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#yoongi x you
jimilter · 20 hours ago
little princess (m) | m.yg. | drabble
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pairing: yoongi x reader
rating: m (18+)
genre: smut | humor | angst | fwb minus the friends!au
summary: In his defense, his trysts with you and his job at your father’s office were initially non-mutually exclusive. 
warnings: emotional constipation, mean!reader, age-gap, explicit sexual content (dom!yoongi, sub!reader, dom-sub themes, oral (m), manhandling, unprotective penetrative sex, bondage, gagging), not a happy ending, unrequited feelings that are being denied left and right (’:
word count: 3.9 k
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submission for the September Games hosted by House Yoonus.
❂ “Fall For Romance”          ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Dia @yoonia​ through @bangtansorciere​
⤐  AU Type: Salted Caramel Ice Cream - Unrequited Love AU ⤐  Themes: Forbidden Romance | Age Gap ⤐  Kinks: Bondage, Throat Fucking, Cum Play
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note: so i saw this yoongi and lost my sanity, which resulted in this! this fic seems to have a lot of backstory bec it’s somewhat of a spin-off to a bodyguard!jk series i have in the works. i also decided to tweak it a bit and make it presentable for this month’s games for the bcs net, bec why tf not?
a very huge bucket of gratitude to ridzie, my luff @taegularities​ for beta reading this for me! y’all could never imagine the kind of typos she sifted through to stop this from turning into a whole comedy, smh. one of them was “noses” instead of “noises,” and that is a tame one. LOL. thank you so much for brushing this, and hyping me, up, bestie! 🥺 i love you! 🥺❤
↦ moodboard
— masterlist
— feedback is always appreciated!
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Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, nails scratching through the dark roots of his undercut beneath the silver locks. Sweat is collecting under the collar of his white oxford despite the air-conditioning in the room. His pants are straining so hard, it hurts. 
Maybe he should stop staring and do something about all of this.
He licks his lips, unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back on his heels, wondering if he should sit down for this. 
But then a tiny, little whimper escapes your gagged lips and he launches into action – unbuckling his belt and whipping down the zipper of his pants as he undoes the fly. He lets his pants fall down to his ankles, making the hasty decision to sit on the edge of the bed, and beckons you closer.
You immediately follow, like the obedient pet you are, crawling closer to him on your knees. Your large eyes blink up at him and when he nods to grant you your wordless permission, your face presses up against his boxers clad length. He cups your jaw in his palm, smoothing his thumb over the side of your cheek bulging under the impact of your soiled panties that he stuffed into your mouth roughly an hour ago when he had to urgently leave to take an important call. 
And you waited for him to return, sitting and waiting all pretty in the same position he left you. His dick pulses and heart thuds at the thought. He wishes he could curb the latter, though, because that is highly inconvenient.
You look so good like this, all bound and gagged and wet for him, only him. If he was a weaker man, he would nut at just the sight. Who knew that the girl he first met at an airport and hated with all his might for spilling coffee on his pristine, white shirt would some day beg him to use her body the way you daily do? He certainly didn't. 
You whimper again, and he hums. 
"What is it, princess? Got something to say?"
You sit back up to nod so violently, your chin collides into your collarbones. He laughs at your pathetic state, clicking his tongue. 
"God, look at you. So fucking desperate. So filthy. So damn unbecoming of the country's metaphorical princess, hmm?"
You bat your lashes at him, pushing your breasts out in defiance, and he bites his lips to hold back a moan. It’s funny how you love it when he calls you that, but absolutely despite the pet name’s usage in any other capacity. Especially with regards to the reality of who you are.
"You're such a nasty baby, fuck. What would your father say if he knew what his little girl is up to when she leaves with his trusted guard, hmm?"
Your eyes narrow at his goading, and Yoongi has to coo at how adorable he finds it. He reaches forward to tug your gag out of your mouth, watching your heaving breasts with rapt attention when they rise, fall and jiggle with your rapid breaths. 
A string of saliva extends from your lips and lands next to your nipple. His dick twitches at the sight, and he finally grabs his underwear to tug it off and free himself. He is fully hard, his tip angry and in dire need of friction. His eyes catch the sight of his wristwatch, a curse leaving him with the realization that he needs to get back to work in less than an hour.
"C'mon now,” he mumbles to you, “we've wasted enough time. Your dad needs me at his office by seven, let's move quickly."
You don't say a word in response, as you have been trained not to, and simply open your mouth and jut your tongue out for him.
Yoongi groans at the sight, wrapping a hand around himself, running it over a couple of times to spread the precum all over before resting his tip against your waiting tongue. You look into his eyes and start to roll your tongue around, licking him like a fucking lollipop. He can’t believe how amazing you are at this – both, giving head and listening to commands.
His other hand reaches down to rub your saliva over your boob, fingers plucking at your nipple, and he wishes he had more time so that he could feast on these the way he loves to. For now, he settles on briefly groping them before his attention is forced on the sensations in his dick when you rub your tongue all the way down from his tip to the base.
“Fuck, princess, you’ll be the death of me,” he mutters as he gathers your hair in a loose fist, later chuckling to himself when he realizes how much factual truth his lustful words actually hold.
Well, because –
Remember when he asked what your father would do if he knew what you were up to when you went away with Yoongi? Well for one, he would murder him. And then maybe lock you away at a Church, or something, for fucking around with him – Min Yoongi, the President’s most trusted security detail.
Yeah, that's him. Along with being the Leader of one of the country’s most reputed Security Agencies, one that is always working with high profile clients like your father, the President of the country, himself.
In his defense, his trysts with you and his job at your father’s office were initially non-mutually exclusive. 
But, like, maybe lusting after the President's daughter when he didn't know she was the President's daughter was alright. But fucking your face like a deranged demon after he has gained full knowledge? Yeah, that might not be very ideal for his job. Or his life. 
But what's he gotta do when you're kneeling in front of him, all naked and pretty with your hands behind your back and tongue out? Basically begging him to ruin your throat? Is he expected to say no? 
Fuck off.
Yoongi grunts in pleasure when your mouth wraps around his tip, looking down at you with shuttered eyes. How is it that you look this beautiful when his cock spreads your lips apart so obscenely? 
There's gotta be something wrong with his head for feeling the things he feels when he's with you, because going down this line of thoughts is straight up suicide. And it's stupid, too, because the only time he spends with you is when you're fucking in some or the other capacity. 
And your arrangement works fine. You need someone to push you around in bed and Yoongi needs a fucktoy. Besides, whoever heard of a dom falling for their sub? No one, that’s right. It’s always the other way round. Which is why Yoongi refuses to acknowledge all the lurches his heart gives when he’s with you.
What business does he have feeling things when he quite literally knows next to nothing about you beyond the details of your family. You can’t fall for someone you don’t even know, right? Obviously. 
His tip hits the back of your throat when you suddenly attempt to swallow him whole, and Yoongi sighs at the feel of your throat clenching over him, all unwanted thoughts cleansed off his brain.
He grins at you with his teeth clenched, lazily trailing his hands up your body to find purchase in your hair. He grips at the gorgeous curtain of your tresses—immediately mentally cursing himself for thinking of them as gorgeous like a stupid fuck—and gradually slips into directing your head over his cock, gliding the heavenly warmth of the wet cavern of your mouth all over himself.
“Oh, princess, this mouth of yours – fuck,” leaves him in a low pitched groan, his breath hitching with every brush of the back of your throat against his crown.
Finding a satisfactory rhythm, he hurriedly nods at your inquisitive eyes, reassuring you that you can relax your throat and your mind, like always, and you do just that. He grips your hair harder and thrusts into your mouth with complete abandon, throwing his head back when the knot behind his navel starts to tighten.
You gag around him, helplessly, tears dropping down your face, mixing with your spit when they run past your lips and adding onto the lubrication. Yoongi unhinges his jaw at the sight, letting all kinds of uncontrollable noises escape him.
Over the couple of months that he has been doing this with you, your body has become remarkably trained at keeping your needs and reactions in check. Yoongi cannot help but be appreciative of how you don’t fidget in your bonds for a single second even when he very nearly cuts your air supply off with the force of his thrusts down your throat. Your shoulders stay still, hands calmly crossed behind your back where he neatly tied them with your favorite, dark purple silk rope.
That is not to say your body doesn’t shake from the impact of his bruising pace, because it certainly does. You get dragged back and forth on the floor every few seconds and your knees are sure to develop abrasions after this, no matter how soft the carpet beneath you is.
Yoongi’s gaze leaves said knees to travel along the length of your folded legs to zero in between your thighs.
Your center is not as visible to him from this angle as he would like for it to be, but knowing you like the back of his hand as he does, he is certain you’re very close to dripping your arousal down on the carpet, across the couple of inches of distance between your pussy and the floor. The thought makes him groan loudly, eyes screwing shut involuntarily. 
Suddenly, he wants to check and see how right he is. 
He pulls you off his cock, hands clenching in your hair as a shudder passes through his body at the sudden change in temperature his length is exposed to. When he opens his eyes, he finds you panting and trying to maintain eye contact with him. His heart does that thing again, and he curses all deities in the world for inconveniencing him with the damn organ that he has no need for in his life.
“Come here,” he grumbles to you, frowning and projecting his anger at you for something that is not in the least your doing.
When you move to crawl closer, he shakes his head and leans down to wrap both his palms around your upper arms to lift you off the floor.
“On my lap.”
Your wide eyes meet his from less than an inch away when he situates you comfortably over his thighs, slowly unfolding your legs from their hairpin bend so as to not cause your muscles to cramp up. You still wince, and he lunges forward to pull you in a deep kiss.
Your lips are already open, and it takes him less than three seconds to win against your feebly fighting tongue and ravage your mouth with his. 
His palms run down your back to hold your ass firmly and when he pushes you towards him, your leaking cunt molds over his length.
“Fuck—” he gasps in surprise at the amount of wetness spread all over your pussy. 
Leaning away from your mouth, he runs his wondrous gaze across your face. Your eyes are closed and little and helpless whimpers stumble out of your mouth at every motion of your cunt over his length.
“Princess,” he breathes in your ear, removing one hand from your butt to cradle the back of your head, hugging you to him. “You okay?”
You nod against his neck, and the protectiveness that he feels for you in the moment makes him want to throw himself out of the closest window. He reels everything in as best as he can and instead lets your head rest against his shoulder while he uses the freed hand to guide himself towards your sopping entrance.
His fingers brush against your clit which, despite the moisture collected everywhere, is still easy to locate because of how swollen it has gotten, and it makes him go mindless with arousal that you have been this messed up from having him in your mouth.
“This okay?” he whispers in your ear, sighing happily when you nod back, and arranges himself the slightest bit before thrusting up into you.
A broken cry tears out of you, spine arching and fists clenching behind your back. Yoongi bites down on his lip to quieten his own moan of pleasure and reaches behind you to run a finger over your clenched knuckles. 
“Easy, little princess.” He brushes his mouth against your temple, covering your clenched fist with his hand.
Your fingers loosen and pride swells in Yoongi’s chest.
Just the next second, though he scowls at being stupidly soft again. Growling in irritation at himself, he twists the two of you sideways to press your back on the bed. You frown at him with worlds of confusion held in your gaze. He shakes his head to stop you from questioning him. Not that you would say a word, anyway, because he hasn’t asked you to speak up yet and you’re impossibly amazing at never faltering when he gives you instructions.
Sometimes Yoongi kinda wishes you would, just so he would have an excuse to spank your perfect, pert ass red.
He pushes into you again, now leaning over your prone form on the bed, and wraps your legs around his waist, while his own stay planted firmly on the ground. Your petite body bounces with the force of his thrusts, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed, and he swears he would profess his undying love to you if you stared at him like this for a second longer—
Not that he… feels that way. No, that’s stupid. It was, uh, hypothetical. Of course.
He moves his gaze away from yours, anyway, focusing it at the place the two of you are joined, instead. 
Your cunt looks so tiny, speared open lewdly by his cock, and paired with the whines every stroke pulls from you, it makes him lose his entire mind. Why are you so perfect for him?
“You good?” he still asks you to check if you’re hurting anywhere, given the less than comfortable position and your still bound hands.
You frantically nod back, as if annoyed at the intrusion and he huffs an incredulous chuckle.
Things get faster and louder with every passing second, and he can feel your body winding up tighter and tighter beneath him. Your eyes are finally shut, saving him from confronting things that he doesn’t want to, and head is tossed back into the mattress. Your hands must be suffering under the weight of both of your bodies, but not a single sound of complaint escapes you as he fucks into you without giving either of you any time to breathe.
“Princess,” he pants above you at the feeling of your heat gripping him tighter, reaching up to grip at your face, thumb digging into your bottom lip. “You gonna come for me, princess?”
You nod, hair flying about your head, sticking to your sweaty neck and splaying over the bedcovers. Yoongi removes his gaze when the sight starts to feel a bit too beautiful.
He, instead, focuses on digging his pelvis into yours in such a way that it presses over your clit, sighing in satisfaction when you shriek in response, and grips your body against him harder.
“Come on, then.” He nips at your thigh before leaning over the length of your body to dig his teeth into your breast, right above your nipple. “Be a good little princess and cream my cock. Clench me so hard, I lose it with you. Come on, princess, come for me.”
Your gasps are loud and saturated, body twisting around in obvious desperation, and Yoongi takes that as sign to press harder into you, stifling a moan when your soft body presses up harder against his planes, sending rushes of arousal down to his dick despite the oxford and the jacket he still has on. 
It is with one of his hands grabbing at your tit and the thumb of the other pushing into your mouth that you come apart – screaming more than just incoherent words this time, such as curses, words of gratitude, and his name. Yoongi can’t believe himself when he realizes how much he missed your voice when he finally hears it tonight.
He is being a whole moron and it’s gonna incinerate him at the end.
Your clenching walls pull him under, though, and just as he feels the plug in his lower belly about to come off, he pulls out of you, leaving your mouth to grip his length all wet with your slick, stroking a loose fist over himself twice before he comes undone. 
“Fuck fuck fuck, princess, fucking hell—”
Thick ropes of white land on you, coating your stomach, your tits, your nipples, fuck, in his release. 
Yoongi sighs long and hard when he’s done emptying himself, extremely tempted to take a picture of you painted in him. The hand he still has over your breast catches some of his release, too, and before he can move to wipe it on your body, your whimper catches his attention.
You stare up at him with huge, dilated eyes, slowly opening your mouth and extending your tongue to wordlessly invite him.
Yoongi loses his goddamn mind.
“You’re such a fucking cumslut, aren’t you?”
You give him a shy but somewhat conniving grin, your mouth still open, and Yoongi curses.
He wraps his clean hand around your waist to sit you up on the bed, offering you his soiled hand to clean it up. And you lick at it, tiny kitten licks of your tongue making his head spiral with lust again. When he feels a twitch in his spent dick, he huffs in astonishment, and cupping your jaw with one hand, slides his dirty fingers into your mouth.
“Clean them up like a good, little cumslut, princess. Don’t pretend to be demure when we both know how your throat swallows my cock, hmm?”
Your lips close around three of his fingers, head bobbing up and down like does on his dick. Yoongi hates himself for wanting to tenderly tuck your hair behind your ears when you’re being so lecherous. What the fuck is wrong with him?
His clean fingers pop out of your mouth, your lips immediately curving up in satisfaction and Yoongi gives you a pleased smile in return.
“Good girl.”
He chuckles at the way your eyes sparkle at his praise, immediately sighing when he checks the time. 
“Alright, princess, let’s clean up and leave. I only have ten minutes to spare.” You nod but still look at him expectantly. It takes him a moment to realize. “Oh, you can speak. Show’s over.”
You roll your eyes at his joke, tense shoulders relaxing, and Yoongi can almost see the way you change personalities from being his perfect, little sub to the President’s bitchy, entitled daughter. 
Aftercare? Never heard of her. Yoongi shakes his head, amazed at how harshly you divide your behavior in and out of bed. You literally never need a single word or touch of comfort from him. The first time he tried, you got so alarmed that he was trying to start something romantic with you that Yoongi laughed until he cried. When he explained the concept to you, you were so adamant at refusing it, that he laughed some more.
Who’s laughing now, huh? He certainly isn’t.
“This was so good,” you tell him, hopping off the bed on wobbly legs that make him smirk. “Even if I’ll have to wear bracelets to cover up the bruises on my wrists.”
Working on untying your bonds when you stand with your back to him, Yoongi snorts at your words. “You’re the one who insists on ropes. I could always get you softer and more comfortable bonds.”
“I’ve already told you – I love the anticipation that builds when you’re tying them.” You turn around to narrow your eyes at him, cradling your reddened wrists in your palms. “And can you not talk like a Sugar Daddy?”
Yoongi laughs aloud at that, buttoning his pants and buckling his belt firmly over it. “As if you need one.”
“You couldn’t afford me even if I needed one, Chief Min.”
Yoongi tries to mask the impact of your words by pulling on a blank face, deflecting instead of addressing your insult. “You don’t work for me, don’t call me that.”
“I won’t call you by your name outside of bed, Min. If you don’t want me to be respectful, your wish.” You roll your eyes again and disappear into the en-suite bathroom.
He looks into the mirror hanging over the back of the hotel room’s door. His hair has gotten slightly out of place, but other than that, he looks pretty put together. Not quite what he feels on the inside, though. He doesn’t like you calling him ‘Chief Min,’ because that is what literally every other person in his life calls him. Even if you choose to address him by his surname instead of his given name, he finds solace in the fact that you’re the only person who does.
Your phone suddenly gives a few successive pings on the dresser, catching his eye.
joonie <333 Don’t be late! I’ll give you a call when I get there. I swear to god if you’re late… I will KILL you!
His jaw clenches.
You exit the bathroom, sauntering up to the dresser to retrieve your phone in all your naked glory. He observes your face closely, teeth grinding when you grin at the text messages.
Yoongi clears his throat. “Going somewhere?”
“Yep!” you say, popping the ‘p’ and walk around the room to quickly get back into your thong and slip dress.
It suddenly strikes him that you’d been braless today. He frowns. “Dressed in that? Are you sure?”
“What the hell is wrong with my dress?” You give him an appalled look. “Joon is a friend, Dad trusts him. I’ll be safe.”
A friend. Yoongi scoffs.
“He goes to your college?” he asks, unlocking the door to the room as the two of you make your way out.
Yoongi hums in response, it suddenly hitting him how dumb what he’s doing with you really is. He’s definitely catching feelings and you… well, you can’t be bothered to so much as look at him when you’re done with the sex.
And why would you, when you have guys your age texting you to meet up, in perfect freaking grammar, spelling and punctuation. No matter how pliant or accepting you might be when you’re in his bed, you’re still a college sophomore — not even twenty yet, while he’s entering his mid-thirties. Nothing can ever, ever fruit from this. Your arrangement isn’t fine, the fuck? It’s messed up. Bound to get messier if he keeps feeling the things he does.
