turn, eyes widening. You do not make to move out of his path.

Namjoon has never made you feel afraid before, but the pulse of it, the threat of fear is there as he backs you against the wall until your body lies against it. Looming over your head, so much taller and larger than you.

An alpha. An alpha hunting.

You tremble but you do not move to avoid him when he corners you.

He has a tiny bit of blood on his face, and a hairline splatter, almost like a constellation of stars across his temple. His fingers are harsh and shaking when they dig into your cheeks, pinching them until your lips open. Your knees tremble and you press your palm flat against the wall.

His scent thunders so thick and consuming that you can't physically stop yourself from trying to bear your throat. Namjoon stops you, holding you in place.

His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded as he looks down at you, He pinches your cheeks harder, shakinging you just a little. His voice is steady when he speaks, inches away from low snarl.

“Never make me hurt one of our packmates again.” You swallow, although it’s hard. And he pinches again- harder before you get a chance to speak- to try and defend why you brandished that knife at Jimin hours ago. Namjoon holds your face the same way he held the knife- tenderly.

“I mean it. Never.”

He holds you there for a second longer before he lets you go, leaving you gasping. His hand slides down your throat to your shoulder and neck, You would fall over if it wasn't for his touch keeping you up.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, a few stingy tears making themselves known at the corner of your eyes. Namjoon rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. His spiky silver hair hits your skin. Rough.

After a second, he opens them again. Nodding. And his scent loses its bitter edge. He guides you to rest against his chest. You take big gasps of his scent now that he's giving you permission. Your instincts thunder through you so viciously that you can't physically stop yourself from tilting your neck and bearing your throat.

Namjoon just drags a finger down it, humming. He holds you up, arms around you, a shield and a cage.

“It’s not okay.” I’m not okay, “but I forgive you.” Your knees do give out when Namjoon’s hand brushes the back of your neck, fingers digging in, a half hearted scruff that feels a bit like an apology of his own.

Even if he wants to be angry, anger won’t accomplish anything. Especially with you. His anger will only make you afraid and although Namjoon cannot be expected to control his emotions all the time, you have no reason to fear him.

He's never going to hurt you. He promised.

He walks you two strides, to put you into a chair next to Yoongi. Your mate takes you from him. The plastic chair makes a loud scraping noise against the linoleum floor. Jin's on your other side looking just as tired as the rest of you.

You'll get no rest tonight, sleeping in Jimin's hospital room when he gets out of surgery. Every fitful dream interrupted by the oxygen monitor on his arm. the first few hours when it will go off twice and prompt examination of his vasculature and operation site as well as a fresh dose of blood thinners. The biggest danger going forward will be blood clots; one too large in jimin's arm could leave his hand with nerve damage, numb for good.

But for now, Namjoon looks down at you, yoongi, and jin sitting in the plastic chairs. Secret, killer, and agent. All there in a pretty little row. Namjoon glares down at the three of you and crosses his arms.

“Explain.” Namjoon can’t wait another minute, another second. “Explain to me everything going on in my pack that I don't know about right now or I swear I'll-"

Yoongi scoffs, "That you'll what? That you'll tear us apart Namjoon? that you'll leave? Look around you- we're already falling to pieces."

"You don't honestly expect me not to be angry that I had to stab jimin do you-"

"No, but don't yell at her. I have my limits."

"I wish I was one of those limits, but i'm clearly not since you insist on fucking over our pack-"

Jin turns, cutting them off from their argument with the true shock of his next words. You know that's what he's intending- but it sort of backfires. "Joonie, Don't get mad at Yoongi or her for this. Especially since I'm the one who shot Jimin. It was an accident."

You flinch, then put your head in your hands, namjoon's scent goes impossibly thick and angry for a second before he gets it under control. You physically watch Namjoon's hackles raise. watch Yoongi push back in his chair, leg jumping, running his hands through his hair looking from you to Jin, then back again.

"Jin, you should have kept that to yourself."

"What the fuck-"

Namjoon looks like he doesn't know weather to cry or laugh. "You don't just shoot someone on accident-"

Jin's got the best scoff, one worthy of music screens not just the quiet tomb of this room. Your relationship that's dying all around you. "You don't just stab someone on accident either and yet here we are-"

There are some secrets you take to the grave and others that you keep for too long, so long that they make a grave out of you. Keeping secrets is like keeping someone else's heart beating, you run out of blood eventually.

You might vomit up the truth all over the hospital floor just like Namjoon did a few minutes ago. You feel sick and light-headed and sort of like you might have low blood sugar. namjoon's scent, angry alpha affects you more than you realize.

You start to teater, and their next biting words get extinguished when you almost fall out of the chair, nearly sliding to the floor before Namjoon catches you. One knee dully aches as he picks you up like you weigh nothing, ducking in close, real concern in his face, all his anger gone.

"Shit are you okay?"

"Pup?"

"Just got lightheaded-" Whatever it was, your lightheadedness will have to wait for another time. It's honestly probably just stress. Your heart feels like it's beating extra fast, extra hard.

Namjoon places you gently back in the chair and Yoongi touches your shoulder, the trio of their concerned faces that you swat away.

"We should wait for Hobi." You still owe him an explanation- for earlier and these aren't the kind of secrets you say more than you have to. A cup of water gets thrust into your hands and for once, they fall silent.

When Hobi comes in he’s mostly quiet holding his phone in his hand. Looking at you from across the room. His soulful eyes watching you, head tipping to the side in deference.

"Tae's in-" It takes him a second to gather his words. "Tae's in a fucking state. She was crying so hard that Jungkook had to call them an Uber. I just told her Jimin had been stabbed and nothing else because I didn't know what to tell her."

"That's probably for the best we don't have to-" your mate starts, but Namjoon cuts him off.

"No, no more secrets. Not between any of us."

Hoseok still has a hickey from you on the side of his neck, from you earlier. Jin's fingers skim down the one on your shoulder where a mirrored mark sits knocking you out of your Hobi-induced reverie, red and bruising from his mouth. Jin raises his eyebrow at you, but now is not the time to tell him about you and hobi.

"We've got like- maybe 30 minutes until they get here."

You swallow past a lump in your throat, readying yourself for it, “better make it quick then,” Namjoon waits, Seokjin is silent, watching you, gaze flickering from you to Hobi every few blinks. Yoongi holds onto your knee, sliding his palm down to your hand, your wrist. Finger digging into the sensitive scent gland there and rubbing comforting circles.

You swallow hard. “We’re all on each other's sides, right?”

“Of course,” Jin crosses his arms like he's offended you even had to ask. You bite back your retort. Namjoon nods, so does Hobi.

Your hair flops as you nod. But you still look to Yoongi to wait for permission. After a breath your mate nods and spreads his hands, giving you the floor.

If there’s one thing you know it’s that you can’t do this alone, you and Yoongi, Namjoon and Jin, Jimin and Tae. You and Hobi. There is no separation here, not when it comes to your safety. Each of you cannot keep the rest safe on your own.