Which is so dumb because he doesn’t even know your college major! How the hell can he have feelings for you?
But he’s always been too weak against your pretty smile – ever since you had him washing his shirt in an airport toilet before his first meeting with your father. And so, no matter what becomes of him, no matter how messier things get between you two, he knows he will come running every time you call.
Some dom. Ugh.
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tagging: @shrimpmsg @codeinebelle @afangirllikeme-blog​ @jimidol​
note: DO NOT WORRY - you’ll see more of these two in the jk series! (tho i might not release it before 2022 bec LOTS to do!)
© jimilter | 2021
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satnin-darling · 2 days ago
Insatiable. (m) | V. | Min Yoongi, 2.8k
Pairing(s): Yoongi x Reader
Summary: You and Namjoon are over at Yoongi’s for dinner. There’s a new table, so naturally, Namjoon wonders what happened to the old one 😩😳
Warnings/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language; smut (fem-reader; oral (f-receiving ft. Yoongi’s tongue technology 😉); kitchen (table) sex; hair pulling; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms); passive-aggressive footsies lmao; Namjoon’s oblivious, can’t blame him, the food’s too good, and he’s so attached to the old table aw; non-idol!AU - friends with benefits.
It’s mostly pwp so it can be read alone, as with the rest of the chapters in the series.
“This is a new table, hyung?”
Namjoon asked the question as he cut into his steak. You paid him no mind as you chewed your food carefully, appreciating the fine surface of the oak. It was a deep cherry which was solid with black metal legs and exposed bolts. Yoongi’s last table was less robust, shaky even. Though it was functional it was best forgotten. Yoongi slid into his chair right across you with a small tug on his lips, resulting in a lopsided grin. You forced your gaze to settle anywhere apart from him as he set another steaming bowl of rice in the middle for seconds.
“Yeah, the old one had to retire,” he said, sipping some soup as you swallowed the rest of your food.
Fortunately, Namjoon was next to you, so he wasn’t privy to how the current conversation was causing heat to unfurl all over your body. You see Yoongi scratch the back of his ear, his pinkie curling as he chuckled. The movement caused the silver bracelets on his slim wrist to stack over each other. Under the table, you squeeze your thighs together at the memory of them sinking over your skin. Namjoon’s knife scratched the bottom of the plate as he hashed the steak, carving it into manageable bites. You and Yoongi look at each other, having your own private conversation with your eyes.
Shut up.
He smirked to himself and continued to eat. Then, he shrugged at you. He shrugged. You took a large sip of water, but it was too abrupt and some went down the wrong way. Namjoon raised his head as you spluttered, his hand tapping your back as gently as he could manage while you clutched at your chest. Yoongi extended a napkin, like a white flag of surrender. You snatched it, dabbing your mouth and chin. As soon as you settled, Yoongi cricked his neck, his finger coming up again to tend to the spot at the back of his ear.
“I was building some glass shelves for my spare room last week and I also bought a desk - ” Namjoon began.
“What’s the difference between a desk and a table, Namjoon-ah?” Yoongi asked, cutting him off.
You tried to tune him out despite his eyes were on how you were busily stabbing your own bowl of rice, decimating the grains to mush. Namjoon made a noise of confusion, a small hum that came from the back of his throat.
“Well, a desk is a desk and a table is for eating,” Namjoon replied, waving his hand into an arc as he drank some water to wash down what he ate.
Yoongi met you directly in the eye. You narrowed your gaze, chewing more forcefully now, clamping your knees over his since he managed to wedged them through. He covered his lips with his finger as he refused to take notice of how you were shooting daggers with your stare.
“Good to know,” he grinned.
The table shook as you scooted yourself upwards, but it wasn’t anything to worry about. There was really no reason to be in his kitchen to fuck other than the fact that you were both impatient and horny. Besides, his bed was too far away. Nothing new, it was just you and Yoongi trying to squeeze in a quickie in between your errands.
He reached behind his neck, tugging from the collar till his shirt drew upwards, slipping off his body. He closed the distance, his hands resting on the edge of the table to halt the tremors. Settled between your thighs, he leaned close, so you slid your arms around his body, liking the sudden solid feel of his muscles beneath your palms.
“Been working out?” You asked, before you twisted your hand to his front, feeling the slight contours of his abs which hardened as he flexed.
He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you and Yoongi, being a man of few words, emitted a soft hum as his answer. You smiled, sucking his bottom lip lightly, enjoying the feel of his arms flanking you, now resembling sturdy, pale trunks. You clung to him, tugging him down as you opened your mouth, letting his tongue tentatively slide against yours, slow caresses that accompanied his fingers working to hook the sides of your underwear. Since the table was against the wall, you leant your shoulders on it, pulling back to watch him tug it away until nothing else was between you both. Propping yourself up again, you titled your head. Something changed.
“Did you cut your hair too?” You asked, reaching down to scratch the shorn part near the nape of his neck.
He hums again, his fingers pushing your dress up, revealing more skin, resting on the apex of your thighs, parting and lifting them. He lowers himself to his knees, your shoulders find their way back onto the wall and you looked down as he wet his, not paying attention to your question. You sucked in a breath as he bites the soft part of your inner thigh, hard enough to mark, his tongue laving over it to soothe, causing your legs to flinch. Your hands plant themselves by your side as you sighed softly. You were already getting so wet, squirming right as he wound those strong arms around your thighs, keeping you spread.
“Did you?” You asked, but it was a half sigh, ending in a soft hum as you trapped your bottom lip with your teeth.
He lifts his gaze, tilting his head slightly. He looked at you as if you were behaving badly, letting your well-intentioned questions go over his head. His eyebrows raised as he pressed his tongue on the inside of his cheek. He was so close to your pussy that he must feel the heat coming from it. He wanted you to beg and you did because you were so wet from waiting and wanting.
“Yoongi, please,” you said, through gritted teeth, your hands curling into fists.
“Sh. Don’t rush,” he whispered, the most he said in the past five minutes. Yoongi, a man of so few words, but when he spoke, it was worth listening to.
He kissed from the inside of your knee down your leg, his lips leaving a gentle trail of pleasure. The slowness only heightened the sensation that you barely noticed him lifting your other leg towards you, pinning you open.
“Yoongi…” you whispered, so desperate for any friction.
He chuckled. You liked his laugh; it was deep and rich. Pleasant to the ears, happy even. He resumes, kissing the back of your thigh, the one he had pressed down, his teeth nipping slightly and soothing it again with gentle kisses. Your clit swelled and you were panting from the feel of his warm breath against your wet skin. His arms secured themselves even more around your thighs as the table shuddered from how you writhed. The silver bracelets on his wrists twinkled, they felt cool against your flesh, the tangle of chains engraving you temporarily. He lowered his mouth over your clit and you jolted, nearly banging your head against the wall. He sucked lightly then slid his tongue along your slit, to the inner surface, teasing you with careful licks till you swore you’d go mad.
“Hngh fuck…” you moaned, placing your hand over whatever hair you could grasp on his head, your fingers clawing at the cut strands right as his tongue swirled over your clit, half delirious.
He continued, relentless, swirling his tongue in your pussy, shoving it only to drag it up, his lips suckling on your clit. You bucked your hips as he rubbed his nose along your slit, so invested in eating you out that he was practically buried between your legs. His hands held you down, fucking you with his tongue as you cried out, at the sensation of him thrusting it as deep as it could go then withdrawing, his mouth coming up so his lips could suck on your clit. You gasped as your whole body grew tight, your hand tugging against the strands of his hair.
“Fuck, Yoongi, yes, yes!” You cried, your orgasm bursting forth in waves, your pussy flooding his mouth as you twisted your hips while he continued to suck your clit, forcing his face down, his tongue stroking in fast licks.
You whined, your voice thinning into sharp pants, your pussy pulsing uncontrollably as he overstimulated your clit, prolonging your delicious torment. The table shook, its legs swaying more prominently but you didn’t care for your safety, not when Yoongi was still fucking you with that wicked tongue. You splayed your fingers, pushing against his head with more force since you were robbed of your words or any coherence for that matter.
You gasped, watching, dumbstruck as he pulled away, your arousal glistening on his chin, his hair so mussed up that it stuck out from how desperately you were tugging at it earlier. He panted, his mouth parted, his lips swollen and pink. Your legs trembled and you tried to plant your feet on the edge to rest but he grabbed your calves, straightening your legs immediately.
“Wait hold -”
Namjoon said your name and you blinked rapidly, your grip on your spoon so strong that your hand was numb. Yoongi was innocently slurping his soup, apparently ending a story about using the old table to hold everything when he was doing a deep clean of his living space.
“We had so many good memories over that table,” Namjoon said, blinking rapidly.
You could sense him grasping for more of those said memories, so you busied yourself by raising another mouthful of food to your lips. Yoongi hummed, his brows furrowing. You weren’t sure if it was because he was thinking too or that he gauged that he would have trouble swallowing the food. Then you caught yourself; it was likely to be the former for him. Yoongi paused, pressing his extended index finger over his lips, swallowing before opening his mouth.
“Yeah, it was really sturdy, I even built it myself but I guess it wasn’t able to withstand - ”
“How’s the new gig, Joon?” You asked, nudging his arm while tapping the inside of Yoongi’s ankle underneath the table.
In return, his gaze swept over you. Up, then down, even to the places where it was hidden beneath the varnished oak. He reclined slightly while you withdrew your leg, squeezing your thighs together. Namjoon took a moment to answer, cocking his head.
“It’s good. A bit slow but we’re expecting a good turn out, you should come, hyung,” he replied. You nodded, diverting Yoongi’s agenda of revealing why the old table had to ‘retire.’ Namjoon nudged the spare bowl of rice towards you.
“They’ve upgraded the venue so the backstage for performers isn’t just some tent anymore,” he said to you. But you couldn’t reply straight away since Yoongi’s leg crossed the narrow space, his knee coming in-between yours. Being so close to Namjoon, the side of your thigh touched his.
“Sorry!” You exclaimed, scooting back to the side. Namjoon shook his head, not minding as he was distracted by his food. You pressed your lips into a line, squeezing your knees over Yoongi’s till he winced.
“This is really good hyung,” Namjoon praised, finishing the last morsel of steak. Yoongi waved his hand, nonchalant.
“It’s medium cooked,” he informed, not letting up on your leg. Namjoon nodded, drenching his portion of rice with the soup.
“Taste’s really good.”
Yoongi cast a glance at you, “Mmhm.”
You didn’t know how he did it despite your sated limbs, but Yoongi managed to turn you over so that you were facing the wall, your hands flat on the table. You were still recovering from how he literally ate you out like you were his last meal, your pussy still throbbing as the delicious ache between your thighs. Heat enveloped your body and your dress was pushed so far up your waist that you reached down to slip it off of you. It falls unceremoniously, out of sight. You feel his hands skim your sides, causing goosebumps to erupt where they roamed. As you bent forward more, you wound your hands back, spreading your ass cheeks.
“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” he groaned, no longer hindered from seeing your body. You look over your shoulder and let him see your smile as he tore open a condom rolling it over his cock.
“You mean you love seeing me naked,” you replied, specifying his reply.
He gave a quick exhale, like half a scoff, an acknowledgement that you were right. Again, Yoongi was a man of few words and you contented yourself with his small grunts and hums as satisfactory replies to your usual, long-winded questions. Lifting your leg so it rested on the table, you faced the wall, your eyes fluttering close as you felt him run his cock along your soaked pussy, gathering the pool of wetness, spreading it all over you.
“Ah,” you moaned, your head almost lolling forward as he pushed his hips forward, his cock settling inside you, deep and snug. You hear him suck in a breath through his teeth, the soft hiss made you wiggle your hips as his fingers dug onto your waist.
“What? Think you won’t last?” You asked, arching your lower back, tightening your inner muscles. He leans forward, his forehead against your shoulder, his warm breath fanning the skin of your back.
“Hold still,” he groaned.
Then, a pause, where you thought you had enough time to reload on your smart comments but Yoongi had rammed himself as deep as he could go that you gasped, your back arching reflexively. He continues, repeating the motion as you lock your arms, your thigh thudding against the edge of the table, his hand imprinting itself on your raised thigh. You moan out, your head dipping down, one hand curling on the edge of the table, which shudders and sways, the other in front, holding steady as you take all of him. Each thrust has you spiralling, the pleasure eclipsing everything else, Yoongi’s grunts against your ear as you tighten around his cock, your skin chafing of the surface of the table.
“Shit,” he moaned, grinding his hips, lifting you slightly as you tremble. His hand wraps itself on your hair, pulling hard, bending your neck, arching your body more, angling your pussy to take him in deeper.
You arch even more dramatically, your orgasm descending over you once more as he fucks you harder, the table slapping against the wall in loud smacks, its flimsy structure suffering from the harsh movements. Your pussy spasms, the violent massage of your muscles constricted his cock, from the tip to the base, your juices, viscous and copious, floods, dripping down your thighs. Yoongi’s throaty groans echo against your skin, the heat and strength of him unfaltering that you began to shiver, clamping down on him till he came.
“Fuck, fuck!” He gasped and you feel his cock throb, spurting into the condom, filling it as he said your name in a shuddered moan. You shut your eyes, your limbs feeling heavy and spent as you rocked your hips back while his lips press on your clammy shoulder. You hear your heartbeat, strong and frantic in your ears and you feel his against your back.
Amidst your laboured breaths and satiated bodies, the table wobbles unsteadily, making you slam your hand against the wall, pushing Yoongi back till he slips out of you.
“What the fu-”
“I think your table’s about to -”
As if on cue, the legs slant, all collapsing onto one side, taking the wooden surface down with it. You brought your hand over to your mouth, trying to withhold your laughter and you glanced at him, checking his dazed expression.
“So, it gave out? Just like that?” Namjoon asked, helping Yoongi stack the dishes while you wiped down the spillages, spraying the cherry wood with cleanser in rapid spurts. When you turned around, you caught Yoongi shrug, catching your eye briefly.
“Yup.” he replied, crossing his arms and leaning on the counter. Namjoon nodded, sticking out his bottom lip.
“Wow. We had so many drinking nights over that table. It took a battering - remember that time Jungkook and Jimin danced on top of it?” Namjoon said, making you duck your head, rubbing a non-existent spot more vigorously.
“It was probably just a matter of time,” Yoongi said, with a hint of amusement in his voice.
You finished your efforts, perching on the side of the new table, appearing innocent as Namjoon seemed at ease with the loss of the old one. Yoongi laughed to himself, dragging his hand through his newly trimmed hair. He reached to the side to open the fridge, where there was a new pack of beer slotted on the shelves.
“How about we toast to its memories?”
part: i | ii | iii | iv.
123 notes · View notes
btsmosphere · 20 hours ago
Highway to You | MYG
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~summary: Yoongi never expected to see you again. Least of all with a gun in your hand, crashing an important deal in a whirlwind which proves how much has changed. ~pairing: yoongi x female reader ~word count: 5.8k ~angst, action, some fluff, mafia!au, gang!au, mafia!yoongi, innocent!reader turned rival gang member, childhood friends to lovers, not-really-enemies to lovers ~rating: pg15 ~warnings: violence, weapons, blood, injury, dangerous driving, police chase, gang activity, mentions of alcoholism, swearing
~a/n: a good ol’ mafia au! one of my fave things to write, in case no one had noticed, and I’m back with another! this one has been in my wips for so long, and in my head for even longer😅I hope I’ve pulled it off thanks to tumblr for nuking my header quality click for better quality!!
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Swirling neon from the main floor struggled to reach this part of the club. Lights glowing from the back of the VIP booths and the bar did nothing to brighten the darkened space, engulfed in the thrumming bass and smell of sweat like the rest of the place.
Despite being far from the hub, the crowd was fairly dense in here. At least there was space to walk around, unlike the packed dance floors in other parts of the building, but Yoongi was seated. A drink rested in his hand, though it was purely for show. He kept his head down, the lower part of his face covered by a hand, elbow resting on the table.
In this environment, he blended in well enough to attract no lingering glances, leaving him free to scan the crowd with sharp eyes.
This job should be easy, that he knew. But in his line of work, nothing was ever risk-free.
“Suga? Status,” a voice crackled in his ear. His cue to move.
Surreptitiously putting a hand to his earpiece, he stood, slipping from the leather seats of the booth.
Slowly sidling around the edge of the room, he reached the entrance just as three figures came in the opposite direction. All clad in suits, two in identical all-black flanked the central figure.
Yoongi nodded at the closest, Jin, on his way past.
Taking his new position as planned, he leaned against the wall. From here, he could see a little way into the crowd on the neighbouring dancefloor, as well as the full length of the bar.
Well-trained gaze roaming the mingling crowd, he found nothing out of the ordinary. He had been in clubs like this so many times he had lost count, but it was necessary. He had learned to spot the difference between a drunk partygoer taking a break at the bar and a saboteur staking out their deals. He could distinguish the sound of a gun’s safety among the clinking glasses and pounding music.
Sometimes, he had to admit he envied the people who were here for fun. Though he gave them more than enough disapproving looks as alcohol flooded their systems and had them stumbling like idiots, he remembered a time he had been as carefree. Almost.
The ghost of a smile snuck onto his mouth as he recalled the first time he had been to a club. You made him leave early, and he had wrapped you in his jacket while you bought hot chocolates instead, waiting for a taxi in a drizzly side street.
And like that, his lips sunk back to a straight line, the memory tinged with bittersweetness.
Clubbing had never been your scene. You were too innocent to find much fun in grinding against strangers’ bodies in a dark room, preferring to dance clumsily to the tinny radio in your small kitchen with him.
Chewing the inside of his cheek, he forced his mind back to the job at hand. He may never stop dreaming of you, but that was his punishment. His life had eventually become far too dangerous to be able to keep you in it with a steady conscience.
It was a hard choice, the hardest he had ever made, but had there really been a choice?
Shaking his head subtly, he got back to scanning the room. Nothing seemed to have changed.
He had hoped things would be progressing a little faster, but a glance at the booth showed Namjoon and Jin still talking to the guy. Of course, he was a seller that usually dealt with their rivals, the spectres, across town, so there was a healthy dose of risk in pursuing this deal.
Cocking his head to stretch out his neck, he caught a glimpse of Jungkook, standing sentinel just as he was, at the other end of the room.
Looking back, he was just in time to come face-to-face with a partygoer. Their hair fell slightly over their face as they tripped around a group of girls to squeeze between them and the entrance to the bar – except, that was right where Yoongi stood.
Hurriedly stepping back to avoid a collision, his face had already scrunched into a frown. Death glare etched into his features with annoyance, he quickly glanced behind him to his members; it was always possible something like this was a distraction.
But the moment a garbled apology reached his ears, he was whipping his head back to look at the person that had nearly caused a collision.
The partygoer – who had caught themselves in shock and was now a step away from him – was you.
His eyes grew large as he stared, taking you in. At the same moment, realisation had hit you too, halting any words that had been coming from your mouth, leaving you somewhat agape.
Yoongi barely dared blink. A wine-red dress clung to your figure, drink perched in your fingers. You looked uncharacteristically comfortable in this sweltering, deafening club, and yet… it was still you. Unmistakably.
Your hair was the same length you had always cut it, the same smokey liner he had watched you practise in front of a mirror framing your eyes. Eyes he never thought he would see again, though undoubtedly ones he could never forget.
“Y/N?” he breathed, taking a step closer, hand raised as if you might vanish like smoke in front of him.
Mouth opening and closing around what words to say next, he chased your gaze which had strayed behind him, a slight furrow creasing your brow.
As his breath returned to him slowly, so did his sense. Mind flying to the dangerous men packed into this room, he swallowed hard, already stepping to shield you from the bar. As fast as his heart was going, he had to keep his head on his shoulders, warn you that it wasn’t safe-
“You shouldn’t be here.”
You had taken the words out of his mouth, leaving him once again struggling for a response. Frowning, he looked towards you. Still facing him, your expression was guarded.
Sucking a breath through his teeth, he snuck another look behind him.
He supposed he deserved this treatment from you, should have expected that should you ever meet again, you would want nothing to do with him. But for now, that was of low concern, knowing you were in the path of danger.
How could he explain this one?
Running his hand over the back of his head, he met your eyes.
“Fuck, Y/N… I- I don’t know what to-“
“I mean it,” you cut him off, “you shouldn’t be here.”
He couldn’t help but take a small step back, frown deepening. Never had he been faced with hostility from you, and it stung despite the years separating your past selves from this instant.
But in front of him, your eyes were darting again to the rest of the bar, one of your heels tapping. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, itching to move.
“What do you mean-“ Yoongi started, noticing your jitteriness, “is everything okay…?”
Turning, he followed your stare, trying to locate the source of your apparent distress. Over at the table, they were still in discussion, though a case now sat on the tabletop; Jungkook was still in place, though Yoongi couldn’t catch his eye-
“Get down!”
Before your shout had even registered in his ears, your weight was thrown against him, bodies colliding into the couch of the nearest booth. The side of his face was pressed into the leather, darkness obscuring his vision as gunshots suddenly split through the vibrant atmosphere.
He barely had time to scramble upright before screams and shouts were assaulting his ears, frantic clubgoers whirling through his vision in their desperation to get out.
Already, his hands were on his gun, readying it though he was blind to the source of the disturbance. Crackling voices were muffled, his earpiece having been dislodged when you had pushed him to the side.
Another spattering of shots ripped through the pandemonium, sending him ducking back into the booth, breaths falling heavy and fast. What was happening?
At his side, you barely looked shaken, face blank and eyes darting through the crowd. You were sitting on the smart couch, though now you were sliding away, approaching the edge of the booth.
What were you thinking, heading towards the danger?
Before he could reach out to you, you were gone. His hand hung in mid-air for a split second, then dropped to the couch limply.
But as you had slipped into the carnage, he had caught sight of a similar weapon to his in your own hands, clutched tight at your side.
All words died in his throat as he stared at the space you had just left. He was only snapped from his perplexed stupor by yet more loud shots ringing, except this time, they were returned.
Though the crowd had escaped by now, he was still unaware of the source of the firing, so he had little choice but to duck again. As he sat, back pressed against expensive leather, his mind was running in circles at rapid speed.
Shots continued blaring as he fumbled for his fallen earpiece, hastily shoving it into place. It hissed harshly with static, but soon a grainy voice broke through – Namjoon. So he was alive.
While a rush of temporary relief washed over Yoongi, Namjoon was calling out, cursing under his breath as another shot cut through the bar.
“Suga? Kook? Do you have eyes on-“
“One of them – argh! – one’s here,” Jungkook’s breathless voice crackled through, then cut off sharply a second later.
Pulling himself together, Yoongi heaved his legs under him and crawled, inching towards the edge of the booth to get a look for himself. Kook sounded like he had really been having trouble. What in hell was going on?
Of course, his mind had never moved far from you, and what you could possibly be doing here of all places…
Reaching the corner of the booth, he held his breath, waiting for a pause in the sporadic gunfire. The moment it came, he leaned out a fraction, still pressing himself against the couch as he searched the space.
Darkness dominated, some of the bar lights having died, another left flickering its blood-red hue across the wreckage. But Yoongi barely caught a glimpse beyond the scattered smithereens of glass and barstools strewn about the floor. It seemed he blinked, and you were in front of him again.
Another shot had him flinching and you throwing yourself into the shelter of the booth. He had no chance to move, leaving you pressed up against him in startling proximity.
This close, he could feel the way you were panting, hair dishevelled and loose strands puffing away from your lips where you expelled air in bursts. And clutched under one arm was a plain black briefcase.
Right before you turned away, a dark reddish smudge caught his eye, but you were moving before he could get a proper look.
The frown forming on his face had no time to take root before your hand was groping for his, tugging him behind you as you raised your gun, pulling him out of the booth with you. You were moving quickly, leaving him no room for hesitation.
Hand travelling protectively to your waist on instinct, he faced the room as the two of you rapidly backed towards the exit.
The moment a shot came your way, you were firing back into the darkness, and Yoongi was right beside you. Knowing his team were there, however, he aimed above the bar, a glass exploding and sending pieces clattering across the floor.
A shape moved behind the bar in response. Whether it was Jungkook or an enemy, Yoongi didn’t know.
Taking the opportunity of cover, he felt you yank his hand. Finally, the two of you spilled around the entrance to the bar, and instantly you were sprinting, still gripping his hand tightly as your feet pounded through the now empty dance floor.
Music still blared in your ears, abandoned in the panic of the few minutes prior.
There were already footsteps behind you. Skidding around the corner, you narrowly avoided a pursuing scatter of gunfire.
Yoongi readied his own gun, focussing on the narrow corridor you had now entered. It was almost completely dark, claustrophobic as you raced through it, arms jostling against one another in the smaller space.
Rounding yet another bend, you were met with a set of stairs. Glancing around, Yoongi noticed with dread the blue flashing light falling through a single, high-set window. It was getting brighter. You had to get out of here, and soon.
A shot rang through his ears, making him flinch, but as he whirled around he realised it was you that had fired; lowering your weapon, you turned back to him to the sound of a body falling in the corridor you had just escaped.
His jaw dropped in disbelief, but already your arm was linking with his, tugging you both onwards as your feet rushed over the stairs.
Yoongi had no idea whether the fallen person was someone he knew. The crackle in his ears from the device there reminded him he should be checking. At the very least, he should be trying to stop you; the case swinging from your closed hand was tonight’s bounty.
But still he kept running, hurtling around the corner with your hand gripped tightly in his.
By now, you were on the lower floor, where the music had been stopped. From outside, the panicked bustle of a crowd and the rising wail of sirens bled through the walls.
Club lights spun across the now deserted space, illuminating your faces in various hues of reds and purples.
Yoongi looked towards the front with trepidation. Your escape route was fraught with too many obstacles for getting away to be a possibility.
But you were already moving, hurrying away from the exposure of the front door.
Racing through tables dotted around the back portion, your breaths were falling faster. When you kicked a table over, yanking Yoongi with you to duck behind it before your pursuers entered the other side of the room, heavy breathing was the only sound mingling between you two.
Then you looked at him.
Lips parted, you tried to regain your breathing as you stared at him with wide eyes. You had never meant to drag him into this, but now your eyes located the weapon resting in his own hand, prompting your brows to sink into a frown similar to his.
Tearing your eyes away, you dropped your gaze to your lap.
“I’m sorry-” you muttered.
It wasn’t loud enough to disturb the tense quiet as the men stepped through the entrance to this floor. But for now, you were out of sight.
As the words left your lips, much more wobbly than you had intended, you were robbed of sound by a soft touch at your temple.
Yoongi had reached out to you, not meeting your eyes. Instead, his gaze was trained beside them, where his fingers made gentle contact with your skin-
Except, they came away red.
He was staring at you with such alarm, taking in the blood that dripped nearly to your jaw from a gash in your forehead.
The words had barely left his lips, shocked by the sudden protective urge, strong as ever towards you, before the briefcase was forced into his arms, nearly winding him. Having pushed him away, you turned, crouching to survey the space you found yourselves in.
Head turning back and forth, he couldn’t look away from you for too long. You were injured, for goodness’ sake! He remembered cleaning you up after lesser scrapes than this, heart squeezing heavily at the thought of hurt coming to you…
But it was also impossible for him to ignore the shuffling sounds beyond his makeshift hideout. The people on the other side were trying to be subtle, spreading out, but he knew you didn’t have long before they would be on you again.
“Yoongi,” you hissed.
Finding you quickly, he looked the short distance away through the darkness.
Holding open a heavy black door labelled Staff, you were poised expectantly, gesturing with an outstretched hand.
Craning his neck, he looked beyond it. A vague glimmer of light could be made out from a streetlight outside a small window.
No more room for hesitation, he launched himself towards the opening, catching your hand.
At the same moment, a shout went up behind him.
The second he had crossed the threshold, you were slamming the door shut. Feet pounded closer as you rushed to the window, Yoongi on your heels.
Despite the adrenaline coursing through him since this situation had been sprung on him, he couldn’t help but marvel, standing stunned as you deftly leapt to the window, slipping outside.
A bang on the door made him flinch, head snapping towards it. It rattled slightly, but didn’t budge.
Inching closer to the wall, he hurried to pass the case up to you as soon as you reached for it, clambering through himself once you dropped down out of sight. The furious racket behind him only grew louder as he hooked his knee onto the sill, heaving himself up.
Finally, a crash echoed through the corridor as he dropped away, out of sight.
Bullets rained instantly through the small space behind the staff door, but on the other side of the wall, you were already racing away hand in hand.
Slipping between the shadows out the back of the club, sirens filled the air, wailing piercingly in your ears. However, only the odd flickering streetlight lit the beaten up and deserted backstreet that led to a small parking lot.
The commotion from inside faded as the distance grew, but as you lost yourself in the night, more slamming doors and shouting were filling the club. Police.
The gunshots had stopped, only your heavy panting mingling in the air as you raced to the nearest shelter, pressing against a low wall.
Yoongi’s shoulders rose and fell, staring straight ahead into the empty air.
Expelling a sharp breath, he was met with silence. In his book, silence always spelled trouble. Silence was what came before the storm, what reigned in the moment before the enemy struck.
But… who was the enemy?
He had just been running from his own brothers, all because a face from his past had popped up where he least expected it and made him abandon all his training on a whim. What had just happened?
Still reeling, he didn’t notice you moving away from your position.
The first thing to force him from his thoughts was the harsh crack of a bullet through the night.
Jolting, he sat up. Instantly, he pressed harder against the low wall, raising his head slightly to find slight movement in a window above. As he readied his gun, your shout prompted him to duck just as you returned fire.
You soon darted behind a vehicle, a smattering more shots scratching its paintwork a second after.
Though silence fell once more, Yoongi gulped. Whoever was in the window had spotted them and was simply waiting for one of you to make a move.
“Yoongi,” you hissed, poking your eyes around the car, “buy me some time?”
Dumbly looking between you and the club you had left behind, he took a breath. His gun was steady in his hand.
He met your eyes, a single nod confirming your trust.
Just in time.
The back door to the club burst, the smashing of the lock immediately drowned out by shots raining into the back yard.
Still crouched, Yoongi was unable to spare a glance your way as he inched around the corner, firing right back. Countless times he had been in situations like this. But today, his eyes incessantly followed his enemies, firing at their feet, by their heads, not shooting to kill.
Time. That was all you needed.
A familiar suit moved through the doorway then. A flash of tattooed flesh gripping a pistol.
So Jungkook was alive.
Yoongi had no time to wallow in his relief when the next moment, the boy was rushing forwards, the open door revealing a figure clad in a bullet-vest. A bright strip across their chest spelt Police, and they pursued him, trying to break through the door he slammed behind him.
With your pursuers’ attention diverted, Yoongi took the chance to run to you. Doubled over, he dashed across the small space, throwing himself into the space behind the vehicle.
Loud footsteps filled the space, shouts from officers and gunfire in answer to them.
But shielded here, you were leaning through the open door of a car, busy working in the footwell. Yoongi didn’t have to ask what you were doing, but still his vision narrowed, unable to reconcile the sight of you with gunfire and stolen cars.
Footfalls growing louder snapped him to attention, a hidden figure backing into the other side of the car, too close for comfort. Yoongi held his breath.
But that wasn’t the only one. Your opponents had gained a hunter of their own, and another drew closer, away from the police who were still battling to get to the criminals.
“Get in!”
Your hands fisted in the shoulders of his jacket, and he complied with your urgent motions, piling into the car and launching himself across to the passenger side as your hands urged at his back. Landing in the seat, he suddenly found himself eye to eye with the person on the other side.
He didn’t recognise them, one of the businessman’s people, most likely.
But they knew him. Or at least, they knew the case clutched in his arms.
A slam of your door and the rapid crescendo of the engine sparked to life as their fist raised over their head-
Yoongi ducked without thought, an impact shuddering the window where his head had been. At the same moment, your foot met the ground, a burst of speed slamming him into the back of his seat.
Your hands grappled on the wheel, bringing the car screeching around in a loop, clipping the back of another in the enclosed space.
The engine’s thunder announced your location, every eye in the courtyard turning towards you. Roaring louder now, the engine responded to your determination, sending you hurtling into the alleyway, chased by shots.
Knuckles white as they clutched the briefcase, Yoongi flinched as the window smashed on your side, chunks of glass raining down the door. But you kept your eyes ahead, unblinking as the car shot into the main street.
With the advantage of surprise, you were already off down the road before the chorus of sirens switched on behind you.
Twisting to look behind, Yoongi was met with several sets of dazzling blue lights. With a sharp exhale, he pressed himself back into the seat, swallowing harshly.
But you were stopping for no one.
Deftly turning the wheel, you brought the car careering through the traffic, weaving through gaps as they emerged.
Gaping, Yoongi slowly turned his head to watch you. Mouth set, your eyes never left the road, calculated despite the blood staining the side of your face. Even when it was right in front of him, the sight of you with blood dripping over your lashes and an engine clamouring under your feet was something he couldn’t fathom.
One thought seemed to circle his mind. What had happened since he had been away?
He clutched tighter to the briefcase wrapped in his arms and forced himself to look out of the window. The lights of other cars shot past in the darkness, streetlights and signs whizzing past. He remembered when he had first learned to drive, taking you out for dinner in a fast food parking lot while you giggled about how strange it felt.
Never did he mention where the money had come from.
And the times he had taken you out when your brother had drunk too much, or his flatmates got too loud. You would always shriek in exhilarated fear when he drove too fast.
The same smile you always summoned to his face almost made itself known again.
But then you were swerving once more, tyres clawing at the road to get purchase as you shot away down another turning. Yoongi fixed his eyes ahead.
This road was smaller, streetlights sparse but thankfully no sign of red or blue chased you along it.
Relaxing your grip on the wheel, you stole a glance at your companion, who pretended not to notice. Going at a slower speed, you blended in better with the silence the further you wound away from the city.
By the time the car glid along the docks, Yoongi’s heart had settled itself. After all this time, it shouldn’t have felt so natural to let quiet surround the pair of you, but somehow the stillness never felt heavy. It was like rediscovering a comforting smell, from somewhere in your childhood.
He stayed comfortably slumped against the seat, even after the engine cut out.
Equally, you did not move yet. For the first time in all the running and shooting, you allowed him to look at you. Stopped, returning his gaze with only slight trepidation.
If it wasn’t for the blood, you would only have looked as ruffled as a usual partygoer after a night out.
When he reached out, exhaling softly into the empty air, your gaze flitted down. But though you bit your lip, you couldn’t help but sigh at the familiarity of his fingertips, even after so long.
Cursing under his breath, he tugged at his tie until he could ball up the material to scrub at your head. One particularly jerky swipe had you flinching fractionally, but he pressed it softer the next time. Experienced at reading you, he noted the slight incline of your shoulders when the sticky blood had released your eye.
You finally looked up again when he pulled back, eyeing your temple with grim satisfaction.
Before you could think of all the times he had patched you up with a similar expression, or all the times you had done the same in return, a particularly noisy engine ripped across the bridge you had stopped under.
“We shouldn’t stay too long,” you breathed, and opened your door.
Climbing from his side, Yoongi felt rather clueless still holding the briefcase. As you reached him and led him away towards the deepest shadows beneath this bridge, your eyes lingered on it.
Your footsteps echoed hollowly from the bridge and the stone riverbank. Encompassed entirely in shadow, you stopped. Yoongi followed suit and set down the briefcase, watching your shoulders slump and your head hang. You did not turn around.
“It’s… been a while.”
Yoongi’s attempt at a conversation starter wasn’t entirely unsuccessful. The understatement echoed blandly, soon overtaken by startled laughter that shook your shoulders.
“You could say that.”
You turned slightly, still not facing him directly. A half-smile curved the corner of your lip he could see.
Then it fell.
“This is what you- this is why you left?”
There was no need for you to clarify what you meant. The briefcase, heavy in his arms, and the gun stowed in his blazer were answer enough.
A low and purposeless cough stalled his answer. Looking to the ground, his tongue pressed briefly to wet his lips.
“I didn’t see a choice,” he eventually spoke, “and I’m sorry. I know… you know I never would have-“
“It’s okay, Yoongi.”
You spoke with a nod and startling certainty. His breath caught.
“No. No, it wasn’t.”
“You’re in a gang. Already were. It was leave or put me in danger, I presume?”
Casting his eyes around helplessly, he nodded nonetheless.
“But something happened anyway. What happened?” he pressed.
“I’m sure you know how they- how they get you,” you sighed. A long pause followed, where you looked right at him, uncertain. “But please, Yoongi, it wasn’t your fault-“
His gaze darkened.
“What happened?”
Your breath in was shaky. He was unprepared for the way it launched him back in time. The confident, alert version of you that had crashed into him today was replaced by your younger self, sitting in your kitchen trying to explain a black eye to him.
Eventually, you started to explain.
“We were in debt. I was- they caught me stealing, although that time it was for Ethel next door-“ a choked laugh crossed your lips “-but that was it. I should have known. ‘Just do this one thing’ they told me. And that’s what they told me the next time too, and, well…”
A humourless laugh filled the space as Yoongi ran through your words again. When he was first involved with bangtan, beginning to be known to their enemies, he knew it was no longer safe to be with you, lest they get their eye on you. He had been so preoccupied with this, he had never considered that he wouldn’t be there to protect you the way he had always been before.