“I met Jimin a few months before I met Yoongi, I…Yoongi’s family-”

Yoongi resists the temptation to speak for about 10 seconds when you fall silent. You can sense the moment that the truth shifts, when it explodes at Yoongi’s tongue. Unbidden but frantic and relieving like it's taken Yoongi's whole being to keep all this in.

“My family, I've never liked calling them that. Blood means nothing to me, you guys, you guys were always my family more than them." The pack is silent but you lace your hands with his and nudge his thigh with yours, encouraging him to go on.

"My relatives run the largest network of organized crime on the East Coast, from Boston to Miami. Everything from racketeering to prostitution to production and distribution of pharmaceutical-grade opioids. cover ups, sale of illegal weapons, extorsion of political officials and blackmail. If you can think of a crime they do it. If you can think of a way to make money, they've got their hands in it. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t go home- why my parents-”

Yoongi breaks off, his voice going small and quiet. Wounds he doesn’t talk about- even to you.

“There’s maybe 200 of us now. I’ve got a lot of fucking aunts and uncles. We try to stay in our lanes, our cities, and deal only in our respective crimes. There's a lot of politics and a lot of people vying for control here and there, but only alphas are allowed to lead, omega's increases the bonds of power in other ways and beta's- You know how rare beta's are- in my family- i'm treated as second only to the family head. Being a beta offered me certain liberties. Other freedoms. Not only to avoid most of the violent stuff- but to leave and move around without asking for permission. It's like a get out of hell free card. Not everyone gets that."

You snort, crossing your arms over your chest, “You mean they didn’t exactly expect you to go about popping heirs or advancing the family business through murder and ruining innocent people's lives. not like they expected with me."

Hoseok shrivels his nose, He looks from you to Yoongi- eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “hang on i thought- Are you guys trying to say you’re fucking related or-”

“Oh my god daisy-”

You splutter, “gross- No, we’re not fucking like- blood-related or anything.” You tap your chest. "I'm non family- brought in from the outside. Which means I was just about as valuable as piss to the aunts. In our world the only reason to mate or marry is for power- any other reason and your spouse is considered disposable." you cross your legs, admitting something you've kept to yourself, not a secret just a suspicion. "Geumjae never intended to keep me around forever."

Seokjin makes a strangled noise and Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, “Jesus Christ.”

Hobi raises his hands bare, “Sorry! You’re not doing a good job of explaining!”

"Well, if you just gave me a minute to get to the point-" Yoongi seems to shake himself, to put himself together. “Like she said- I'm not expected to partake in the family buisness, Only alphas are allotted that 'honor'." Yoongi puts the words in quotations and adds an eye roll for good measure.

"Mainly- I’m treated as some sort of glorified advice Column. People call and ask me things and I’m required to answer or else they’d hunt me down and drag me back. They bring me in to coordinate stuff because I'm a beta and I keep everyone calm and keep them from killing each other and shooting out their squabbles. I tried to keep you guys safe that’s why I left but-“

Jin’s hand goes to yours, nodding, because he understands. “But not why you stayed away.”

“No. It's not.” The pack's eyes naturally stray to you.

“The heads of houses report to the family head and she directs them to me if they need a beta's touch. Only she hasn't- the new Don hasn't asked anything of me since taking power. When the last one died- my grandparents- I left to help with the transition. But the new Don doesn't need me."

You flinch, you try to hide it but Yoongi turns, ferreting out that there's a secret there without you having to confess it. Your voice is darker than they’ve ever heard. "It's not that she doesn't need you- it's that she doesn't trust you."

Yoongi tries not to sound accusatory. "Her trust isn't something you should be after."

“It’s not- promise I just-” You pick at a stray thread on your pants.

The linoleum floor in front of you is polished so clean that you can see your reflection in it. "She shouldn't trust me either- and she knows it. Believe me she knows it."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you. To pull himself to the edge of his chair to try and get in front of you. A wordless question that he dares not speak.

"Before you, I was already trying to do whatever I had to survive. including doing what everyone else did back in that hellhole and ask for help-"

Yoongi stands, to much energy and panic in his body to stay seated. “You didn’t." This is a fight and a confession you shouldn’t have In front of the rest of them.

You look up at Yoongi, eyes beseeching. He's quiet and you make your words as measured and soft as you can. "I asked your grandparents first- and then when she told me as long as I did what she said she'd get me out I-"

“She’s more dangerous than Geumjae, you can’t have honestly been trying to trade one captor for another."

The whole pack is silent, watching the two of you. Not really understanding. But Jin- Jin pursues his lips. You don't know how he knows but he does.

Yoongi’s face goes truly white. Yoongi’s hands are shaking. Shaking until he grabs the handles of your chair, knees to the ground, bowed in front of you. Letting your silence stew for a second.

Maybe it’s a terrible thing to blame it on her, you hadn’t fought not to kill. But back then it had really felt like your only way out, the only way to escape the ever-suffocating pressure of trying not to die.

“For what it’s worth, I had no idea what they meant to you when she made me help her kill them.”

Something shifts in Yoongi’s stature, from surprise and shock to resignation so quickly you almost miss it. A tense set to his jaw but a tight-lipped understanding as his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and he rests his forehead on your knees.

He's very careful in his words. Slow with them and intentional when he lifts his head and stands. You don't know if they're lies. “Just like my parents, just like all of us in the family, I knew their days were numbered anyway.” But you loved them once you want to say. You’re not sure why you want Yoongi to be angry at you.

“I won’t apologize, not for what I had to do to survive.”

Yoongi cradles your cheek. Something dark and conflicted in his eyes.

“I know, but I’d forgive you anyway, even if you did it out of anger.”

“And Jimin?” Namjoon asks, Yoongi's hand drops from your cheek. "How does he connect to all of that?"

“I met him first, I asked him.” You hesitate. This isn't your secret to tell and you don't even know all of it- like how jimin even became an assassin or started killing. you don't know his motives. It's one thing to confess your own sins, and another to talk about Jimin's to them without his say-so.

Jin darts forward, holding your hand in both of his, “Whatever we say in this room- I’d never dream of recording. I’m not on anyone’s side but ours.” Jin screws his eyes shut tight, willing you and Yoongi to believe him. "Even with the FBI thing."

Namjoon whirls. He doesn't have to ask before Jin's spilling it. telling the truth.

Jin is measured with his speech, but it's his turn. No more secrets, that's what you've all agreed. "I've been working with the FBI for the last 8 years. They approached me back before we met Joonie- because of my proximity to Yoongi. First as an informant, then an agent and now the head of the task force.

"I only did it because I figured out that being a part of them was the easiest way to keep Yoongi out of jail. As long as I could reasonably assume I was the only one trusted and close enough to keep an eye on him, I could keep all the truly damning evidence out of their hands."

Jin turns to you, resisting the urge to reach out to you for his own comfort, you're looking at him like he's got three heads, but he smiles down at you, that pup-soft smile that he saves just for you when you're both nesting.