You were only teenagers, but you had been his closest friend, and he would have been damned if he had to see you to steal, or stand up alone to your brother’s friends. You were practically glued to each others’ sides.
Not knowing how to voice everything at once, he stepped across the gap between you.
First setting his eyes on the dark gash at your forehead, his gaze slipped lower.
“I never wanted you to get hurt.”
A twitch of your eyebrow betrayed a frown.
“This is nothing.”
Yoongi had thought his heart couldn’t crack any more.
“What do you-“ he angrily started, but you held a hand up.
“It doesn’t matter. I never wanted you hurt either,” you spoke earnestly, looking right at him, “I missed you so much, Yoongi. But you could never shield me from everything. Even if I didn’t see all that you were doing, I was the one sitting with you and the first aid box at the end of the night.”
He could barely breathe from the weight of the memories. It was astounding how quickly the same feeling could flood back, the way his heart always swelled around you.
And you were right. He may have tried to fight your battles, but you were his protector too, back then. Why had he ever given that up?
Swallowing thickly, he turned back to the other matter on his mind.
“What did they do to you?”
He had to know. Especially when his words prompted you to drop his gaze, eyes clouding. Lowering himself a little to capture your eyes again, he brought a hand to your arm.
“Y/N. Tell me.”
A watery smile made its way to your lips, to his surprise.
“You haven’t changed,” you spoke fondly. When he still waited, you resigned yourself, and began to speak.
“It’s not the spectres you need to look out for most of the time. There isn’t much to fear from them, so long as I do what they ask. Because if I don’t, they won’t come back for me. Surely you must know how it works, too?” you smiled grimly then.
But his brows only knotted together further. He knew bangtan had always been set against the spectres, but now he had another reason to despise them. He could imagine how anyone would learn to fend for themselves if they were going to be left for dead otherwise. And you thought that was normal?
Slowly, he shook his head.
“Bangtan are like my brothers,” he explained, “they would never leave me behind.”
You didn’t know whether to smile, as relief welled in you, or frown, confusion flickering over your face too.
Unable to fill the silence, Yoongi gave in to his primary urge instead. Surging forwards, he wrapped you in his arms, holding your head tightly to him, uncaring whether he was getting blood all over him. Straight away, you were returning the loaded embrace.
Tilting his head, Yoongi pressed his lips against the uninjured side of your head. His arms shook slightly as they held you, simultaneously unable to pull you as close as he wanted nor to hold you with the care he felt you warranted.
You had always been so precious to him, and time had changed nothing.
“Come with me.”
His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He felt your hands fisting tightly in the material at his back.
“This isn’t right,” he struggled on. He pulled back, though only a breath away, and brought his hands to cup your face, “you shouldn’t have to do this just to survive, fuck. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Come with me.”
Melting under the affection you had so nearly forgotten, you leaned into his touch.
But before you could accept, your eyes flickered away. Following them, Yoongi made out the briefcase, obscured as it was in this otherwise deserted darkness. You shook your head, still sandwiched by his hands.
“I’m meant to bring this back. Or…”
“They won’t hurt you again.”
“But bangtan – they’ll be mad too. We- we’re on different sides. I worked against them.”
“No. They’ll understand, I promise. Screw all this, screw the case. You are more important.”
For a moment, you were still. He watched your face carefully until you pulled back imperceptibly.
Lowering his hands at your movement, he watched you step over to it and pick up the case. His shoulders slumped. You returned, and walked past him.
He had no right to follow you if you were leaving. Had he not done this after all? Broken the very thing he was now begging to fix?
Still, he turned. Heart heavy, he looked on as you made your way closer to the car.
But you never got that far. You were straying to the water’s edge instead.
Yoongi tilted his head in curiosity as you unclipped the prim fastenings of the case. You lifted it up, and-
Shaking it over the water, the contents spilled out, a torrent of paper spiralling away below the riverbank, where it grew sodden. More and more joined them, disintegrating in the choppy surface to be snatched away by the current.
A smile had breathed life into his face when he reached your side.
The most natural thing in the world, his hand slipped into yours. Your familiar form tucked in close to him as you lowered the now empty briefcase, watching the notes, once so important but now so trivial, drift away.
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Thank you for reading!! Please let me know what you thought!
I know the ending isn’t so final, but it felt right for me. hOwever, I have fallen in love with this couple and I would definitely like to write more drabbles/prequels/continuations in future, so stay tuned as there may well be more! for now, this is it, but do let me know if you want to be tagged if I write more for this universe💜💜
Taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ @un2-verse​ @yoobikook​ @ddaechwita​ @taegularities​ @illnevertrustmyselfagain​ 
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fantaesize · 2 days ago
Period [MYG]
Pairing(s): Yoongi X Fem!Reader
Word count: 0.8k+
Genre: Slight angst, Fluff
Warning(s): SLIGHT mentions of mature scenes
Summary: Yoongi is horny and you're on your period. Will the blood flow or will it boil?
A/N: this is a part of my 50 Shades of Bangtan masterlist but you can read this part singly if you dont follow that masterlist since the parts are unrelated. i hope you enjoy loves!!💞
"Yoongi, please, get away from me right now," you said loudly in irritation as you dismantled yourself from your boyfriend's arms before getting up from the couch and walking to the kitchen. You started your period today and you were certainly not on your best.
Generally, you wouldn't mind just lazing time off in your boyfriend's embrace when you start your period. Hell, you would love to snuggle your boyfriend for comfort as he plays with your hair, and occasionally sniffs them which gives you tickles. So what was the problem today when he was wrapping you in his arms?
That it wasn't supposed to be cute.
When Yoongi held you in his arms on the couch, it came with him pressing soft kisses to the curve of your neck, as one of his hands caressed your thigh and the other slowly proceeded its way underneath your (his) shirt to your waist. But boy, he was in big, big trouble for not knowing better if he weren't your boyfriend of 3 years. And the way he whispered those filthy things into your ear was something that would have your mind filled with clouds of lust and desire for him within no time, but given your belly ache, with cramps in your thighs, it was valid on your part to be annoyed for him asking for sex while you're certainly not in a position to do so.
So when you stood in your kitchen for a little longer than usual and Yoongi hear the sound of foil, as if you were taking a medicine, he quickly got up and raced to the kitchen. Still a few centimeters away from you as he saw you chugging a whole glass of water after putting the tablet in your mouth.
"Babe are you okay? Did you start your period today?" Yoongi asked in his low voice, as one of his palms reached out to your lower back. You only nodded in response with eyes closed, feeling a little guilty at how you were a little too rude to your boyfriend. And before you could realize, he was pulling you into a warm hug as his arms loosely hung around your neck and yours instinctively travelled to his back. His fingers soothed the roots of your scalp as he kissed your head a couple of times, before pulling away and pressing another one on your forehead. "Sorry for not knowing better, Y/N," he said as he looked deep into your eyes.
"It's okay," you forgive him with a weak smile given to your boyfriend. He kissed you one more time on your temple before pulling away from the embrace entirely, only to pick you up, bride style, as he walked to your shared bedroom and put you in bed so carefully as if you were as delicate as a porcelain vase. But only someone whom he loves much, much more than the most expensive porcelain vase.
"Stay here, I'll be back within a few minutes," Yoongi told you before he disappeared into the hallway outside your bedroom again. With Yoongi, you had grown used to be shown a ton of affection. He might seem shy, and yes, he was, in front of others. He has never been into PDA. So him teasing you on the hideous (cute) shirt you wear that you bought on Halloween with him is expected. Only that when you would be in private, he would tell you over and over again how good you look in said shirt and how he couldn't peel his eyes off you.
Within three minutes, your boyfriend returned to your room with a bunch of things (the efficiency). He held a wooden basket which contained a big jar of Nutella, spoons, a hot water bag, some actual water to drink, and some hot milk in a flask with the hot cocoa powder container, in case you want that to warm you up.
You were overwhelmed by his small gesture. The Min Yoongi definitely knew how to make it right. "Yoongi... I-", you trailed off, before being cut off by his words.
"I love you too, babe" he announced with that adorable gummy smile of his that you fell for 3 years ago. He was so confident that that was exactly what you were gonna say.
"Well I was saying I did not want you to do all this, but now that you say it, I do love you, Min Yoongi. Thank you." The full name didn't smell like trouble this time.
He soon crawled in bed, next to you, wrapping both of you up in the cozy blankets as he put on some bad TV to keep some background sound and he turned the lights dim. He held you close to him with his hands around your waist as yours draped around his middle and your face buried in his chest, you already feeling a lot better as the pain drifted away because of his cuddles, and well, him, of course.
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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 days ago
heartbeat, m | myg
pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of jungkook x reader
This series is the personification of Yoongi and Jungkook as my muses. It describes my mental state at the time it was written. I don't post these until I've worked through whatever it was that was bothering me. You don't have to read it if you're not interested.
I, the author, sometimes suffer from a mania-esque episode where I write a lot in a short period of time (ex: 30k words in 3 days) and complete something I am incredibly proud of. For several days, I'm at an emotional high. Then I crash and suffer from an emotional low. Then I write about it (which may or may not be helpful).
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; fluff / comfort, then PWP; smut (fem reader, choking, fingering, pussy slapping, doggy, nipple play); softdom!Yoongi
“You need to stop.”
His hand on yours, stilling it.
“What are you talking about, I’m in the middle of–”
“I know what you’re in the middle of, but if you don’t stop, your body will give out on you.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
You breathed out slowly.
“The last time you slept?”
You looked to your right and, there he was, black-haired, dark-eyed, fair-skinned. Your shadow. His hand covered yours, long fingers fanned out, your silver rings peeking out underneath. His fingers slipped between yours, lacing your fingers together, surprisingly similar in length. The major difference was that his palm was larger than yours.
“I’m fine. It’s for me.”
Min Yoongi watched you carefully, expression unreadable.
“Even things you do for yourself can hurt you,” he murmured quietly, caressing your palm with his fingertips. He tugged on your hand, pulling you away from the desk, the keyboard, the mania. The side of his pink lips quirked upward.
“That’s why you’re involved with Jungkook.”
Irritation, anger, defiance – then silence. You breathed out again, slowly. He nudged your chair, pushing it up against the desk, leaning down, lips ghosting yours. Heat. Blackberry – you – and woods – him, mixing together, claiming your lips with a hiss, mine, knocking the chair into the desk with a fierce clatter. He forced his knee between yours, opening your legs, pushing it up, pressing into your core, and you pulled back, breaking the kiss, heart racing, sparks all over.
“Why are you–?”
His left hand closed around your throat and you cut yourself off, sudden pressure on the sides of your neck, furrowing your brows. Yoongi looked down at you, knee unmoving against your clothed pussy, raising an eyebrow.
“Why am I what?” he asked, voice soft and low, but with dangerous depth. Dark brown eyes darker, shadowed by black strands over his brows and eyes. “Go on. I know you can speak.”
You could. He was only thinning your circulation, not cutting it off. There was no lightheadedness yet, just pressure. It would take a lot more than this to silence you.
“Why are you acting like this?” you finished, tone neutral and even, undeterred by the choking. His grip tightened. You felt the blossoming rush, the prickling of arousal, not at his power, but at your own resistance to it. “It’s not like you to be jealous.”
He ticked his head.
“Am I jealous?”
Lowered his elbow and his head, becoming eye level with you.
“Or is this just want you need from me right now?” Yoongi purred, clenching tighter, lips curving into a smirk at your sharp inhale and the roll of your hips into his knee. You made it a point to breathe calmly, smooth, extended breath that wafted over his bare wrist, the large white t-shirt hiding most of his form, but it didn’t matter, because you already knew what was underneath it. He closed the distance, lips to your ear, lightheadedness kicking in, your blood fighting it, that center muscle pumping harder, pulse accelerating, his deep, seductive voice replacing the oxygen loss to your brain.
“Remember, I take to heart all the things you like.”
The hand holding yours released, sliding his palm up your bare midriff, tracing the cups of your bra.
“I only do the things you want. Nothing more and nothing less.”
Finally, your head tipping back, eyes closing, savoring the feeling of nothingness and isolating that touch, his fingers slipping down, knee moving to push your thighs open, lessening the pressure on your neck a little but maintaining a firm hold. Shifting weight. Then his cool fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts, crawling to the waiting heat.
Your name, hot and heavy, drifting into your ear from that familiar voice.
“Tell me at any time if you want me to stop.”
Flexing his fingers on your skin, hinting at his power.
“But I know you well,” Yoongi whispered. “And you won’t.”
Sudden loss of blood and unbearable pressure on concentrated nerves tearing a gasp from your lips, flaring pleasure eating you up from the inside, forcing you to open your eyes and seeing his, devious and amused, rubbing your clit with two fingers and cutting off the blood to your head, emptying out that space, leaving you with your own roaring heartbeat stuttering in your ribcage, hitting the peak sooner than expected, pushing all the air out of your lungs, ecstasy overwhelming, moans vibrating in your throat, blood suddenly rushing back and then gone again.
“Make a mess,” Yoongi growled. “Make a mess for me.”
Sticky, thick juices clinging to your inner thighs, your eyes rolling back as he worked you to that point again, forceful and intense, bloodless and airless, swarmed with pleasure and animalistic desire, pushing you between having it all and taking it all away, Yoongi, oh, fuck, Yoongi, your sweet-smelling cum soaking your panties and shorts and making him growl at the scent of lust.
“That’s it, lose yourself in it. Let me take over this body.”
You let him exercise his power, knees shaking, unable to close because his was holding them open, clutching your chair and your heels on the wheels to lock it in place, back arching, the crown of your head pressed into the back of your chair.
“P-Please… need your fingers, oh, f-fuck…”
He chuckled darkly and you tipped over the edge again, sore clit throbbing, shivering with sensitivity, scalp tingling, straining for breath and blood, his hand releasing you.
“No, not my fingers. I want to fill you with something else.”
Dragged from your chair, panting for breath, clawing your clothes off, too hot, too fucking hot, shorts, panties, bra, t-shirt, shorts, boxer briefs. The tear of the condom wrapper cutting through your erratic breathing, and then you were pushed to your knees, clutching fistfuls of sheets, whining as the head teased your soaked opening, smacking against your inflamed clit.
“Fuck, please,” you hissed, gritting your teeth.
“Take it.”
A command, and so you did, clenching your jaw and your core as he switched from his cock to his hand, smacking your abused clit over and over, stings of pain turning into pleasure, the residual strain of being choked creating a radiating throb that added to it all. Eyelids fluttering, whimpers turning into moans, close now.
“Y… Yoongi…”
A pause.
And then he shoved his stiff length into you, hissing at the tightness, you gasping at the sudden fullness, shoulders dropping, hungry moan torn from your throat as he stretched your walls, bottoming out quickly with his force and speed. His balls smacked your clit and you whimpered, cutting it short as his hands affixed to your breasts, pinching your nipples.
“Move,” he ordered.
You trapped your lower lip between your teeth and smacked your hips back, sucking in a tight breath as your nipples were tugged at by your own body movement, and he hummed in approval, again, and again, trying to stifle your moans but you were losing control, the toying of your nipples, the feeling of his hard, unmoving cock, and the need to have it taking over, fucking him back at a steady, hard pace, relishing in the wet smack and the shooting electricity of erotic pain, and then his hands let go, grabbing your hips and thrusting back, amplifying each stroke, deeper, harder, your nails digging into the sheets, louder, more gratifying, more visceral.
“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck!”
Thundering pulse in your ears and core, falling over the edge over and over, his balls smacking your clit and your walls clamping down on his rock-hard girth, taking it, wanting it, needing it, fruitlessly trying to satisfy a craving that was insatiable, untamable, unattainable, the craving being him, Min Yoongi, and all the things he did to you, unsure if he was pulling you deeper or dragging you upwards, but it didn’t matter because it felt too good, too good to feel his thighs collide with yours, too good to feel his cock twitch inside you, indicating he was close, too good to moan his name and hear yours back in lust and amusement.
“Chase it, chase the pleasure, and give it all to me.”
You tried to push it down, tried not to let the sensations overtake you, but you were drowning, drowning in the fire of Min Yoongi and his touch, his voice, his power, blood pumping hot in your veins, the feeling coiling tighter and tighter in your chest and in your lower belly, struggling for air.
The world seemed to still, held breath, tightened coil, rhythmic slapping of your bodies dulling, that raspy, husky purr reaching your ears.
Your name.
“I love you.”
Bloodless and airless.
And then everything crashing down, torn wail from your throat, viciously slamming back into his crotch and muscles contracting around his entire length, hearing him groan, his nails digging into your hips as his cock jerked and spurted into the condom from the violent massage of your walls around him from head to base.
Waves and flames of pleasure licking your skin all over, shivering and tingling from the intensity, locking your arms to prevent yourself from falling.
Eyes closing, breathing out his name.
Slipping down, slipping out, giving in to the graceful descent from the high as the aftershocks shimmered through your veins, Yoongi’s arms surrounding you, supporting your body upright, his lips on your shoulders. Your pulse was thundering in your ears and your pussy, powerful and intense.
“I only do the things you want,” he murmured into your skin, his exhales hot and heavy.
You sucked in a shuddering inhale.
Blackberry and woods, you and him.
His smirk on your skin, paired with a dark chuckle.
“Even if that means I’m dragging you to the bed.”
head and heart au, aka JK and Yoongi as my muses heartspace | headspace | head+heart | heart+head(ache) heartbeat | headless
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kimnjss · 3 months ago
cyberslut | myg sm au
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banner by: @dee-ehn
🖇 synopsis:
— he has no idea who you are... up front, you’re sweet and innocent - but in reality you’re the exact opposite. running your own nsfw account, where your favorite topic is his hands.
[ cyberslut: a person who will act openly sexual on the internet, yet in real life will act prudent and contained. ]
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pairing: jock(fuckboi)!yoongi x nerdy(virgin)!reader
fic type: social media au
side ships: (platonic...) vmin.
genre: smut!! college au, secret identity, tutoring au, slight themes of infidelity...
warnings: yoongi and his friends are dicks :/ - yn is way too horny all of the time... there’s a lot of sexting... no full nudity.
*BYR: yn knows yoongi is the guy she’s posting abt... yoongi does not know abt yns acct (until he finds out). yoongi nd yn have never talked before the start of this fic.
status: completed!
A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!