"I kept your name off of the photocopies of the recipie you used to kill them. Don't worry, no one but us knows." You look at Jin with new eyes, not a double agent but not an enemy either. Somewhere in between. Your heart pulses, and you grip his hand back.

Yoongi pulls his hands through his hair, angry, his tone grave "Well there's your reason-"

Hobi has been so quiet you've honestly almost forgotten he was there. Elbows balanced on his knees and watching the three of you on trial for Namjoon. "Answer to what."

"You don't understand Jin, you don't understand the laws of the family much less the one you've broken."

"The reason why someone's trying to kill you, if anyone finds out that Y/n killed them- everyone connected to them is fair game."

"You mean-"

"We're all done, if anyone finds out, that's probably why the new head of house was trying to take Jin out- to tie up a loose end."

"Hang on, I'm getting confused again." Hobi runs his hands through his hair, and it fluffs up. "Jimin's what again?"

“Jimin is an assassin, I asked Jimin to kill my husband for me but he said no.” You pick at a strand of thread on your pants, unwilling to look up and meet any of their eyes, not Namjoon’s or Jin’s. “Met him back when we meant nothing to each other. He still feels guilty for not saving me. We talked it out a while ago. It’s okay- I did it myself eventually- didn’t need anyone’s help.”

You look up at Yoongi and he looks like he might want to laugh or cry and can't pick which. “I don’t know much else about Jimin other than that he kills for the family."

"They've got people for everything, a few assassin's they keep on retainer," Yoongi clarifies. "People that anyone can hire if you've got the money for it. There are a few names that the family puts on a no-kill list, Children, the pack mates of the ruling pack, the heads of houses and their immediate packmates. If anyone kills a person on the no-kill list- their life is forfeit. I'm on it by default. The pack mates of the beta are on it too, All of you are on it. No one should be trying to kill you."

Yoongi's never paid much attention to the list, the waxing and waning names and faces and photos. he's been on it since before he was born and with no intent to kill or harm anyone and put himself even potentially in harm's way, he's never sought it out.

Maybe if he had, things would go differently.

A cold rush of realization rushes over you. "That's why Jimin and Jin ended up there" You stand up, adrenaline in your hands. "She was hoping they'd take each other out so she wouldn't have to break family law to kill them."

Yoongi shakes his head, "Something about this doesn’t feel right- something about this isn’t normal.”

Hobi’s phone dings before you can hash it out anymore. He looks down in his lap. “They're here,” he’s up and out of the chair, heading out the door and into the hall so quickly that the rest of you have to chase after him. Namjoon tugs you to your feet, staring at Yoongi and Jin. "Was that enough?" you ask.

"We'll talk more later." is all he says. But he does lace his hands with yours and pull you after Hobi. Your legs are so short you have to take two steps for every one of theirs.

“I wish Tae and Kookie were here for that-“

"They should know” your mate agrees, keeping pace with you in the hallway, dropping back with you when Namjoon accidentally lets go in his haste to get through the door. You make eye contact with Yoongi when you turn. Your back to one of those push doors using your body weight to push through it.

You pause, waiting with Yoongi on the other side of them.

“If anyone tells her about Minnie- should be me.”

(You know exactly how you’ll do it, you’ll tell Tae the story of you just like this. You’ll tell it like a story, with author notes and playlists near the end. You’ll talk about Jimin just like this; all of the good parts and all of the bad all in one. So that she might truly understand that having a choice doesn't always mean you're free to do whats right.)

Yoongi nods, “I can tell Jungkook. I think if I do it gently, he won’t get shocked enough to have a seizure.”

You pause before the doors open, to have just a moment with the two of you, just you and him leaning against it. He shifts closer, not holding you, hands by his side but he's close enough that you could rest your head on his shoulder. You do rest your head on his shoulder. Just to hear his heartbeat thud sluggish and heaven-sent against your ear.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” It feels like it’s been ages and ages since you’ve had a quiet moment with him like this. You resolve to have one, to make space for him when this is all over. A private date with just the two of you maybe. Whenever Jimin comes home. “To help with Jimin.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I killed your grandparents.”

“They weren’t good people,” Yoongi shrugs, you've never seen a sadder shrug. “I always knew that. They-” yoongi breaks off, stealing himself for a quiet confession. "I think they might have had a hand in killing my parent. She didn't like it- that they had so much power over me. Future of the family and all."

"You've never said-"

Yoongi pushes through the door, and a high pitched keening cuts off your next words. "Later."

You push through the door and Tae and Jungkook are already there. Entering through the outside doors with a puff of air into Namjoon and Jin's waiting arms. Namjoon holds Tae up as she wails and wails. Her cry high like a nightingale. Jungkook looks pale and shaky, settled under Hobi's shoulder clearly in shock.

You cut through them, ducking under Jin's outstretched arm and colliding with Tae before anyone else can join Namjoon in holding her. falling to little heap on the linoleum floor, just at the precipice of the long hallway that connects to the patient rooms and the nurse's stations to other surgical suites. Drawing countless stars, countless looks from passersby as Tae's sobs renew themselves, loud and broken.

You clinging to each other. Her arms around your shoulders, cradling your head like it's the last safe thing in the universe.

“Jimin,” her voice breaks, throat closing around nothing. Sobs wet and angry, hot tears dripping down her cheeks, big and unabated by hope. "Minnie- My Minnie-"

You cling back, getting your hands on her cheeks. “He’s gonna be fine, he’ll be alright- here- here let me help you up. We've got you Tae-”

Jungkook looks a bit better, a little bit less like he’s drowning. Jin reaches for him while you hold onto Tae. And JK’s nostrils flare, he steps back, looking Jin up and down. Tae clings to you on the floor of the hospital and you look up at them. At Jin and Jungkook, standing a pace apart. Jungkook's hands keep Jin from coming any closer.

“You smell like Jimin does when he comes home from his trips, you smell like gunpowder. And mucky-” Jungkook's voice breaks, "Jin? Why do you smell like blood?"

There are too many people around, too many people for something like this. You're just glad It’s a quiet omission, Jungkook’s scent is level and so is his breath.

Maybe you should give him a lot more credit. Yoongi might not have to tell him much.

Tae's tears hit your collarbones as she crushes you, sobbing loudly in your ear, immune to the string of sweet nothings that fall from your lips. Whispered against her temple.

To everyone else in the hallway, rushing in the late-night hum, you and Tae look just the way that you’d expect; Two girls clinging to each other, one tall and the other short. One an alpha and the other an omega.

The rest of the pack is so blinded by their concern and their terror that they don’t look up. They don’t look down the hall to see the figure standing there watching them. One second the hallway is empty of the dark figure and then next she's there- waiting for you.

Her pine and medicine scent is disguised by the smell of death that lingers here. Although more than 2 of the people there might recognize it if they had the patience to sniff it out. They're too distracted by Yoongi dragging Jungkook close and whispering in his ear to keep his voice down.

Moonbyul watches the scene from the end of the hall. Two coffees in her hands. One for her and one for you because she always assumes that you'll go with her when she asks. No matter what’s going on with your pack, Moonbyul is not the kind of person who you say no to. She’ll ask nicely for you to come one more time.

Or so she thought. Looking at you and Tae holding each other is giving her other ideas.

To love a man is something she's always been able to dismiss as a mistake. Little pups just don't know what they need and even less what they want. She'd been prepared to deal with you loving them, the alphas, on paper, even the admittedly pretty omega male currently in her cousin's arms.

But another woman? Even one like that?

Rage is not like other sorts of anger, it’s not like fire burning to take. Achieng to burn until all the heat has worked itself out. Rage is quiet, rage is darkness and a hunger that needs to consume. That will destroy even if you try to stop it.

It's one thing to know that you love a woman besides her, and another to see you peck kisses along her tearstained cheeks. The rage builds as she watches you cup that female alpha’s cheeks. She watches you brush her hair back from her eyes and tuck it behind her ears. She’s got honeyed skin and smudged lipstick (so inelegant) you wipe her tears away and kiss her cheek.

But what makes Moonbyul’s hands tighten into claws, her metal-tipped nails piercing the coffee cups and making them drip onto the ground, wet and hot, is the way you smile at her.

Moonbyul’s rage is like a tidal wave.

By the time the rest of the pack looks up, the hallway is empty except for a puddle of coffee on the linoleum floor and two discarded cups. One with red lipstick stains and the other without.

~-~

(18 hours later, Jimin)

Tae’s cheek is so soft. That’s the first thing that Jimin’s aware of as he wakes from surgery.

Coming out of general anesthesia feels like being a rickety buoy on the busy ocean. One second bobbing to the surface and the next crashing below the waves and taking on water. Sloshy. Everything feels sloshy.

He only feels her at first- not the hospital bed, not the scratchy sheets, Just the feeling of her cheek resting against the palm of his hand. Her gentle breath tickling his fingers in her sleep.

Jimin will always know the particular beat and cadence of Tae’s body. Would know it if the sun got snuffed out like a candle. Would know her breath anywhere because it’s the very fuel to Jimin’s soul, the very thing that sets the tempo to the heart monitor beating out a pleasant rhythm in the midafternoon hum.

Her skin is pillowy and sweet beneath Jimin’s flayed fingers, limp and cold to the touch because of the whole almost bleeding out thing. He doesn’t know it yet, but he's needed 9 units of blood in the past 24 hours. 4 right away, and 3 during the surgery where they removed the knife and stitched his arm together. And another two units just after.

Compared to his own body, Tae feels so warm.

At least Jimin can still feel his left hand. The doctors that stitched him back together must have done a bang-up job, Namjoon even more so. a lot of people can put an arm back together, a whole slew of them, but not many surgeons could stab someone carefully enough so as to not permanently injure them. There are only so many people that he would trust to stab him.

But Jimin trusts Namjoon with a whole lot more than just that.

When he opens his eyes (a task of herculean proportions) Namjoon isn’t there, it’s just Tae in one of those absurdly uncomfortable hospital chairs. She’s bent over his hospital bed in what must surely be an uncomfortable position to sleep in. Her back arched like invisible wings weigh her down. She slept like that, sprawled as close as she could get to Jimin without the nurses waking her up and telling her not to crowd him.

The smudged mascara on her cheeks flake like falling stars, little trails there were tears rendered it useless. Jimin wipes away a black droplet like he's banishing a ghost. She’s cried so much over the last 10 hours, most of her makeup gone and sporting a bit of 5 o’clock shadow too. The faint roughness that Jimin feels no more than once. Because to derive sensory pleasure from that feels…wrong.

He looks at the ceiling, wondering where the others are. He feels the edge of his body, the spot where the wound begins and the pain ends. Who knew gunshots and stab wounds could make you feel so sore? and tired too? Exhaustion pins his body to the bed like a butterfly to a corkboard.

A wire connected to his good hand tugs, But he ignores it in favor of cradling Tae's head and combing through the tangles in her hair. It's gotten so long now, just to her shoulders, but the bits feel so soft and gauzy against his fingertips. He wishes he could feel it forever. It’s much much better than the 5 o’clock shadow.

It takes a dozen passes for Tae to stir.

And then she startles awake, flinching into being. Fresh tears disrupt the mascara flecks as she beholds her soulmate and nearly tugs herself across his bed to get her hands on his face. To hold his cheeks.

To say that Tae has looked better would be accurate for jimin to say but the words would never grace Jimin’s lips. Not even close. Even with a crusty face and greasy hair- Tae looks gorgeous- so pretty that his heart pulses dangerously quickly. so quickly that jimin's suprised the nurses don't come by and check on him.

Maybe they haven’t given him enough opioids for his shoulder because for a second he feels his heartbeat ricochet through his whole body. To his fingers where he's touching her and back to his heart. Every echo and ripple Tae Tae Tae.

Tae bends over Jimin’s body. Her hands go to his face, fingers touching his smile, and thumbs pressed to his faint crow's feet and twinkling eyes. Clutching at him like he’s her lifeline (he is, a red string of fate that keeps her from drowning, always. She was stupid not to use it like an anchor).

“Pup told me.” She says, a note of finality in her voice, lower lip trembling, tears falling anew “told me you kept talking about me even when you were stabbed" she goes quiet, whispering the words like she's scared someone might be listening in.

"Pup told me everything."

Jimin’s eyes flick from her lips to her face, her body, everything. His hands are trembling, chest building with breaths until they’re heaving and the realization of just how much everything she must know hits him.

Tae knows Jimin well enough to know what a panic attack looks like- knows enough how to soothe it. Knows just to hold on and wait for it to pass. jimin's hands splay and flex, rubbing her skin once, twice, and then a third time in an effort to self-soothe.

"It's okay,"

"You mean you're not-" Jimin's heart monitor is going so wild that Tae has to tell him to calm down. Has to run her fingers up and down his scent glands on his neck, nipping at them to settle him. "You're not angry that I'm-"

That I'm a killer, that I'm a monster. That I've kept everything from you. Jimin readies himself, preparing himself for the speech he always knew he'd have to give. You don't understand, I didn't have a choice, I wouldn't have chosen this- I didn't I just. I never killed people who didn't deserve it- because I know that you'd hate that.

For the first time in their lives, Tae and Jimin are sitting across from each other- without a single secret to each of their consciousness. both of them free and perilously unmoored for it.

But there are no words that Tae needs when she looks up at him and smiles. Wetness at the corner of her eyes.

Seeing Jimin in the hospital bed had not felt like Patroclus and Achilles, it hadn't even felt like Orpheus and Eurydice. There was no roaring anguish. The kind that follows when people leave you too soon. Or the bitter vindication that happens when people leave at just the right time (it’s the worst when people leave like that. Either linger or make me miss you. Stay too long or leave me early. Either way is fine. I’ll feel more human if I’ve got longing or hatred to feel).