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bonus drabbles...
prologue: homeroom hottie
character profiles: yn, her alter ego, nd besties
character profiles: yoongi nd the boyz
part one: invasion of privacy
part two: private sessions
part three: pretty prints
part four: went viral
part five: malleable substances
part six: fellow fish nerd
part seven: long night
bonus: fuck me
part eight: fucking prude
part nine: under the bleachers
part ten: buzzer beater
part eleven: mentally fucking
part twelve: deductive reasoning
bonus: turn the page
part thirteen: teachers pet
part fourteen: surprise me
part fifteen: emotion sex
part sixteen: sexy mermaid
part seventeen: not finished
time jump: untapped ass
part eighteen: give a fuck
part nineteen: not dating
part twenty: away game
part twenty-one: at your pace
bonus: nervous and excited
part twenty-two: petal
part twenty-three: too messy
part twenty-four: drunk yoongi
part twenty-five: being stupid
part twenty-six: superior couple
part twenty-seven: iconic parties
part twenty-eight: twenty minutes
part twenty-nine: risk it
part thirty: reformed fuckboy
part thirty-one: nice change
part thirty-two: public event
part thirty-three: bars and clubs 
epilogue: on purpose
epilogue: fucking nerd
5K notes · View notes
minyfic · a month ago
not around - MYG | M
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↣ Min Yoongi, one of your closest friends, the popular guy, funny and charming, captain of the basketball team, aspiring rapper and producer, incredibly handsome and your crush for a long time, ALSO your best friend’s (head cheerleader) new boyfriend. Trouble begins.
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pairing: basketball player!yoongi x cheerleader!reader
based on this request.
genre: angst, fluff, smut, f2l
word count: 19.8K (when I write Yoongi I can’t stop)
play: not around by nova
warnings/tags: college au, heavy angst, Yoongi is so sweet, kind and oblivious, strong language, insecurities about body image, Y/N overthinks, Y/N's best friend is mean but Y/N turns into a ~savage~, mentions of infidelity, mentions of bullying, Y/N and her mum lowkey gossip, Y/N has big 🍒, Yoongi has a breast kink, 171229 Yoongi oof, slight Hobi action, explicit smut- slight public action, dirty talk, heavy petting, fingering, oral (f & m), titty fuck, brief handjob, spitting, riding, hickeys, protected sex
a/n: pleaseee listen to that song when they’re playing basketball together (if you remember). I cry each time I listen to it, it reminds me of Yoongi somehow.
Waving your pom poms in the air, you watch Yoongi dash along the side of the court, with a flick of his wrist, the crowd goes wild.
Suhee begins to chant Yoongi’s name, you and the squad join in. Yoongi waves at the crowd then winks in your direction, maybe you could pretend, that it was directed at you but Suhee’s squeal pierces straight through that thought.
“Love you, babe!”
She shouts over the jubilant whoops of the crowd, then gestures for everyone to begin the routine for the last time tonight, you sway your hips along with everyone else. It isn’t a surprise that your college has made it to the semi-finals, thanks to their captain, Min Yoongi.
The crowd chants along, his shy gummy smile makes your heart soar as he continues to wave and thank the audience.
The ruckus dies down, the team and your squad walk back inside the building to shower. You brush past Suhee and Yoongi who start to make out as soon as you’re inside, it doesn’t bother you anymore, you’ve gotten used to it, but the pit of your stomach does twist a bit at the sight.
You grab your black jacket from the bench and put it on, the skimpy black and gold outfit exposing your body to the cool air from the AC above you, goosebumps prickling your skin. Walking down the hallway, you feel someone sling their arm around your shoulder, her sweet scent surrounding you.
“Coming to the party tonight? Hoseok will be there~,” she pinches your shoulder, but you shrug her off and stuff your hands in your jacket pocket.
“I’m not in the mood tonight, Suhee.”
“Ah come on, you’re always such a grump.”
You roll your eyes, “I’m not a grump, I just have my priorities straight. I need the sleep for Monday’s test.”
“You can get all the sleep you need on Sunday night. It’s a Friday! Don’t be so fucking boring!”
“Yeah, Y/N,” Yoongi sidles up to Suhee’s other side, she wraps her arms around his torso as he kisses her forehead, you avert your gaze to the shiny floors and tighten your grip on your bag, “come have fun.”
You clear your throat, “I have a test on Monday.”
“And you say you aren’t boring…” she nudges Yoongi with her elbow and you swallow the lump forming in your throat when they both snigger.
“I’ll come, but I didn’t pack an outfit.”
“That’s okay, I’d rather you wear this skirt than those horrible flair pants.”
“Hey,” you can feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, eyes flickering to Yoongi who stares straight ahead, “we have different tastes you know.”
She rolls her eyes, “you mean bad taste,” you open your mouth to protest but she cuts you off, “come to the party, you can be DD,” she gives Yoongi the most seductive wink she can manage, “Yoongi’s coming over tonight and we’re gonna have fun.”
You whip your head to stare at them, “you’re coming over after the party?”
“Ugh of course, Y/N,” Suhee runs her palm down Yoongi’s chest, “Yoongi needs his prize after he played so well tonight.”
Resisting the urge to gag, you walk a little faster away from them, “okay”
That could only mean one thing.
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You regret ever agreeing to come to this shitty party. You’re sat in a corner, you have no choice because Suhee continues to nudge and shove you with her body as she climbs on Yoongi like he’s some sort of jungle gym, while you hold your cup filled with juice, because that’s all they had other than alcohol and you’re DD, as per usual.
Suhee moans and you sit up from the couch abruptly, walking to the kitchen because that’s the only place you can actually go to, you’re sure to walk in on a couple going at it if you dare to enter one of the rooms in this house of sin.
As you stand at the table filled with drinks, you shut your eyes and try to drown out the noise.
How did you even end up here?
You’d have to start from the beginning to answer that question.
Ahn Suhee, your best friend since preschool. Your mothers were friends, so naturally, you would hang out and play together while they gossiped and complained about their lives. It was fun, you remember, you were like the PowerPuff Girls, except you had missed a member so your cat, MiMi, took the role of the Buttercup.
She was Blossom and you were Bubbles, their characters fit your personalities even as you grew up.
Suhee, being the leader and always knowing what to do, where to play, all the new toys that you needed to nag your parents to buy for you because she got whatever she wanted with the snap of her fingers. You weren’t so lucky, your parents were working class people while hers were a pair of franchise owners.
She was kind and sweet, she would always share her toys with you, always made you feel included.
But as you grew up and got to high school, she evolved, while you were still ‘Bubbles’. Sensitive, easily taken advantage of and bullied. She had even abandoned you at one stage and joined a group of girls who were part of the reason why you had begged your mother not to send you to school. They had made the rest of your schooling career a misery. Your parents, being heavily involved in your academics had contacted the school when they noticed that your grades were dropping. And that drew attention to the fact that you were being bullied, because obviously, teachers don’t pay attention until you point something out.
Your mother was furious. She contacted Suhee’s mother, and everything was solved between the two of you. She had apologized and you were glad that you had your friend back.
“You don’t go to school for friends.”
“Focus on your academics and everything will fall into place.”
“You need to go to college and get a better job than me.”
You had listened to your parents, because you wanted a better life for yourself and them too. You wanted to make them proud.
So, you did just that, spending night after night studying for finals, securing your place in college and pretended not to care about your social life. You had no time to focus on anything else. Suhee had introduced you to the group of girls, they were…nice, but you didn’t miss their sniggering and light giggles behind your back.
You didn’t care, because it didn’t matter. But it did hurt.
Then, puberty hit. Hormones all over the place.
Kim Taehyung, fellow nerd who sat behind you in physics, handsome and funny. You wanted him to ask you to prom, and your hopes were up because he started hanging out with you and Suhee, talking to you frequently in class.
It was going to happen, you were excited. Going to prom with the most charming guy in your grade?
Until one day, while you were sitting next to Suhee at the lunch table, he had asked her instead, and she said yes without a second thought. Despite knowing that you had a crush on him. You didn’t think much of it. It hurt like a bitch to see them at prom together, but they suited each other. They were crowned Prom King and Queen and Best Dressed. She lost her virginity that same night.
You attended prom with your other fellow nerd, Kim Namjoon.
You admit that you were a little guarded after that, you had kept your secrets to yourself. There were occasions where you wanted to spill everything to your best friend. But you bottled it all up. Until one night, after ages, you had a girls’ night in. You sang like a bird, telling her everything you felt. Your new crush and friend, Park Jimin, the dancer that just moved in across your house.
Fickle, you were fickle.
It was the summer after graduation, and you were chilling outside your house, enjoying ice lollies, when you noticed that Suhee was laying down on the grass near the driveway, you used to do that when you were kids, so you joined her. Obviously.
She had taken off her jacket and was wearing a crop top with shorts. You were wearing a short summer dress when she had pointed something out, something that you didn’t even acknowledge yourself.
“Damn, them boobies are really coming in huh. Don’t let them get too big or you’ll just look chubby.”
That didn’t make sense to you or your mother when you had repeated her words later that evening.
Let’s just say, every insecurity you have up to this day, was created by her. Your best friend.
That night, mentioning that they’ve been chatting on Twitter for the past two weeks, she ditched you to visit Jiminie. She came over for breakfast the next morning with a massive purple bruise on her neck.
That was that, you learned your lesson.
You got to college and her parents had set you up with an apartment that you both could share. She couldn’t wait to party and meet all the hot guys there. Every second night, there would be a different guy in her bed, each one with the sense of humor similar to a celery stick.
She dragged you to a few parties and you ended up losing your virginity to a final year student named Kim Seokjin, he was hilarious and gentle, from what you can remember. You still chat to him now and again but he’s too busy in the working world.
Your first year at college was fun, both you and Suhee had joined the cheer squad. She had submitted a few routines and ended up becoming head cheerleader. She was good at her thing.
Then, like a warm blanket on a cold Winter’s day, draped across your figure, tucking you in. You had seen Min Yoongi, he had mint-colored hair back then, cat-like eyes focused as he ran across the court. You hardly heard him talk when the coach would discuss tactics with the team, you were there, practicing Suhee’s choreography.
You had been sitting on the bench, fixing your laces when he sat down next to you. Your heart was thundering in your chest. You were shy, you obviously didn’t have the guts to make conversation. But he spoke and everything just flowed from then on, he was as soft as his features, kind as he talked. You never would’ve guessed that he was friendly, and comical, his stoic exterior set an impression as you watched him before, but a friendship was formed.
One introvert to another.
Weak, you were weak.
Actually, you didn’t learn your lesson at all.
You had spilled all the information a few weeks ago. You would’ve given yourself a pat on the back for keeping it in for two years if you weren’t so angry.
You spoke about your crush to Suhee, and she was shocked because you guys were just friends. She had seen you talk to him on the court. The first game of the season was that night, and she had butted in on your conversation after the game. You refused to believe it when her flirt mode was activated, and, Yoongi, knowing that she was the leader of the squad, and how popular she was with the guys, had asked her out. And you lived up to your name of being her shadow.
You cried that night, because once again, they suited each other, the captain of the basketball team and the head cheerleader.
And here you are, gaze fixed on the way Yoongi grabs her chest with his veiny hand. Disgust rising in your throat. What if that were you?
You kick out that thought as fast as it entered your mind. Yoongi would never see you as anything beyond his friend, his girlfriend’s best friend. Always the third wheel.
Jungkook, one of the guys from your calculus class, potential nerd if he didn’t party so much, grabs your hand, and pulls you in for a hug. His strong chest pressing into yours.
“Nice to see you out for once,” his breath is thick with alcohol, his words slurred as they leave his mouth.
You nod and fold your arms across your chest, he leans in close, his breath tickling your ear.
“Wanna get out of here?”
Code for: wanna fuck in my car.
You place your palm on his chest and push him away, his smirk still in place. He has been trying to fuck you for the past three months now. He’s incredibly hot, one of the hottest guys on campus, but you wouldn’t, because he fucked Suhee and every person in this vicinity.
“No thanks.”
“Come on, don’t be boring.”
There it is, that word, boring. It seems to have replaced your first name.
Jungkook is yanked out of your sight, a smile graces your features when you see who makes his way toward you.
He wraps his arms around your shoulders and dances a bit with you in his hold, “Y/N, how are you?”
You chuckle and break out of his hold, a strand of your hair getting caught on your chapstick, he lifts a finger to pull it away.
“I’m good. You?”
“Great game tonight!”
He smiles, the apples of his cheeks prominent, “thank you and great moves tonight!”
You’re forced to yell over the music, “we follow a routine!”
He snorts, “I know, you do them the best!”
Your cheeks heat, Hoseok is sweet. If only he was your type.
“Well well well,” Suhee walks into the kitchen with Yoongi’s hand clasped in hers, “it’s the lovebirds.”
Suhee has been trying to set you and Hoseok up, just because he’s Yoongi’s best friend. She said it would be fun to go on double dates. You had told her multiple times, that he’s just your friend and you don’t see him romantically. She insists that he likes you and that you should seize the opportunity. You’re not the type of person to date someone for the sake of it, you’re also not the type of person to lead someone on. She kept repeating that you should just hook up with him if you didn’t want to date him, but you know, if she isn’t lying about the fact that he has feelings for you, then the sex would mean more to him.
“Can I get you a drink?” Hoseok looks into your cup.
“No thanks,” you smile, “I’m DD.”
“Again?! You hardly leave the house and you’re DD.”
You shrug and he spins around to look at Yoongi, whose eyes are half-lidded, lopsided smile on his face. You can tell that both he and Suhee are drunk.
“You guys need to get your shit together,” Hoseok scolds, “let her have some fun.”
“Oh please,” Suhee cackles, “she doesn’t know how to have fun. Besides,”
She places her hand on the back of your head and pushes yours and Hoseok’s faces together.
“You two need to kiss already!”
“Suhee!” Adjusting your jacket in embarrassment, you grip her wrist and drag her out of the house, “time to get you home. Bye Hobi!”
“Need help getting them in the car?” He shouts to your retreating figure, but you wave him off, telling him that you’ll be fine.
The only thing you hear during the drive home is giggling and the sloppy sounds of lips on lips. You glance at the rear-view mirror to see Suhee with her hands in Yoongi’s blonde hair, his tongue down her throat. You focus on the road and with a few more agonizing minutes, you make it to your apartment with them stumbling behind you.
They don’t even take off their shoes as they run into Suhee’s room, you sigh and walk into the kitchen. Preparing a peanut butter sandwich for yourself.
Suhee’s moans begin, the sound echoing in the apartment as you get ready for bed. You cover your head with your blanket to block out her sounds, but the walls are thin and she’s being particularly loud tonight. You can hear the slaps of skin on skin but not a peep from Yoongi, he’s always quiet when they have sex.
As her moans get higher in pitch, you listen, listen closely, attempting to keep her sounds out of your head to hear that one particular groan. Deep and raspy, you imagine that’s when he cums, his long fingers gripping her body as he spills into the condom, body dripping with sweat.
Opening your eyes, wanting to kick yourself for thinking about them having sex, you turn the pillow over and fluff it up. You don’t really blame yourself, the only barrier is a white wall.
They’re quiet now, but your mind isn’t. It hurts to watch someone you developed feelings for love someone else, someone that is also close to your heart. A tear rolls down the side of your cheek.
Tired, you were tired.
Despite being aware of Suhee’s ways, you still empty your thoughts to her. You could call her your sister, you’ve known each other since you were five years old. You have this weird attachment to her, and she knows exactly how to get you to talk. You don’t realize you’re falling into her trap until it’s too late.
Suhee was there for you when MiMi died, you celebrated almost every birthday together, she calmed you down when you were panicking because you had gotten your period while you were on holiday together, she was there for you, just like you were there for her. But she has her bad habits, her flaws that she doesn’t consider an issue because the only person it affects is you.
You’re left with an even bigger chasm each time.
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The next morning, you walk to the kitchen, having already showered and done your skin care routine, you see Yoongi sitting at the kitchen table.
Adjusting your short, you make your way to the cupboard in the kitchen, “good morning.”
God, his fucking morning voice? You feel a shiver run down the length of your spine. Fingers twitching to run your hands through his soft blond strands.
Get it together.
“How did you sleep?”
“Does it matter? I have a fucking hangover,” he chuckles, “and I have practice in ten minutes.”
You also have practice in ten minutes. His long fingers curl around the mug, and as always, your throat goes dry when you catch sight of the veins that branches up to his arm. You take a deep breath and sit opposite him as you peel your banana. His eye flicker to the yellow fruit then back to your face.
Taking a bite, you try to sound nonchalant, “I have practice in ten minutes too, I can give you a ride.”
Your lips hover over the fruit as he answers, “thanks…”
Peeling back a strand from the flesh, you stare at it as you chew.
“Would you just eat the damn thing? You’re making me nervous!”
You splutter, looking at the harmless fruit in your hand then back at him, “how am I making you nervous?!”
“I don’t know?! It looks like a dick!”
Choking, you cover your hand with your mouth, your heart quickens its pace. You made him nervous by eating a banana…because it looks like a dick?
“That is rude, Min Yoongi. A woman should be allowed to eat a banana whenever she wants.”
Biting off another piece, you see his eyes watch your movement, your palms feeling a little sweaty.
“I’m sorry, okay. I just- have a dirty mind and it doesn’t help that it’s a phallic shaped fruit!”
Your words die on your tongue when Suhee walks into the kitchen and buries her face in Yoongi’s neck.
He rubs her arm, “good morning baby.”
You stand up to toss the banana peel in the trash, then place your hands on your hips when you notice that Suhee hasn’t showered yet and you have practice in less than ten minutes.
“We have practice in five minutes, Suhee.”
She groans, and rubs her temples, “I might be a bit late, is that fine? You can take over for me, just for a bit.”
Yoongi stands up from the table to wash his mug while she’s still latched onto him.
“I’m gonna catch a ride with Y/N.”
She looks at you, then back at him, then shrugs, “okay, see you guys later,” with a peck on his lips, she trots down the hallway and into her room.
Grabbing your keys and bag from the lounge, you wait for Yoongi as he ties his laces, your heart skipping a beat when he stands up to his full height and puffs out his chest.
“Let’s go.”
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Yoongi hums along to the song on the radio, you’re trying to focus on the road and not his toned thighs that peek out of his shorts. You’ve given Yoongi a ride before, but never without Suhee, this is the first. You drum your fingers on the steering wheel as you begin to sing under your breath too. From the corner of your eye, you see him whip his head to look at you as you continue, head bobbing with the beat.
“You like this song?”
You nod, “yeah.”
He smiles, “me too. I listen to hip hop mostly, sometimes R&B,” he looks down at his fingers, “Suhee doesn’t like R&B.”
Chuckling, your eyes scan the parking lot, “I know. She hates it. I love it.”
He points to an empty space on your right, “thanks. Do you listen to hip hop?”
You begin to reverse in the parking space, “hmm, not all the time but I do have a few tracks on my playlist.”