In truth seeing Jimin in the hospital bed, wires and hooks connected to him- keeping him alive and keeping him breathing, had felt like a second chance. She's not going to let something as simple as a secret spoil it.

Tae knows she should want to know more about Jimin's job as an assassin and should want to ask more questions (if not to understand her soulmate better, than for writing material). She Should be more revolted or disturbed or upset that her literal soulmate kills people for a living, but at the moment, all she can find in herself is just to be glad that Jimin is fucking alive.

It’s funny, how much your priorities can shift.

Jimin looks like he doesn't believe her. "Tae, you can't even kill spiders."

"Would you care?" Jimin falls silent. "Would you care if it was me in your position?"

Jimin swallows hard and winces. He doesn’t have to ask for a sip of water, because Tae has already gotten it for him by the time his good hand closes over his throat. His shoulder is bound so tightly in bandages that he can hardly shift it. Can't reach up to stop himself from spilling a bit of the water down his chin. Her nails (red polished and chipped) wipe away a drop on his lips.

(There's more that you weren't able to tell her just yet; a lot about you and Yoongi and Jin. You've decided to save the bulk of how Jimin ended up in the hospital bed until after Jimin woke up. Later when you can get her on her own you'll tell her. Probably after Jimin's discharged from the hospital. But the other secrets can wait for now).

It won’t really hit her until later. When she’s in her closet looking at all of her pretty things and designer clothes. Fingers toeing along the fine black cashmere sweaters, to the maroon dresses, to the scarlet ones, stopping just before she reaches the pink. The Dior, the Versache, the McQueen. It will only be then that she'll put two and two together and realize they were all paid for with blood money. With people’s lives.

It will bother her then; it doesn’t bother her right now. It will never bother her enough to think about leaving jimin.

How do you make the choice? What to condemn a loved one for? How do you pin down your line of intolerance when it's someone you love with your whole being? Can you decide at all or is it something that your soul chooses for you? The weight of one sin for another. what you're willing to go through.

They would have died anyway. Even if Jimin hadn't killed them, they had someone out there willing enough to pay for their death and they'd have died anyway she rationalizes. We're all going to die anyway.

Maybe it’s a silver lining that Tae no longer believes in the same kind of sin and wrongness that Jimin does. Doesn’t believe in God and heaven at all. Tae has always believed in soulmates more and believed in Jimin the most. More than any god or afterlife.

“I should be angry, anyone else probably would be but-” Tae turns her cheek into Jimin’s fingers, pressing her lips to his trigger finger. Eyes shining when she looks at him. “I’ve wasted too much of my life being angry at you, wasted too much of it feeling anything but love for you- Jimin- if you died, I-”

Jimin cradles Tae's cheek. “I’m sorry for Namjoon’s rut- for what I said. Didn’t mean it. Never mean it if I'm mean-” Jimin’s finger rubs across Tae’s lips, the wide part of his palm splayed across her jaw, and so much is said in that little touch. But they look at each other and laugh. "Not like Noodle."

It shocks a laugh out of Tae and she presses her temple to Jimin's jaw, feels his smile when the joint moves. She realizes that Jimin's still a little high. Probably too doped up on pain medicine to have this conversation but oh well.

“I never thought it would take you getting stabbed for me to realize it,” her lip trembles, “I don’t want to waste another second being angry with you.”

“I don’t want to waste another second with you either. Won't even sleep,” his eyelashes flutter, struggling to stay awake.

Tae pulls herself more firmly on top of the bed and Jimin shifts a little, wakes a little more when she slings a leg carefully over his hips. Being gentle, still conscious of his physical state. He uses his good arm to pull her up and up until She’s splayed across his lap.

Kissing Tae never loses its edge, it always feels like their first kiss, sweet and with that knotted bundle of anticipation. Jimin sits up into the kiss, sits up until his shoulder protests and he hisses into the kiss. "Don't strain yourself minnie-"

"Don't care just-" he pulls her hips snugly. After that words are sparse as they kiss, again and again, lips working together. Sloppy messy love kisses. Every breath tastes like love, every second of it. She giggles pulling apart for a second to get her breath, the heartbeat monitors in the corner going wild. Breath that washes over Jimin like a gust of spring air, cinnamon flower sweat, and heady. Tae’s kisses are better than a first sip of coffee or a breath of fresh air. (They’re better than living, just a little bit).

“If I was any less sore, I’d ask you to bite me right now.”

Tae grins, and it’s a special secret smile. “You said something like that to Pup too."

“I’m so lucky I get to be yours- don't want to waste the luck-" Tae shakes her head stubbornly pulling back.

"I don’t think that you should say you’re lucky. I’m so lucky that this person loved me, or I’m so lucky that I got to love them. Because when it comes down to it, love and luck are not the same thing. Love is not a single event, like winning the lottery, or finding a 100-dollar bill. Love is a choice and you have to choose it a thousand times. Every day you choose it. Luck is such a cop-out. It’s been really nice.”

“God, I hope I’m more than just nice.”

Tae smiles, “Shut up” She goes a little pale. “Actually don’t shut up with me like- ever. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.” She plays with Jimin’s hands, “Is that when either of us- whoever- goes first-“ Jimin’s grip goes knuckle tight on her waist, he's coming out of it, a little more lucid with every breath. Waking up more.

“When one of us dies- I don’t want to question if I ever loved you enough, I don't want to rely on just luck. I don’t want to think about the days that I could have gone for coffee with you or could have kissed you longer. I don’t want to think that I didn’t get exactly what I wanted and you didn’t get exactly what you wanted too.

"I want to give you one extra kiss every time so that you get twice as much as you would have gotten otherwise. I just want to think that it was nice, that every moment of it was nice- even when we fought, I want to look back on it and think ‘even the sad parts were nice and I got more than I thought I would.' No luck involved.”

She grins down at him, that same youthful grin she’s had her whole life, Jimin thinks of it sometimes- how many times she’s smiled this way and he hasn’t seen. How many more he will see.

“Also, y/n says that you’re allowed to mate me, but not marry me. She says my ring finger belongs to her.”

Jimin slides up the bed, flipping her over, supporting himself with his good hand, sending her sprawling and giggling. His growl is half hearted but promising. Tae laces her hand in his greasy blonde hair and it stays there.

It stays there.

~-~

The rest of Jimin’s hospital stay goes a bit like this:

There is a pair of suits outside the window, dark and imposing. plain clothes police officers watching and waiting like vultures. They’ve already taken statements from the pack but demand to hear from Park Jimin himself.

Lies from the source always taste the sweetest.

There is a story ironed out and penned in stolen moments, you curled up in one packmate's lap and transferred to another, "the pup" Jin had said, the youngest, was not taking her alpha's stabbing well. "She just needs a bit of soothing, sorry." The suits are charmed enough by two cuddling omega's that they don't notice your mouth pressed to their ears, like a game of cuddly murderous telephone.