“Ah I see. It’s so funny, you and Suhee are best friends, but you’re like the complete opposite,” his shoulders shake as he laughs, you turn your head to look at him at his statement.
The complete opposite?
He unclicks his seatbelt, “I mean, you have different tastes in music, in dressing, even in food. You like meat but she doesn’t, right?”
You nod, unable to speak as he continues to compare the two of you.
“She likes to party, you don’t. You’re like a ner- I mean, studious but she isn’t.”
Gripping the wheel a little tighter, you try to keep your voice stable as you speak, “so? I’m my own person. Just because we’re best friends, doesn’t mean we have to be each other’s carbon copy.”
“I know, I know,” he turns his body to look at you fully, “how did you two become best friends anyway? Just curious.”
She didn’t tell him. Of course, she wouldn’t. It isn’t important to discuss your best friend with your boyfriend.
Clearing your throat, you keep your eyes on the field in front of you to avoid meeting his gaze that seems so attentive, “our mothers were friends, so we like, know each other since preschool.”
“Really? Wow,” he pulls a strap on his bag, “she didn’t tell me that.”
You unclick your seatbelt and open the door, but he keeps talking, “must be fun to be friends with someone like her for such a long time.”
Yeah. Fun.
“Should I give you a ride home after?”
It seems like you broke into his thoughts because he takes a minute to answer, “uhm, I’ll let you know.”
He opens his door and jogs off to the court while shouting ‘see you later’ over his shoulder.
That conversation had effectively dampened your mood. The complete opposite? What did he mean by that? She’s attractive, you aren’t? She’s interesting and fun, you aren’t? He described being friends with her as fun, if anything, being friends with someone like Suhee is tiring. And the conversation you just had with him proves it.
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Practice ends and Suhee didn’t show up. It isn’t like her to abandon her squad, unless she was really suffering, after partying so hard last night. She looked fine this morning. You try to call her, but she doesn’t answer her phone.
“Hey, Y/N,” Naya runs up to you, her ponytail swinging behind her.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Just came over to tell you what a good job you did today,” you feel your cheeks flush, “you’re so strategic and like,” she searches for the word with a finger on her chin, “calm, with us.”
Giggling, you wrap your arms around her shoulders, “thank you, but I don’t think anyone could take Suhee’s place as head cheer.”
She pats your back, “the squad and I think you can. I mean, if Suhee were to ditch us, we won’t even worry.”
A nervous chuckle leaves your lips as you pack your bag, the sun dipping beneath the horizon, “she can be a bit…strict.”
“Overly strict if you ask me. Anyway,” she gives you another hug, “I’ll see you on Monday, enjoy the rest of your weekend!”
Suhee might be your best friend, but you do admit that she can be a bitch sometimes. Not only to you but especially to girls you know she thinks might be a threat. Her nasty attitude toward them worsens when her superiority is challenged, the rest of the squad can’t even express their opinions without an eyeroll from her. But you try to find a common ground if an issue arises.
You hold up your hand to block the sunlight as you scan the court, seeing a lone figure bouncing the basketball before shooting. Shoving your hands into your jacket pockets, you make your way to him, admiring his silhouette from behind.
“Hey,” you call out to him, he turns around and smiles at you, “need a ride?”
The ball hits the ground once before you catch it in your palms, looking up to be met with a mischievous grin.
“Wanna play?”
You match his grin, “sure.”
Bending your knees, you bounce the ball behind your back and catch it in your other hand, before moving around him. His eyebrows raise in amusement, his mouth forming an ‘o’.
“Ooooh, someone’s got moves,” he crab-walks in your direction.
You giggle, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Gaze fixated on the hoop, ball bouncing in your left hand as you run in its direction. Bending your knees as far as it can go, you catch the ball in both your hands and spring up to dunk it, when two hands grip your waist and pull you down, you yelp as the ball leaves your hands and misses the basket, bouncing away dimly.
You spin around and bang your fist on Yoongi’s chest, “that was a violation!”
His eyes crinkle with mirth, “I know, but you looked so focused and cute. I couldn’t resist.”
You swallow, chest heaving. Cute?
He walks to the ball that now bounces weakly off the ground then thrusts it in your direction, “free-throw.”
Wordlessly making your way to the foul line, you bounce the ball twice before holding in your palms, squinting as you bend your knees.
You feel him come up behind you and touch the backs of your knees which almost buckles at the contact.
“Bend these a little more,” he speaks directly into your ear, you can feel the blood rush to your head.
Ignoring the way he still hovers behind you, the ball leaves your hold with a strong throw, it hits the backboard and goes straight through the basket.
You throw your arms up in the air and twirl around to see Yoongi with his gummy smile lighting up his face.
“Okay,” he walks over to the ball again and dribbles, “defend.”
Rushing over to him, the ball still bouncing off the ground, you make grabby hands at him while he spins around, his back hitting your chest, an ‘oof’ sound coming from you.
Arms still flailing around, you try to move around him but his back keeps bumping into your chest, you whine.
He tilts his head to the side, his eyes almost half-lidded as he smirks, “what’s wrong, princess?”
Huffing, you press your shoe into his calf.
An evil laugh spills from your lips when you get a hold of the ball and dribble in the direction of the basket.
“Not so fast!”
He places his hands on your hips and spins you around, giggling as he continues to spin in circles. The ball slips from your hands when he finally sets you on the ground but attacks you with tickles.
“Yoongi! Stop!”
Crying out and trying to push his hands away from your sides, you fall backwards while his fingers continue with their assault. Gasps echoing in the empty court, he places his knees on either side of you and moves his hands up to your armpits.
Tears begin to prickle your eyes and he finally relents, his palms placed near your face as his chain dangles over you.
The laughter dies down and you stare up at him, his eyes seem to twinkle in this lighting.
His phone rings and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the position you’re in, he seems to realize too, and he moves off your body while reaching for his phone.
“Hey babe.”
You dust off your skirt and stand up on shaky legs, heart not catching a break as you run to your bag.
Jumping in fright when you hear his voice behind you, you place your palm over your chest.
You catch up to what he said, “oh okay. Do you still need a ride?”
He shakes his head, “nah. I’m meeting Hoseok at the barbecue place a few streets away.”
Nodding, you hold your bag under your arm as you wave at him, he does too, a little awkwardly.
“I’ll see you on Monday,” you smile.
His lips stretch but the corners don’t lift, he wipes the side of his nose with his knuckle, looking down at his shoes, then somewhere behind you.
That night, you hope to dream of a pretty boy who spun you around in the air, like you were the only two people who existed in that moment.
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“Could you drop me off here?”
Your eyebrows furrow, “why? The court is on the other side of campus.”
“Fuck, Y/N.”
Pulling over on the side of the road, you park outside the swim stadium building.
Without even informing you about the plans for today’s cheer practice, she jumps out of the car and blows you a kiss as she runs into the building.
Maybe she’ll be a little late for practice today.
As you’re walking toward the rest of the squad who are already warming up, you wave.
“Hey guys.”
“Hey Y/N.”
“Hey girl.”
“Y/N,” Naya grips your arm as you’re trying your hair into a ponytail, a serious expression on her face, “I need to talk to you.”
She pulls you into a corner away from the rest of the girls who chatter and giggle.
“Where’s Suhee?”
“She’ll be here in a bit she told me to leave her at the-“
“Pools?” She cocks an eyebrow while yours pinch together.
“How did you know?”
She sighs and looks around, making sure that no one can hear what she’s about to say.
“I heard something, I don’t know if it’s true. But I thought I’d tell you…”
You lean in closer to hear her better, palms sweating in suspense.
“Suhee is dating Youngsik from the swim team.”
Stepping away from her, your eyes dart all around her face in disbelief, “Youngsik? She’s with Yoongi!”
Her manicured nails glitter as she curls her hand around your wrist, “yes. She is cheating on Yoongi.”
That can’t be true.
Looking away from Naya, you see Yoongi on the other side of the court, goofing around with Hoseok.
“Look,” your gaze locks with hers, “if you don’t believe me. Go see for yourself. Today after practice. I know that she won’t even turn up today.”
With that, her eyebrow jumps as she walks away from you, a sad smile on her face.
You feel your throat begin to constrict when you notice Yoongi running toward you.
“Hey, Y/N.”
Busying yourself with tying your laces, you mumble a ‘hello.’
“Where’s Suhee?”
Undoing your laces and retying them, you shrug, “don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He laughs, “you should know where she is. You’re always following her around.”
Whipping your head up to stare at him, his eyes almost shut with how he continues to laugh. And mock.
“I’m not her fucking PA, okay? I said I don’t know where she is,” you grit your teeth, slamming your other shoe on the bench as you begin to tie its laces.
He backs away from you, “geez, okay Y/N.”
You watch him jog over to the center of the court then glancing back at you before he joins the rest of the team.
“You shouldn’t be mad at him,” Naya whispers.
Taking off your jacket and tightening your ponytail, you begin warming up, “I know.”
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Naya raises an eyebrow in your direction as she walks away, one that you know is an ‘I told you so.’
Like she said, Suhee didn’t show up for practice, and you had to take her position yet again. The rest of the squad didn’t seem to mind. But you know that you shouldn’t get comfortable.
Taking a deep breath, you park outside the building and switch off your car.
You hope, desperately, that what Naya had told you earlier was just a rumor. Suhee might’ve had a lot of flings, but she isn’t a cheater. And she’d be stupid to cheat on someone like Yoongi who treats her so well.
Heart pounding in your chest, you walk up the small pathway when a couple sitting on a bench near a large tree catches your attention. You’d recognize that bright pink scrunchie anywhere.
Their backs are facing you as you hide behind a wall, trying extremely hard to figure out if it’s Suhee.
The girl turns her head to look at the boy next to her and your shoulders sag in relief when you see that it isn’t Suhee. Bright pink scrunchies are popular. You’re about to turn away when the sound of giggling urges you to stop and listen. Following the sound, you try to press your foot softly on the ground so as to not alert whoever it is of your presence lest you add another weird name to the list, like ‘stalker’ or ‘perv.’
As you’re walking further behind the building, you jump back when you see a guy pressing a girl in a familiar black and gold skirt against the brick wall. Chewing on the corner of your mouth, you move a little closer and sprint behind a tree.
Catching your breath, you peek over the trunk when you catch sight of Suhee, one leg secured around the guy’s, Youngsik’s waist as she kisses him shamelessly. You can almost hear her moans from where you’re standing.
Jaw touching the grass in shock, you gather yourself and realize that it’s pointless to be watching them like this. When you reach your car, you grip the steering wheel and hold in your screams for when you’re in the privacy of your room.
What the fuck.
How could she?
No matter the type of person she is, you’d never think she would do something like that.
You’re so on edge that your soul almost leaves your body when your phone rings. Cursing when you see that it’s Yoongi calling. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you answer the call and put on the fakest smile, despite him not being able to see you.
“Hey, Yoongi!”
“Hey, uh, Y/N.”
“What’s up?”
“Uhm…Are you still on campus?”
You look around, clutching the phone a little tighter, “yeah. Why?”
“Where are you?”
“Library! I’m…at the library. Yeah.”
“Oh, uhm, could you give me a ride?”
With that, you hang up and switch the car on, pulling onto the narrow road as fast as you can as you drive back to the court.
Why are you driving fast?
The quicker you get there, the quicker you’d have to face Yoongi. Shit.
Before you know it, you reach the court to see Yoongi standing on the side of the road.
“Thanks,” he buckles in, and you drive off, keeping your bottom lip secured between your teeth as the image of Youngsik and Suhee keeps flashing in your mind.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Your voice is a little high-pitched. More than usual.
“For what I said earlier about you always being with Suhee. I just meant that-“
“It’s fine. Yoongi.”
You can see him nod in your periphery.
The sun has set, and the sky is shrouded in a dark blue hue, stars dotting the sky as you drive. You’re glad that he chooses to be silent for the rest of the drive, you still need to work through what you just saw.
Your best friend ditching cheerleading practice to canoodle with a guy that is not her boyfriend. You’re ashamed and…heartbroken, you don’t know how to place your thoughts. She seems to be so in love with Yoongi, as he is with her, any person of sound mind would know that he cares for her deeply. One thing you’d never forgive is cheating, she’s shrewd and cruel and-
“Hey, what’s going on there?”
Glancing out his window, you see that there’s a crowd near the lake on your right, beams dancing in the air, loud music reaching your ears.
“Let’s check it out.”
“What?” You step on the gas, so you pass the road that leads down to the lake.
“Come on, Y/N. It looks fun. We could do with some fun.”
Groaning, you turn onto the dirt road, eyes flickering to his face to see him sport his gummy smile as you approach the dancing bodies.
Parking off a safe distance away, you step out of the car and follow him to the edge, your eyes catch on the moon, its reflection on the water makes your breath hitch.
Yoongi waves you over to follow him, the light breeze whipping your hair in front of your face, you tuck it behind you ear as you take each step cautiously.
He sits down near the edge, his knees held up to his chest. You stand near his seated figure, he pats the space next to him. Rolling your eyes, you sit down, rocks poking into your butt. The people around you laugh and chatter, swaying with the music as they enjoy the evening’s serenity.
“It’s beautiful,” he speaks, hands clasped in front of him as he stares up at the moon.
Your heart clenches in your chest at his soft tone, stars twinkling in his eyes as he tilts his head up. Admiring the curve of his jaw, his puckered lips and buttery skin, you look straight ahead when he tilts his head to look at you.
His raspy chuckle catches your attention, “I come here often.”
“Yeah,” he sits back on his palms, his chest puffs out while you hold your knees to yours, “to clear my thoughts.”
Looking back at him, he has a blank expression on his face, his eyes following the flow of the water, he meets your gaze, and you have the desire to tell him everything. He doesn’t deserve to be cheated on when he’s such a good guy. Obviously, you have a crush on him, but even if you didn’t and you found yourself in this situation, you would’ve still had the urge. Because no one deserves to be cheated on, especially someone like him.
“Did Suhee respond to your message?”
Groaning inwardly, you shake your head and divert your attention back to the moon, “I called her, but she didn’t pick up.”
“She didn’t reply to mine,” he sighs, tipping his head back.
“Should I try calling her again?”
He shakes his head, “nah, she’ll reply to me soon.”
Nodding to yourself, you shut your eyes and breathe in the fresh air, the thick smell of wet grass fills your nostrils. Music still playing behind you, your foot taps to the rhythm, letting it drown out your thoughts.
“Do you want to do dance?”
Eyes flying open to look at the boy who has a goofy smile on his face, he gestures with his eyes to the gyrating bodies behind you, wiggling his eyebrows. You shove his shoulder, his body shakes as he laughs.
“You know I don’t like to dance.”
He holds his stomach, “me too, that’s why I asked.”
Laughter bubbling to the surface, you join in, cheeks aching with how hard you’re laughing.
“Don’t you miss those days, like your childhood I mean, running around without a care in the world? I miss it, especially when I come here…I miss my parents.”
You’re still looking at him as he continues.
“They weren’t happy with the choice I made, you know, music. I miss them in times like these. When I’m happy.”
He’s happy right now? Laughing with you? You feel a lump form in your throat.
Chuckling, he shakes his head, “sorry, this lake has a weird effect on me.”
“It’s okay…I miss the person I want to be.”
Clearing your throat, you kick some sand into the water, “I mean, I…have this uninhibited version of myself in my head, for as long as I can remember, but I don’t think I’ll ever be her.”
Silence settles between the two of you, the wind creating ripples on the water. It’s too quiet and you’re about to make a joke out of what you just said when he cuts you off.
“Work on your inhibitions.”
Your eyes flicker back to him, an unfamiliar expression on his face.
“You said you have an ‘uninhibited’ version of yourself, get rid of what’s preventing you from being her.”
His words replay in your head, and you’re thinking of everything that might be holding you back. Your self-image? Your insecurities? Suhee?
“In my opinion,” he nudges your shoulder with his, “I like this version of you.”
He laughs, while your heart drops to your stomach. How can one guy be this sweet?
You giggle and he nudges you again, you realize that he’s this comfortable with you, because you’re his friend.
When it dies down, the reality of the situation hits you. It’s wrong to crush on your best friend’s boyfriend. Clearing your throat, you stand up and dust off your skirt, checking the time on your phone, 7:17PM.
“We should get going.”
He nods, then lifts his arms up in your direction, “pick me up.”
Heart working overtime in your chest, you ignore the tingling feeling you get when you grab his palms, planting your feet on the ground to yank him up, only for him to pull you down even harder. With a cry, you fall flat on his body, hands splayed on his chest.
Hair covering your eyes, you look up at him, his eyes wide, “I’m sorry.”
You realize that your body is pressing down on his and you move your palms from his chest to place them on either side of his shoulders so you can sit up, when his hand comes up to move your hair away from your eyes, gaze locked on yours.
Lump still in your throat, you stand up abruptly and spin around, running back to your car.
Heart beating erratically, you want to bang your head on the window. Why why why is life so cruel to you?
The car door opening makes you snap your eyes open, trying to calm your breathing. When you hear his seatbelt clicking in, you start the car and drive as fast as you can to his apartment.
“Goodnight,” he pulls out his bag from the backseat.
Zooming off into the distance, you don’t even notice the figure watching you as drive off, a frown on his face.
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You unlock the front door, utterly exhausted after today’s events. Why does it suddenly feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders?
Kicking off your shoes, you startle when you see Suhee sitting at the kitchen table, yoghurt container in her hands.
“Hey, Y/N.”
“Fuck, you scared me.”
She cocks an eyebrow, “saw your reflection probably.”
“Ha ha,” you place your keys on the counter and walk over to her, seeing a sandwich placed on a plate.
“Is that mine?”
“Yep,” she shoves the spoon into her mouth.
She usually makes you food when she-
Oh no.
She wants to talk.
“I think I’ll take this to my room.”
“Nope,” she stares into the half empty container, “you’re gonna eat here. Don’t want to drop any crumbs in your room. Plus, I know you’re hungry.”
Sighing, you pull out the chair and sit next to her, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite.
If your mouth is full, you won’t have to answer, right?
“I always knew you were a voyeur.”
Choking, you bang your fist on your chest and she tsks, walking to the sink to fill a glass with water then places it in front of you.
“You think I didn’t see you, spying on me today.”
Swallowing the last chunk of bread in your mouth, you raise an eyebrow, “I wasn’t spying. I just needed to-“
“To what? Gather evidence so you can tell Yoongi, and he’ll break up with me so you both can live happily ever after?!”
You bristle at her tone, “what the fuck are you talking about? I heard a rumor, and I refused to believe it, so I decided to see for myself.”
“Okay,” she folds her arms, “you saw? Now what?”
“How could you, Suhee? He’s such a g-“
“Oh please,” she scoffs, “guys like him are good to play the boyfriend role. Nothing else.”