The story gets ironed out easily, you’d all gone out for pizza, had come home to find Jimin bleeding in your kitchen.

“It’s pretty normal for Jimin to be reckless with his health. I’m not surprised he tried to come home and see if I could stitch him up himself. I'm a doctor at his hospital- Dr. Kim, pack alpha and head of neurosurgery. The knife- you should know I touched it on accident he wanted to remove it himself and I just had to stop him- I’m sorry- I should have known better I was just- so shaken.” Namjoon is a passable liar at best.

Jungkook has folded himself under your mate’s arm, and Jin’s too. He’s still vaguely shaking, bunny eyes wider than usual. In a little bit, Namjoon will drag him over to an empty exam room for a quick check-up. Just to make sure he isn't about to seize on the floor. Yoongi will go with him, Will tell him the truth about all of this then.

But what, with his comment earlier, you wouldn't be surprised if Jungkook has already figured it out on his own.

Jimin doesn’t even need to be coached into remembering it. The police don’t even think of not letting the pack see him, after seeing Tae’s teary eyes. A pretty girl is the best distraction, and the pack has two pretty girls that smell sour and need to tend to their alpha before the police get a chance too.

They’re impatient as they watch you and Tae fold yourself over Jimin’s barely aware body, more preoccupied with looking at your asses than they don’t see your lips moving against Jimin’s ear, mistaking your shaking for the racking sobs. And your quiet words for sweet nothings.

Hobi had barely leashed a growl, and resisted the urge to step in front of you and block you both from their sight.

The story is so easy and simple- a true case of Ockham’s razor. The simplest story with the least details is the most likely to be believed. the story Jimin tells the police goes like this;

Earlier yesterday, a crazy fan of the idol group he guards that must have followed him from his schedule with intent to learn his schedule and get closer to them. Her description is so ordinary that they’ll never find her because she doesn’t exist. Any person found will easily be made inculpable; either by alibi or honesty. Not that the law cares much about honesty, nor that any of you care about possibly implicating a stranger.

Love always did make people go to extremes, it's easily believable.

Nothing else matters. Besides keeping everyone safe. You're united against this.

Once they're gone, other promises get made:

“I want you to quit, this is too dangerous, if something like this happens to you again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.”

“We need to make sure we travel in pairs until we figure out what’s going on, why they're targeting Jimin and Jin.”

“I can ask some of my contacts-“

“You’ll do no such thing Yoongi.”

“Do you think we should be like- Armed? Just in case?”

“I don’t think more guns will solve anything but…Maybe.”

In a stolen moment, Namjoon corners you outside Jimin's hospital bedroom, he's holding three bags of takeout, not that Jimin will really be able to eat much of it. The opioids keep down his appetite. That doesn't meant the pack won't try to fuss. As it is, Jimin hasn't been interested in anything but kissing Tae and holding her hand. Pouting whenever the nurses make tae leave.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," Namjoon has always found apologies easy and has never had so much of an ego that it would get in the way of any of it.

"It's alright, between you and me, I think it was kind of justified." You'd probably yell at all of them if they convinced you to stab Yoongi or tae or any of them.

"No more secrets, okay? Promise me this is the last one." It's easy to promise Namjoon that, so easy. To let him scent you, rubbing his coffee liquor scent all over your shoulder.

(But it's not about the promises that you make, it's about the ones that you break.)

You sit out in the hallway the following morning, still in the same clothes and starting to feel a little bit filthy because of it. None of you have gone home yet. Hobi sits next to you and Jungkook's on the other side.

They’re just checking Jimin’s stitches again, and his hospital room just got a bit crowded. The prospect of checkout is maybe a day away. Tonight is the last you'll have to spend at the hospital.

It was also time to talk over Jimin’s opioid regimen, and the doctor had been nearly delighted when Namjoon had stepped up and taken the lead, reassuring the doctor under no uncertain terms that Namjoon would manage them. You can forgive him for thinking a little too much with his hindbrain. If Namjoon leaned any more into his instincts you'd be worried he was close to going into a rut again.

“Is this what it’s like when I’m in the hospital?” Jungkook asks, sucking on some skittles. It's more sugar than he should be allowed to have especially during a high-stress situation. But Jungkook’s taking the panic to get a little bit of freedom. You cast a glance at Tae, at Yoongi and Jin, standing by the door looking like he’s about ready to twitch out of his skin with the effort it's taking him to stand outside.

Jin had apologized- him and Namjoon both, and Jimin had accepted it instantly. "If I trust anyone to shoot and stab me- it's you two so-"

"But-" they'd argued, but eventually Jimin had turned a little scary, a little threatening. showing a hint maybe- of a persona they're all unused to but you're not. Jimin can be firm when he needs to be. A quick retort of-

"Forcing me to comfort you over something I'm not upset about is not the way to make me forgive you." Shut them up for good (or at least for now).

“Yeah, pretty much.” You hold out your hand for some skittles and he gives you a few. Hobi grimaces and reaches over to take the orange ones out of your palm. He knows you don’t like those. He replaces them with a few green ones.

"It’s fucking boring. I should get you guys like- a DS or something for Christmas.”

“Don’t tell Minnie or he’ll blow all his money on-“ You cringe at your words and Hobi flinches. Jungkook just chews on his candies, they smack against his teeth with a hard clinking sound.

There is still some of Jimin's blood under Hobi's fingernails. You see it when he reaches over to take your Skittles.

The next time Hobi moves to take your Skittles, you grab his hand and pull him to his feet. "Come on."

You lead Hoseok into the women's bathroom, underneath the curious eye of the nurses, all the stalls are empty so you pull him over to the counter.

“You’ve got some- stuff- under your nails- let me.” You rip a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them. You clean Hobi’s hands diligently and he lets you.

He stays quiet, Hobi's been quiet for the last day or so. He hasn't done more than whisper a few quiet words to Jimin and stay close. He didn't say anything during your secret confession yesterday. Didn't ask a single question and the silence bleeds now as you scrub the clean-smelling soap against his skin. Your anxiety builds, and you scrub a little harder. His fingers remain limp in your touch.

“Say something- say anything okay? I need to know that you’re not-” not angry with me. That you don't hate me- that you still love-.

Hobi pulls you against his shoulder in a single clean movement. His wet hands hit your stomach when he grabs your hips. Your nose brushing his throat, his nose skimming your hairline.

“I’m trying not to take too much energy from Jimin- trying not to- be a mess- because he's the only one who deserves the packs attention. I'm not even sure if I am a mess about it. Sure that sucked but-" he sighs, "you and I are kinda like- uniquely able to handle things like this cuz of-" he doesn't need to finish his sentence. Hoseok's lips brush your ear, lips touching your skin, and- he pulls back, smiling softly. It's a tired smile but there it is- soft and special and just for you.

“You’re taking things, remarkably well considering the last time we…”

“The last time we had to deal with something like this?”

You hum, scrubbing a paper towel hard over the ends of Hobi's hands. The white paper goes orange-red with dried blood. "Give it time. There’s still a few weeks for me to go crazy this time.”

But this time, you have a feeling that it will be different. Although Hobi was there the last time- and played an instrumental role in making sure you didn't literally fall apart. It's different now. Right now, your hands tangle on the counter, holding on, even though you try to clean his hands of blood. Holding on is more important, neither of you tries and pull away. You don't have the energy for shyness.

What's more intimate? Sex or murder?

He huffs a small frustrated sound and stoops to rest his forehead against your shoulder, leaning almost all of his weight on you. You take it.

“Maybe this time I’ll take a crack at going crazy.” You laugh, stopping your brushing and just settling for holding him. Hips resting against the counter. The two of you rest, just for a moment.

Your nose against the side of his face where his undercut presses to your skin, spiky. "Still have that train ticket?" Hobi humms, taking a deep greedy breath of your scent to steady himself.

You're not expecting him to pull back and kiss you, but his lips are dry but warm, faintly chapped but yours are too. Pressing soft but demanding against yours. Hobi kisses you just as sweetly as last time and you grip the front of his jacket.

No sooner has he heaved you up on the counter, fingers hooking under your thighs to kiss you stronger- than is the door clanging open and a nurse comes barreling in.

"Ugh- uhm." She's a little stunned, but you're already hopping down, faces flushed and apologizing for the inconvenience.

You don’t throw the bloody paper towels in the garbage, but the toilet, flushing them once, then twice, to make sure that they’re down. Mumbling one last apology before you exit the bathroom together.

Hobi doesn't let go of your hand. You wonder if this is what loving him is going to be like; making out in places you shouldn't, special secret stolen glances when you keep holding hands even around the pack and keep stealing kisses.

You wonder if the kissing will stretch to the cars- to the late night drives, if he'll hold your hand like this around every hairpin turn. If Hobi's going to make you a make out playlist later, full of songs that make him think of you, songs that match the cadence and pitch of your heart. You wonder if loving him will be like this, stolen innocence, like finding sea glass on the beach. There and pretty for the taking if you only look for it.

Your heart feels all warm and tight with it, swaddled. Protected as Hobi tugs you back into Jimin's hospital room. You can't wait to find out.

The next few hours look like this; Namjoon sitting on the foot of the bed his hand on Jimin’s knee, feasting on hospital food. Jungkook giggles, and nearly throws himself across Jimin’s lap so that the alpha can put his hands through his hair. Looks like more takeout, living off of it because no one wants hospital food and you can't go home and cook. You refuse to leave right now.

It looks like Tae smiling for the first time In what feels like years but has logically been only a few hours. Rubbing a hand across her jaw and wincing when she feels the stubble.

Her wince quiets the sounds of the pack happy. And you look up from your plate.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, always stupidly attuned to her and her needs, always watching and waiting.

“I need to freaking shave and I just- I haven’t had the chance to.” Tae lets out a tired sigh, the kind of deep frustration that comes with things that you have no choice but to do.

You take her hand from her chair and tug her up. Because this- this source of angst can be fixed.

“Here- come on,” A shaving razor gets found for her, Namjoon goes to the surgical ward to get the right kind. Sharp and medical and disposable along with a tiny tube of shaving gel. You drag her chair into the bathroom and make her sit while you do it. Lathering up her cheeks and tipping her head back. The whole pack a cacophony in the other room. The shock of skittles and other candies falling onto the floor. Muted words then soft laughter.

You drag the shaving razor up her chin, over her chubby cheeks. Your gentle touch, the soft scrapping of her hair against the blade a gentle accompaniment to the sounds of the pack passing the time until Jimin wants to go to sleep. Jungkook's phone plays a tictok loud, "Bunny- headphones, Minnie's trying to rest" Yoongi reminds him.

Jimin is struggling not to fall asleep, shifting to one side of the hospital bed just to get a better vantage point to look into the bathroom at Tae. Jimin cranes his neck.

Tae's face twitches, and underneath the white froth you see her reddening cheeks. “Stop looking at me.”

Jimin grins from the hospital bed, “Can’t help it, love you.”

“Love you too Minnie” She choruses back, and the pack joins her.

that night, namjoon and yoongi push three hospital cots togeather around jimin's bed and the pack piles in, sweet bodies and kissed cheaks, whiped down with sanitary towels, you end up tucked between tae and hobi, your cheek pressed to her back.

the following morning it becomes impossible to ignore both how purely filthy the 8 of you are and the fact that Jimin's doctors won't let him check out until tomorrow (and even then he'll have days of bedrest and won't be able to use his arm until he gets his stitches out.) You haven't been home in two days, no one can remember if you even locked the front door with how crazy leaving was.

It’s hard to convince Tae to go with you and leave Jimin's side. But she's less resistant when Yoongi reminds her that Jimin needs new clothes to go home in since all of his bloodstained clothing was discarded as medical waste.

“Honestly we should get like- to go bags full of a change of clothes for all of us when like, JK has his seizures,” Maybe it’s just because you’ve done overnights twice in the last week at the hospital- but the idea doesn’t seem like a bad one.

Jin drives you, Hobi, and Tae home in silence; no one tells Tae any of the other secrets yet. Tired as she is, almost falling asleep in the car. Waking with a start when you turn onto your street.

It's a little shocking. When you get home to a cold and quiet house. Jimin's blood has dried up into dark waxy puddles, on the kitchen table and the floor. There are fingerprints from someone, rusty and red on the doorframe. It's stark to see the evidence. To see a bit of it on the butcher block countertop all the terror and the color leached out of it in the grey afternoon light.

Tae is so stumbly that Hobi has to grab her twice just to keep her from walking into walls when he gets her inside. Noodles immediately yowl has you feeling terribly guilty, he circles your and Hobi's ankles. But you push at Hoseok's hands when he stoops to pick him up.

"Take Tae upstairs and shower with her, will you? I'll be up in a second, just gonna feed him and get some stuff together." She's blinking and looking at the bloodstains, eyes already looking glassy with fresh tears.

You need a second, a second in quiet, a second alone just to steady yourself. Jin comes in, dragging in a mountain of mail from your box, "I've got them, come on pups, grooming time."

Jin pecks a kiss along your forehead, "Come up the second you finish?"

You nod, "Just want to get some food first too- hungry."

Jin nods and makes to follow Hobi and Tae but pauses on the stairs. he looks like he wants to say something to you. Eyes full of something unreadable and warm. Unspoken words hover.

If he had to choose anyone, I'm glad he chose you.

But before he can get it out Tae calls from upstairs. "Jinnie? Can you grab one of my comfy sets from the closet down there before you come up?"

You stand, solemn in the kitchen, listening to the sound of them on the creaky stairs, the sound of their quiet voices. The creek of the house as they walk around upstairs.