“Boyfriend role? So, one dick isn’t enough for you?”
She laughs, her teeth on show as she throws her head back, “correction. His dick isn’t enough for me.”
“You seem to thoroughly enjoy it though!”
“Damn, you keep proving me right, I knew you listen in on us while we have sex!”
“That’s because I live here, and you scream like a banshee!”
She sits down on the table, rubbing her temples as if you’re the cheater and you need a scolding.
“Listen, don’t tell Yoongi.”
Scoffing, you stand up to rinse your plate at the sink, “he’ll find out soon enough, I’m pretty sure everyone knows since it managed to reach me, and I hardly speak to anyone.”
“So, who did tell you?”
“A little birdie,” you dry your hands and walk down the hallway, she follows you into your room, socked feet pressing into the carpeted floor.
“Someone from the squad then?”
You busy yourself with looking for pyjamas, “no…”
“Come on, I know when you’re lying to me, plus they’re literally the only girls who you talk to other than me.”
“Yeah, one of them told me. But it won’t be long until Yoongi finds out.”
“Is that a threat, Y/N?”
You toss a sleepshirt onto your bed, “no it isn’t. I’m just saying, rumors spread like wildfire around here.”
“It won’t, if I’m careful enough.”
Pulling out a pair of socks and pink sleep shorts, you narrow your eyes at her, “why are you even doing it?”
“Youngsik is nice, but so is Yoongi. It’s complicated Y/N, I don’t expect you to understand when you didn’t even have one boyfriend in your entire life.”
Tears prickle your eyes at her jab, but you blink it away.
“Stop cheating on Yoongi, Suhee. He’s gonna-“
She steps into your personal space, “he won’t find out, unless you tell him. I’m being careful. You cannot tell him.”
Taking a step back, you look up at her with wide eyes. She kisses your head, “now why did you get home so late? Usually, you’re back home before 6PM.”
She lingers at your doorway, while you grab a clean towel from your drawer.
“I was with Yoongi.”
“Keeping my boyfriend entertained. Nice.”
“Someone has to do it since he has a lousy girlfriend.”
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Staring out your bedroom window, you tap the end of your pen on your desk, fist placed under your cheek as you watch the leaves float in the air.
Maybe if you weren’t so shy, if you weren’t so quiet and reserved, if you weren’t you, Yoongi would’ve been spared the hurt that is inevitable. You know it won’t be long before he finds out, but you definitely won’t be the one to break it to him.
He’s so clueless and in love, bile rises in your throat.
There’s nothing you can do about it either, Suhee will hate you forever if you had to tell Yoongi and you don’t even know how Yoongi would react if you told him. Would he yell and shout? Would he pretend not to care? Would he break up with Suhee? Would he forgive her?
How does someone react when they find out that they’re being cheated on?
It hurts, yes it does, of course, they’re going behind your back when you were supposed to be the only one for them.
You still don’t know what goes on in Suhee’s head, and you won’t pretend that you do know. She’s playing some sick game, while you sit back and watch.
She’s right, if you tell Yoongi, she can easily say that you have a crush on him and you just want to tear them apart. Which would end terribly, Yoongi will probably never speak to you again.
Suhee is manipulative and Yoongi will listen to her over your reasoning.
Girls like Suhee get their way, that’s the reality of life.
Your phone rings and your mood brightens a bit when you notice that it’s your mother calling.
“Hey, mom.”
“Heyyy, how are you doing? What are you up to?”
Shuffling over to your bed, you fall back on the plush covers, “I’m good. Not much, was just studying.”
“Oh no. Something’s up. Something’s bothering you.”
Rubbing your palm down your cheek, you nod even though she can’t see you, “it’s Suhee.”
“Ugh Suhee? You’re still friends with her? I told you a thousand times before, you’re not kids anymore. You’re in college! You can be friends with whoever you want! Fight whoever you want! Kiss whoever you want! Fu-“
“I’m just saying, Y/N. You aren’t forced to be her friend anymore, even if you live together.”
You throw an arm over your eyes, “I know, I just…I’ve known her my whole life and I-“
“I know, I know. It’s hard because you’ve been friends for so long.”
“So what’s the issue with her?”
You sigh, “she’s cheating on Yoongi.”
“Goodness, didn’t think she was the cheating type.”
You spring up from the bed, “I know!”
You hear your mother sigh over the phone, “she’s cheating on Yoongi with who?”
“Some guy from the swim team.”
“Ooh, athletic. Yoongi is athletic too. Doesn’t he play basketball?”
“Yeah, he’s super athletic.”
“He’s also the guy you had a massive crush on since you started college?”
“Yes! I mean, yeah,” you clear your throat, “he was.”
“You’re friends with him, am I right?”
“If I were you, I’d snatch that boy for myself.”
Groaning, you stand at your door to check if Suhee came home, “Suhee is my best friend.”
“Still don’t know why…” She mumbles under her breath, but you caught what she said.
“You aren’t helping mum!”
“I’m sorry! I’m just saying.”
You sigh and flop back down on your bed, cheek pressed against your cat plushie, “I asked her about it.”
“Wait, you asked her about what?”
“Why she’s cheating on him.”
She gasps so loud that you have to pull the phone away from your ear, “that is a big change! Calling her out on her shit!”
Rolling your eyes, you bring the phone back to your ear. Your mother needs to stop watching so much Netflix.
“She said I shouldn’t tell him because she’ll just tell Yoongi that I’m lying, and I just want to break them up.”
“That is manipulative behavior, Y/N, ditch the bitch.”
“Dad just got home. I’ll talk to you later. Bye~”
As you set your phone back down on your desk, you realize that your mother is right.
You recall Yoongi’s words from last night, about your inhibitions, the things that hold you back. It’s time you get rid of them, one by one, no matter how difficult it might be.
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“I’m thinking of going on a 3-day fruit diet before the Halloween party.”
You swirl your straw around in your milkshake, watching the milky froth bubble up.
“Yah! Y/N! I’m talking to you!” Suhee snaps her fingers in front of your face, her loud voice grabbing the attention of a few people who sit near you in the coffee shop.
“What did you say?”
She sighs, “I said, I think I’m gonna go on a 3-day fruit diet before the Halloween party. Wanna join me?”
You shake your head, “I’m happy with my figure right now.”
“Really? Why did I even ask you?”
She flicks her hair over her shoulder, “so, what costume are you gonna wear?”
“Hmm not sure.”
“Well, Yoongi and I are going to match our outfits. You know like a sexy nurse and hot doctor. Or even better, school teacher and naughty student.”
You look up to see her daydreaming, twirling her red hair around her index finger.
“Seriously? School teacher and naughty student?”
She shrugs, “we haven’t found the outfits yet, we’re still figuring it out.”
You chuckle as a thought crosses your mind, taking a sip of your milkshake.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” you giggle.
“Tell me!”
“I was just wondering why you aren’t pairing up your outfit with Youngsik’s.”
You can see the anger build up in her black eyes and you know she’s about to blow up until a deep voice makes the both of you whip your heads around.
The tall, dimpled man makes his way toward you, you stand up from your chair to pull him in for a hug when you recognize who it is.
“Ahh,” he bends down to cover your body with his, “it feels like ages since I last saw you.”
Pulling away from him, he looks you up and down, you blush under his gaze, “you look great!”
“You too,” you giggle, hand coming up to pinch his bicep, “beefing up I see.”
He rubs the back of his neck, an old habit you’re all too familiar with, “yeah.”
“How’s chemical engineering going?”
He raises his eyebrows, “I won’t lie, tough. But I’m managing, I chose that career path for a reason.”
You nod, “true true.”
“Anyway, I’ll see you around,” he hugs you again, “and I’ll text you! Was so good to see you again!”
Smiling to yourself, you sit down in your chair, humming happily, ignoring Suhee who gawks at Namjoon’s retreating figure.
“Okay. Who the fuck was that?”
“Why am I not surprised that you don’t remember him,” you lean forward, “that’s Kim Namjoon, he was in high school with us.”
She stares up at the ceiling, trying to remember, her face lights up, “ahhhh! He had the mushroom haircut, right? Damn, he’s so hot now.”
Scoffing, your straw makes a loud sound as you slurp up the last bit of ice-cream, “is anyone safe around you?”
She shoots you a glare, “someone has a bit of a big mouth these days.”
You direct your attention to the barista as she stacks the cups near the coffee machine.
“Anyway,” she throws some change on the table and adjusts her dress that just makes it to cover her ass, “I have to go meet my boyfriend now. Can’t wait to see your boring costume this year. Love ya!”
Yoongi or Youngsik?
You have no idea.
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One goal: choose un-boring Halloween outfit.
You’re sitting with a mug of piping hot tea, browsing a costume site. You find one that you think is cute, but the price urges you to keep scrolling.
You want to wear something sexy this year, you’re into it.
Last year you wore a (now that you look back) horrible checkered, pink and white dress. You were Mary and Suhee was the sexy little lamb.
Bonnet tied under your chin, you shiver at the memory.
You’re definitely going sexy this year. You want to pick something that suits you, something that correlates with your personality and interests.
A full black latex outfit catches your attention. It reminds you of-
It’s perfect, you like superhero movies, you watch them almost every weekend.
Yoongi likes Batman…
The outfit you found on the site is way too expensive, but you think you can gather black pieces here and there and put together an outfit. All you need is cat ears. And a utility belt. Thigh high boots? You already own leather tights…
It’s going to cost a lot, you might have to use some of your savings.
Not wasting any time, you add the desired pieces to your cart.
Great. Delivery a week before the 30th of October.
Enough time if you change your mind.
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Placing your leg on the bench as you stretch, you watch Suhee and Yoongi cuddle across the court.
“Funny she’s here today,” Naya speaks up from her spot next to you, “must be Yoongi’s turn.”
Sucking your lips in, you hold in your laugh as you roll your shoulders back, “glad I get a break from pretending to be head cheer.”
Suhee runs in your direction, Yoongi watching her as she goes.
Naya places a hand on your shoulder, “I’m not.”
“Okay guys, come on. That’s enough stretching and warming up.”
She clasps her hands together as you and the rest of the squad gather in front of her, she turns a bucket upside down and stands on it so she’s higher than the rest of you.
“I wanted to make an announcement,” she begins, “I know, I haven’t been here for the last two practice sessions but it’s okay! You won’t have to deal with Y/N any longer,” she laughs.
“Anyway, I wanted to say,” her fake smile disappears, “I think we should direct our attention to other things. More important things, like focusing on the routine and choreography and studying, or whatever. What I’m trying to say is…refrain from spreading rumors and gossiping. We don’t waste our precious time here.”
Naya’s gaze is set on you as Suhee continues to talk.
“The semi-final is on Saturday, and we need to work!”
She punctuates each sentence with a clap of her hands.
“Now let’s go!”
Everyone cheers except for you and Naya who’s still watching you closely, her pretty face contorted into a frown.
You hope she doesn’t think that you told Suhee…You did, but you didn’t say who told you.
After the game, you grab your bag and run to Naya who ignores your shouts of her name.
“Naya. I just wanted to-“
“Save it, Y/N. Why don’t you go suck Suhee’s ass some more.”
You feel a pang in your chest.
Gripping her shoulder, you spin her around, “I didn’t tell Suhee that you told me about her…cheating.”
She folds her arms, “great.”
“She said she saw me spying on her and I told her that I knew, and she obviously knows that the only girls I talk to are the cheer squad.”
You take a deep breath, “I didn’t tell her who told me, I sw-“
“Y/N,” she places a hand on your arm, “relax. It’s okay. I get it now.”
Looking at her a little wide-eyed, chest heaving, she chuckles.
“So wait. You were spying on her?”
You point to the road, “the day you told me, I decided to find out for myself, and I saw her and Youngsik making out.”
“Wow, she’s a real bitch,” she gestures behind you with her eyes.
Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach when you see Suhee sitting on Yoongi’s lap, her hand in his hair as she kisses him.
Guess he won’t need a ride today.
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“This game will determine who goes to the final round. So, girls, I wanna hear you cheer our boys like your life depends on it!”
Suhee can be so dramatic, but you all do your job and cheer them on.
Hoseok winks at you as he runs past the group of squealing girls.
Naya nudges you, “I think he likes you~”
You watch the icy blond, slender physique appearing feather light as he jumps in the air.
Next, Yoongi runs past you, and he smiles at Suhee, his eyes meet yours for a millisecond and your heart skips a beat.
“But you like him,” Naya says, her voice a little dim.
You turn your head to look at her, mouth open.
Suhee blows kisses at him, his gummy smile in place as his friends shove him around and tease him.
You pick up your pom poms, “does it matter?”
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Twenty minutes pass and the team take a break, Suhee hands Yoongi a towel while you hand out juice to the guys.
“Thank you, Y/N.”
Hoseok beams at you. When you get to Yoongi, Suhee grabs the bottle and waves you off as she feeds him.
Sitting down on the bench, Naya taps your shoulder and points somewhere behind you, you see Youngsik watching Suhee and Yoongi, his hands gripping the bar in front of him. When your gaze travels back to Suhee, you notice that she keeps looking back at him, glaring while she runs her fingers through Yoongi’s sweaty strands of hair.
Shaking your head, you take a swig of juice and stand up from your seat, joining the rest of the squad as the second half begins. This part of the evening is when your heart starts to pump a little faster, hair raising at the back of your neck as the crowd roars, coaches cussing and screeching at the players.
You stop dancing with the rest of the girls when Hoseok searches for an open pass, Yoongi comes rushing in and with a quick throw, the ball goes flying through the basket.
Without thinking, you yell Yoongi’s name, he whips his head around to see you jumping up and down. He smiles then shoots you a thumbs up, like you’ve just scored for the team. Smiling back at him, you gesture for the squad to join in, keeping one arm propped on your hip while the other stands high in the air, waving back and forth.
A bit delayed, Suhee joins in, chanting with the crowd.
When the clock nears zero, you feel the blood rush to your ears when Yoongi faces off with his opponent. He bounces the ball to Hoseok, your eyes darting from the clock to the players, panting as they try to block Hoseok, who beats the buzzer and dunks the ball into the basket.
Screams echo in the vicinity, crowd cheering as Bangtan’s team makes it to the finals. They shout Hoseok’s name, picking him up on their shoulders while he holds his fists in the air. When they put him down, he runs to the crowd dramatically, giving each of them high fives.
The coach’s tie comes loose with how high he’s springing up in the air. You giggle, hugging the girls around you. Hoseok stands in front of you, you yank his hand and pull him in for a hug.
He wraps his arms around your shoulders as tight as possible, squeezing the air from your lungs.
When you break away from his hold, he keeps his hands on your elbows, staring down at you.
To your horror, everyone begins to chant kiss kiss kiss while you look around awkwardly, seeing Suhee laugh and point at you.
“You’re boring.”
“Why did I even ask you?”
“You’ll never do it!”
Taking a deep breath, you see Naya give you a smile that appears encouraging, eyes still scanning the crowd, Yoongi comes in your line of sight, his eyes darting between you and Hoseok.
Holding Hoseok’s cheeks in your hands, you lean up on your tippy toes and press your lips to his, feeling his hands settle on your waist. The crowd goes even crazier, hearing your name fill the air. His soft lips move over yours, without thinking twice, you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him down as your tongue rolls over his. When you pull away, a string of spit connects your lips, you purse the flesh to break the line that connects the two of you.
Hoseok seems a little shocked, his teammates nudging him, his cheeks tinted red. The squad does the same to you, giggling as you hide your face behind your palms.
You miss the look of disbelief on both Yoongi’s and Suhee’s face.
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The kiss might’ve spiked your confidence, it felt good to be at the center of attention for once.
Hoseok messaged you later that night to ask what the kiss meant, you had said it was a celebratory kiss, as simple as that. You haven’t stopped texting since that night.
You’re dotting black near your upper lip, eyeliner held tightly in your hand as you draw on whiskers to complete your costume that hangs up in your cupboard.
The image of Yoongi watching you and Hoseok is etched in your mind, his lips were shut, an indecipherable look on his face. You’ve had enough time to think about it, he had that reaction because Hoseok probably didn’t tell him that he had feelings for you. They’re best friends, they talk about everything. The kiss must’ve been a surprise to him.
You have no idea what outfit Suhee is wearing for tonight’s party.
“Y/N,” she stands at your doorway, “I’m heading to Yoongi’s to change.”
You hum.
She picks up your glass filled with your smoothie mix, “is there almond milk in this?”
“God, Y/N,” she sets it back down with a clink, “I told you almond milk makes your boobs bigger!”
You apply mascara, “maybe you should have some.”
She stomps down the hallway, you heart the front door slam shut. Laughing to yourself, you take off your gown and put on your outfit.
Looking at yourself in the mirror, you smooth your palms down your hips. You feel a little nervous, you’ve never really worn an outfit like this before, each curve and dip of your body is accentuated.
Shaking your doubts away, you grab the black cat-ears and place it on your head, cocking your head to the side as you survey your outfit. You had practiced your makeup thrice before tonight and you think it came out pretty good this fourth time.
When you get to the party, all eyes are on you, you feel extremely exposed, heads turn as you walk deeper into the house. You’re having an internal battle, keeping your arms at your sides instead of crossing them over your chest like you usually would when you’re feeling uncomfortable.
“Oh my God, Y/N,” Naya sidles up to your side, you don’t even look at her outfit because you’re too busy staring down at the tip of your boot, “you look so damn cute!”
Blushing, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “uh, thank you. Have you seen Suhee?”
She points to the balcony, you see her leaning over the railing, she’s wearing what seems to be uniform? She turns around and waves at you, as you’re approaching her, you squint your eyes and look her up and down while she does the same.
“Are you supposed to be catwoman? Cute.”
Nodding, you point at her collar, “and you’re…?”
“Sexy air hostess,” she twirls around.
“Y/N,” she holds your arms and pulls you close so her lips are pressed to your ear, “I need a favor.”
You catch a whiff of alcohol. Meeting her gaze, you nod for her to continue.
“I need you to keep Yoongi occupied for a while.”
Your eyebrows furrow, “why?”
“Because,” she whispers, “Youngsik is here and he’s kind of not talking to me. I need to make it up to him.”
You’re about to walk away but she grips your hand, “please, Y/N. Don’t you wanna show Yoongi your outfit?”
Shoving her away, she calls to your retreating figure, “thanks, Y/N!”
As you’re turning around to tell her that you are NOT going to do her that favor, you watch her pull Youngsik into a room, giving him all the bedroom eyes.
Cursing internally, you walk out of the stuffy house. How does Suhee manage to drag you into her bullshit, every single time?
You could recognize that voice anywhere. Spinning around, your jaw touches the floor when you see his outfit.
Decked out in uniform, he’s wearing a pilot costume.