"Here you go baby," you say, giving Noodles an extra spoonful of food. You know you left enough for him in his bowl and that he didn't suffer too badly. But still, his purring chirping is music to your ears. You pet over his back, his fluffy tail.

He's Still chubby, still good. You aren't too bad of a pet owner then.

There's the gun still there, sitting just to the left of Jimin's blood splatter on the seat of one of the dining room chairs. You're at eye level with it from where you crouch down to pet Noodle. It's the same one that you pulled out from under the bed when you found out he'd been shot. You should probably take it with you when you go back to the hospital, just to be sure.

"You got any secrets for me nu? Are you the long-lost prince of some cat kingdom?" Noodle chops down in response.

You go to the hallway closet to get a duffel bag, where the pack stores their larger bags and luggage.

"Hey!" Hobi calls from upstairs, muffled through the roar of the shower. There isn't much other noise in the house. The birds outside aren't chirping, probably because you haven't been home enough to fill their birdfeeder.

Probably.

"Yeah!?" You call back up, upending the duffel bag and sending a bit of loose change, some quarters and pennies scattering onto the floor. you stoop down to pick up a few of them, tossing them back into the closet with a metallic clang (to be dealt with later.)

“Can you grab Tae's phone charger? It should be by her computer.”

"Got it!" Tae's library room is much the same as it was when you left it, her computer is closed. The walls are green, the window dusty. You find it easily, the cord long and white, tangling in your hands.

You're not sure why your hair raises on the back of your neck.

Noodle stops his chomping.

The push of cold air startles you- the change of pressure in the house like a door being opened- the front door. The windows in the library room are leaky. You're used to being in here and feeling it, used to feeling that same draft every time one of your pack mates comes home.

You freeze where you stand.

The metallic jingle of the doorknob is so much softer than usual. You could almost convince yourself that you don't hear it, that you've made it up.

And then you hear it- Noodle's low hiss.

Call it a habit or a trained behavior but you still make your footsteps quiet everywhere you go. A thing learned from your years with Geumjae when you needed to be quiet to be safe and needed to make yourself as unobtrusive as possible to avoid pain. A vestigial survival instinct.

It serves you well now because no one in the house hears as you slide from Tae’s library through the pantry area, you don’t call out Tae’s name again, or Hobi’s. You don’t know exactly why you don’t.

Your house is an old house and you know every inch of it. You know this house that Yoongi’s built for you from the top of the eves to the shutters, from the windows up top to the ground floor and dusty half-finished basement. You know every creaky floorboard and which steps are the ones you skip when someone’s sleeping upstairs because it always sounds so high-pitched and it wakes Jimin up, light sleeper that he is.

You hear the subtle creek of the floorboards now, the small slide of heavy boots across the wide floorboards. A creak. Someone is about to ascend the stairs, up to where you can still hear Hobi and Tae talking softly. The shower off, they're probably just getting dressed.

Softly, you hear the sound of a heavy boot hitting something metallic, one of the pennies you dropped earlier and missed.

Jin might still be in the other room, that's what you tell yourself. You're just being paranoid. stupid paranoia you almost want to laugh. you're just jumpy from the last few days- that's all. Funny of you, to make it up.

The danger is all in your head.

Only it's not,

Because the first thing you see when you peek around the corner is the pitch-dark barrel of an extended gun.

~-~

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Notes:

There are some parts in this chapter, some facts about yoongi's family that haven't been touched on since the very begining chapters or jimin's secret chapters and i repeated them just so that people get a bit of a refresher but some of it feels a little monotonous to write! i hope it's not too hard to get through.

in an ideal world i would have given myself an additional week to edit this chapter, it's not the most edited and because of that i feel like it got repetitive or arduous in places.

i'm also realizing that this is like, 9th longest bts fanfic in existence. look it up on ao3 if you don't believe me. i think giving people a refresher of the begining is fair. In terms of the harry potter series (it really is a shame that no one knows who wrote it) we're just into the 6th book in terms of word count if you need that for context.

on that same vein. moonbyuls brief rant that is implied to be transphobic and sorta is- is not a reflection of my views she's just...you know...the villain?

this chapter also literally went from 8k to 14k during editing what the fuck. i stayed up till 2 am to get this done two nights in a row. i have this little nagging voice in my head that says its stupid to care about something like this but i can't help it- i love this story so much. even if this isn't the best chapter.

when the m/c has her freak out in the room where she almost passes out- that is called adrenal fatigue and it's soemthing that i struggle with as someone with ptsd. you know the feeling when you go on a rollercoaster when all of your adrenaline unloads it's self all at once? if i go through that my body goes a little haywire like- dizziness, exhaustion, dysregulation, memory fog, all of it. i still like rollercoasters though so as long i like rest and drink alot of water it doesn't affect me too much.

it's really important that you notice that no one says moonbyuls name during the moment when they're talking about their secrets between namjoon, jin, hobi, yoongi, and the m/c. i'm not telling you why just PAY ATTENTION.

Every time i think about the proverb "The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth." i think of the m/c and how thats her storyline with the family like- she really was like "either you love me or i'll kill all of you" and i think thats cute <3

In terms of why the last don and Beta killed Yoongi's parents- i think it's because yoongi's mother found out that she was pregnant with another beta and the don and beta didn't want to deal with such a divided power. They already had yoongi under their thumb and another possible successor would have over complicated things. Yoongi would have had a little sister, i don't know if he'll ever know thats why his parents where killed- he was between the ages of 16 and 18 when they died.

although this chapter was the least edited in terms of the most recent chapters- i will also say that there are two moments in this chapter- where i 'fuck up' and write things a certian way but heres the thing- they're not fuck ups and they're actually hints so! lets see if anyone notices!!

i'm gonna be honest with you guys the part where it goes "it stays there" left me fucking winded i can't even think about it too hard or else i get misty eyed.

i am catheterizing a lot of emotions writing this i am sorry it took so long to write, there is a reason why this update took a month and thats cuz yeah- my grandmother is dying. She's got cancer and She's 91 so they're not treating it. death is gonna be a /theme/ for me over the next couple of chapters, don't be surprised if I go off on a tangent or if it takes me a second between updates.

i wish i could write the m/c just a little dumber you know?

i wrote this series with the intent to write about people in realistic relationships- showing the moments they make mistakes, the moments they react too much or not enough, the way that trauma affects us all and how we handle it and love. it feels very full circle to have this chapter come out like- this is what bily is about you know? even though they'res alot of dialouge in it.

oh~ shits about to go down~

Mini-Playlist

Dominic fike- acai bowl (kinda hobi and the m/c's song for this chapter, they're going through it)

Hozier- Eat Your Young (Bekon's Choral Version) (this is literally bily's unoffical theme song at this point)

JID, Kenny Mason - Dance now (the beginning when moonbyul setting the industrial park on fire)

Frank sinatra- thats life (the song i picture playing at the end when tae and jimin are talking out their issues).

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