That’s all that registers in your brain because he looks so fucking hot in his outfit. A single silver earring dangling from his ear, silver rings on each finger.
His mouth is open as his eyes rake down your figure, he takes a step closer to you, you do the same.
“You look-“
You both speak at the same time, and you gesture for him to continue but he mirrors your action.
“No,” you laugh, “what were you gonna say?”
“If I say what I really want to say,” he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, “then I might be in trouble.”
Cheeks heating up, you tilt your head to the side, feeling particularly bold tonight, “why?”
He sucks a breath in, gaze lingering on your chest. Typical male.
“Promise you won’t tell Suhee?”
You want to laugh on his face, his girlfriend is literally fucking someone else right now and he’s worried about giving you a compliment.
“Yeah,” you shrug, “I promise.”
Taking another step closer to you, his chest is a few inches away from your face.
He leans down to whisper, hands tucked in his pockets, “you look fucking sexy.”
You almost choke on your own spit when his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.
You were expecting a:
“You look nice.”
“You look good.”
“You look pretty.”
But “you look fucking sexy”? Nope, your pussy is not throbbing right now.
Clearing your throat, you’re trying extremely hard not to push your thighs together because he’s still watching you. Giving him a tight-lipped smile, you mumble a thanks.
“You’re welcome.”
Why is he still whispering in that sexy deep tone?
You see him take a sip of his drink in your peripheral vision. Silence, except for music and noisy chatter coming from inside the house, settles between the two of you.
“So, you and Hoseok huh?”
You turn your head to look at him, “what do you mean?”
“You guys are dating? I was there…at the game…I saw the kiss.”
“Really?” You hold your chin, “Didn’t see you there.”
His eyes widen, “I was there! I assisted his-“
“I was being sarcastic, Yoongi.”
“Oh,” he laughs dryly, “so…the kiss?”
“What about it?” You tease.
“What’s going on with the two of you?”
You shrug, fixing the cat-ears atop your head, “it was just a celebratory kiss.”
“A celebratory kiss,” he repeats.
“Why didn’t you kiss the whole team and coach if it was celebratory?”
You chuckle, “what?”
“I’m just saying, if it was celebratory,” he drags out each syllable, “and the whole team won. Why didn’t you give everyone a ‘celebratory kiss’?”
Someone might think he’s discussing basketball tactics with the way his hands track his words, a serious expression on his face.
You don’t say anything, fiddling with your utility belt.
“I miss the old Y/N.”
You whip your head to look at him, “what?”
He stares straight ahead, repeating his words, “I miss the old Y/N.”
“What are you-“
“I miss the Y/N who doesn’t give out ‘celebratory’ kisses, the Y/N who dresses up as a ghost for Halloween, the Y/N who-“
“Yoongi,” you interrupt, unsure of where he’s going with his rant.
He misses the ‘old you’?
The one who let Suhee walk all over her, the one who had not an ounce of confidence even in her own home.
“What are you talking about, Yoongi? This is me. This is who I am. I’m sorry if there’s a certain ‘Y/N’ standard that I need to follow.”
To be honest, you spent all week gathering the courage to wear this costume, to come out of the apartment wearing a full face of makeup and done up hair. And here he is referring to the old you, the you that you liked the least.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N. I just-“ he sucks in a breath “-I was talking about the Y/N that I first met. You know the cute, quiet one?”
“Cute. That’s all everyone ever says, cute.”
You smack your palm on the railing, bracelets jingling.
“Yes, because it’s true Y/N. The same cute girl that I had feelings for!”
Your eyes bug out of your head, “what,” voice like a puff of air.
“I know you don’t see me like that,” he’s twisting at his rings, not looking at you, “Suhee told me. But I caught feelings for you…since our first year. You were shy and it made sense that you wouldn’t have feelings for someone like me. But I did. And I wanted to ask you out, but I was hesitant, so I asked Suhee for advice and she told me that you see me as a friend. I guess I saved myself from embarrassment but here we are.”
Blinking at him, what he just said doesn’t seem to sink into your brain until a few moments later.
“Still embarrassing myself,” he chuckles nervously.
“S-Suhee told you that I didn’t have feelings for you?”
He nods.
Anger bubbles to the surface. Because she knew, she knew how much you liked him, and she lied.
“Anyway,” he brings up his hand to rub a knuckle on the side of his nose, “did you see her? She said she needed to use the restroom half an hour ago.”
You’re babbling, nails digging into your palms.
“She went in one of the rooms.”
“Alright, I’ll see you later.”
As he walks back into the house, you see Hoseok near the doorway.
“Hey,” you walk up to him and pull him out of the house, “you look great.”
“Wow, Y/N,” his gaze travels from your face down to your shoes, “you look so cute,” he pinches your cat ears.
“Thanks, uhm, do you wanna talk?”
You gesture to the poolside, and he nods, “yeah yeah sure.”
He’s talking, handing you his drink, throwing an arm around your shoulder, but you aren’t listening.
“You’re so pretty, Y/N,” he leans in closer, and you smile at him, hands clasped in your lap, “can I kiss you?”
You place your palm on his chest and shake your head.
You turn around to see Suhee running down the stairs and in your direction, heels in her hand, tears streaming down her face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You stand up and Hoseok follows you, hand lingering on your back.
“What are you-“
“I told you to keep him occupied!”
Her hair is messed up, mascara streaking her cheeks. You look at Hoseok, awkwardly, then hold your palms up placatingly.
“Suhee, we-“
“Shut the fuck up! You’re so fucking useless,” she pokes your forehead with her index finger, you stumble in your heels, Hoseok catches you by your elbows, “because of you I lost him!”
“Suhee, what is your problem? Is that any way to treat your best friend?”
“Oh shut the hell up Hoseok! She doesn’t fucking like you!”
You look up to see Hoseok staring at you with wide eyes.
“Hobi, I-“ you hiccup.
“Let’s see if he still sticks by your side like this,” Suhee shouts as she stomps off to her car.
Tears are brimming over, the lump in your throat burns as you try to take a breath.
“Hey, Y/N,” his voice is soft, finger swiping a tear that rolls down your cheek, “it’s okay. You’re okay.”
He pulls you into his embrace, your tears staining his white shirt.
“I’ll still be your friend,” he giggles.
You look up at him, when another booming voice cuts through your thoughts, leaves crunching under their hurried footsteps.
“Did you know?”
Stepping away from Hoseok, you see Yoongi staring at you, blood trickling down the side of his lip.
“Yoongi, you’re-“
“Did,” he shuts his eyes and inhales a shaky breath, “you know?”
His eyes are wild when he opens them again, piercing into your own.
“Did she know what, Yoongi?”
He looks between you and Hoseok, poking his tongue into his cheek.
“Did she know that Suhee was cheating on me?”
You can feel Hoseok’s gaze burning the side of your face.
Your eye twitches, “Yoongi…”
He laughs, running his fingers through his air as he walks away, “some fucking friend you are Y/N.”
“Yoongi!” Your chest feels like its closing up, panting as you call after him, but he doesn’t stop running.
“I’ll…text you,” Hoseok runs after him, leaving you with the stagnant pool, no breeze waving the leaves around, even the crickets are silent.
The opposite of what’s happening inside your head.
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Struggling to open your front door with your heels and purse in hand, your cat-ears fall forward and blocks your vision. Cursing, you finally get the key in the lock and twist, huffing as you stumble into the dark space.
Sniffing, you check your phone for any response from Yoongi. He hasn’t answered any of your calls or texts.
You place your keys on the counter when the lamp in the lounge goes on, startling you.
“Y/N,” Suhee’s voice is nasally, her eyes puffy. A state you’ve never seen her in before.
Sighing, you throw your heels on the floor and sit down on the couch in front of her.
“How could you do that to me? How could you?”
Eyes the size of saucers, you turn your head to stare at her, hands dropping from your face.
“How could I?”
You throw your head back as you cackle, not sure if you heard her correctly.
Facing her, you point a finger in her direction, “how could you? You told Yoongi lies, all you ever told him was fucking lies! About me, about yourself, about your whole fucking relationship!”
She bangs a fist on the table, “don’t fucking talk about my relationship!”
“I think I fucking can! The whole reason why you were even together was because of me! You lied your way into that relationship!”
She stands up from the chair to tower over you, “you would’ve never been enough for someone like him! He-“
Matching her height, you place a hand on her shoulder to push her out of your personal space, “how the fuck do you know that? You knew how much I fucking liked him! But you didn’t even give me a chance! That’s what you always do! Hogging all the guys that give me a bit of attention!”
“Wait wait wait, you’re mad at me right now?” She places a hand on her chest as she laughs, “you fucking ruined my relationship!”
“No,” you take a step forward, “you ruined your relationship. He was bound to find out eventually.”
“You know what, Y/N. I never knew you could be such a fucking bitch. What happened to you? Suddenly grew a pair?!”
Shoving her away from you, you walk down the hallway, “I’m fucking done with you Suhee!”
You’re bawling, but she doesn’t give up, still shouting at you from your doorway.
“Without me, you’re no one!”
You’re about to slam the door in her face, when she shoves her foot between the door and doorframe and overpowers you, backing you up in the room until you fall on the bed.
“My parents pay for this place, and I want you and your pathetic ass out!”
“Fine by me! I won’t have to keep up with your whoring around anymore!”
She gasps, while you lay back on your elbows and with a huff, she leaves your room and slams the door shut behind her.
When it’s quiet, you sink down on your bed and cover your face with your palms, heart pounding in your ears as you unzip your jacket and fling it across the room.
You are done.
You don’t need her. You’re done with her manipulation and games.
With blurry vision, you grab your laptop from your desk and search up cheap apartments around campus. Fingers trembling as you type.
Hand searching the blankets for your phone desperately, you search for a contact, snivelling when they answer the call.
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Cheerleading practice rolls around and you don’t miss the whispers and sniggers directed at Suhee. She looks drained, hair up in a bun as she warms up.
“Hey,” Naya sits down next to you on the grass.
“Hey,” you smile, playing with the cap of your water bottle.
“I heard about what happened on Saturday at the party.”
“Yeah,” you take a sip of water.
“I guess you’re finally free of her,” she gestures to Suhee who is now staring at her phone screen.
“I also need to find a new place.”
“What? She kicked you out?”
“Yeah,” you sigh, indifference painting your features.
“Don’t you guys like, split the bill?”
“It’s complicated.”
She nods then taps your knee to get you to look at her, “I actually live with Taehee and Sooyeon, but Sooyeon is moving in with her boyfriend who literally lives right next door. If you want, you could take her room.”
You blink at her.
“I mean, if you want to, or until you find a better place.”
“Why are you so nice to me?”
She laughs and stands up, dusting the grass off her skirt, “pay it forward.”
Suhee doesn’t even glance at you as everyone practices the choreography for the final and once practice is over, she speeds off in the direction of the swim stadium.
“I’ll text you the details,” Naya runs off with Taehee and Sooyeon, the other girls that you might be living with soon.
You can hear the thud of the basketball echo, when you turn around, as expected, Yoongi stands at the center, the golden hour hue makes his blond hair appear like a halo.
Chest puffing out as you take a deep breath, you walk over to him.
Without turning around, he greets, “hey, Y/N.”
“Hey,” voice soft.
Finally, he spins around to look at you, looking a little brighter than the last time you saw him.
“How are you?”
Drawing circles on the ground with your shoe, you keep your eyes on the movement, “Good.”
You hear him sigh, “I’m sorry,” you meet his gaze, “for how I reacted at the party. You’re not the one I should’ve been mad at.”
“Don’t be. I should’ve said something.”
The ball bounces from his hand to be caught in the other, “nah, she’s your best friend. Best friends keep your secrets, right?”
“She was my best friend.”
He blinks at you, scratching his ear, “oh.”
The ball bounces twice before you catch it in your hands.
“Wanna play?”
Despite being exhausted after such a long day, you’re glad to see him in a completely different mood than you expected him to be, you nod.
Bending your knees, you dribble and move away from him. He comes up in front of you and snatches the ball from your hands, flying as he dunks it.
He runs back to you, while you try, sluggishly, to get the ball back.
“What?” He pants, “no fancy moves today?”
Rolling your eyes, you grab the ball from him and back him up, his black eyes, lit by the molten sun, fixed on yours. Turning on your left foot, you press your back to his chest and shoot, going straight through the basket.
He claps, lips sticking out exaggeratedly, pretending to be impressed.
The ball bounces in front of you again and you’re about to grab it when he beats you to it and grabs your wrist, dragging you a few feet away from the basket.
Looking at him a little confused, he pulls up his shorts and bends his knees, ball leaving his hand with heavy touches.
He bounces it to you, “go go.”
Springing off the floor, the ball is in your control as you step to the side away from him, in a flash, he snatches it from you and dunks it again, swinging from the basket, flaunting his strength as he pulls himself up then jumps down.
Heart pounding in your chest, you grab the ball and jump up to shoot when he yanks you away from the basket, squeals tumbling from your lips as he spins you around and sets you down, reminiscent of the last time you played together.
He stands behind you, hands still of your hips. You turn your head around to look at him, face a few inches away from his, eyes flickering to your lips.
Your palms are sweaty, chest beginning to hurt with each breath. His eyelashes flutter as he shuts his eyes, you watch the pretty strands, his breath tickling your lips.
Abruptly, you break out of his hold, no matter how much you wanted to connect your lips and kiss him like it’s the last thing you’ll do. You can’t.
He watches you intently, almost like he’s trying to figure out why you didn’t kiss him.
“I-“ you swallow “-I don’t want to be a rebound.”
He picks the ball up from the ground, tossing it from one hand to the other, “a rebound?”
You nod, “yeah.”
“I’ll show you what’s a rebound.”
Moving swiftly across the court, the ball soars in the air and leaves his hands only for it to bounce of the backboard, then the rim of the basket. But before it can touch the ground, he springs up and dunks it, legs dangling off the ground.
You watch the ball bounce away somewhere toward the trees behind the court. He picks his bag up off the floor and slings it around his shoulder as he makes his way to you.
He moves your hair away from your face to whisper in your ear, his musky scent clouding your mind, “that’s a rebound.”
Palm still on your face, he kisses your other cheek, lips lingering on your skin, heat spreading all over your body. When he pulls away, he winks at you and delivers his blinding gummy smile.
He puts on his black cap and runs across the road, leaving you gobsmacked with your palms pressed to your cheeks. Heart growing wings, threatening to leave your chest with how fast it’s pumping.
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“We’re having an afterparty whether we win or lose,” Taehee holds a finger up in front of Naya’s face.
You laugh, tying your hair up as you watch them in the reflection.
It’s another Saturday night and the final game of the season, it’s also five days since you moved in with Taehee and Naya, their apartment is always buzzing with good energy. You thank Naya everyday for letting you move in.
“You guys ready?”
“Yep,” you grab your water bottle and car keys from the coffee table.
You moved to a new apartment and coined new friends with it, they’re all so sweet and caring and they flood your days with positive affirmations while you do the same.
As you’re walking down the stairs of the pavilion, you catch sight of Suhee and Youngsik. Her arms are wrapped around his head as she sits on his lap. When she sees you’re watching, she dips her head to kiss him.
Coach Kim is busy talking to the team. Hoseok stands with an arm over Yoongi’s chest, they listen attentively to him as he bangs his fist on his palm.
They disperse and sit down on the bench while the others warm up.
You’re rolling your neck back when Yoongi stands in front of you, smile in place.
“Hey, Y/N.”
“Hey, Yoongi.”
“You look pretty,” you’re about to thank him until he adds, “cute. Pretty cute.”
His shoulders shake while you roll your eyes, “good luck out there.”
Finger reaching up, he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, gaze tracking the movement, “I have my good luck charm right here.”
Face probably as red as your seat, you shove him away from you, “you’re so cheesy.”
He cups his hands around his mouth as he yells, “you love it, Y/N.”
Naya and Taehee’s elbows are digging into your sides the whole time, so when you finally look at them, you find yourself blushing extremely hard.
“Oh my God~”
They’re mumbling under their breaths, and you try to shush them.
“You and Yoongi huh?”
Both you and Naya turn around to see Suhee sitting behind you, her chest pressed to her thighs as she leans down to whisper, “enjoy his small dick.”
With a giggle, she trots away to grab her pom poms and starts the routine without the rest of the squad while you and Naya glare at her.
When your gaze travels back to Yoongi, you see him glance at Suhee, his mouth in a thin line.
“Come on,” Naya tosses your pom poms in your lap.
Bangtan is off to a good start, 16-6 after the first half ends.
You’re about to pick up the crate of water when Suhee steps in front of you, handing water bottles to each of the players. You watch her closely when she gets to Yoongi, bending down far too much as her cleavage becomes exposed to him. He’s too busy talking to Hoseok to even look at her.
“If he has a small dick,” Naya imitates Suhee’s voice, making you laugh, “why is she doing the most to get his attention?”
Suhee is now crouched down in front of him as she ties her shoelaces then stretches her arms over her head to fix her ponytail, her stomach peeking out.
You know that Suhee never backs down that easily.
Getting back in position, the crowd chants along with your squad as the players work on quick feet, coach Kim yelling defense as the opposing team tries to shoot. The crazed audience hangs on to the edge of their seats when the clock nears zero, securing the fate of Bangtan’s basketball team.
Your hand comes up to chew on your nail when a player from the other college’s team grabs at Yoongi’s hand while he tries to spring up to shoot, yanking him away from his initial spot. The referee awards Bangtan with two free throws. Yoongi moves away from the backboard to stand at the free throw line.
The crowd goes silent as Yoongi cracks his neck. You can only see the back of his head but you can picture the intense look he must have on his face. With a flick of his wrist, the ball hits the backboard and bounces off the ground, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ filling the air. Yoongi’s shoulders slump in what you think is disappointment, but he gets the ball again and prepares for his final shot.
The air is thick with tension, you can’t even pretend to imagine what it must be like to have all the pressure on you, how it would feel to have the fate of your entire team in your hands, whether or not you win this season.
Yoongi bends his knees, bobbing up and down slightly before the ball cuts through the thick air and with a satisfying whoosh, it proceeds straight through the basket.
Everyone jumps for joy, the team wastes no time in picking Yoongi up, almost tossing him in the air. Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, hugging each of the squad members.
“We did it!”
Coach Kim fist bumps the air, tie swinging around wildly as he does some weird dance.
A shower of black and gold confetti comes down, ear ringing with all the noise and fuss.
Your palms are aching and red, sore as you continue to slam them together, pom poms lost somewhere on the ground.
Feeling a pat on your shoulder, you spin around to see Yoongi with a goofy smile on his face.
“Do I get a celebratory kiss?”
You’re about to nudge him away with your hip when you notice him lick his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he moves a little closer to you.
Nervously, you look around to see everyone watching you. Much like the night of the semi-finals which wasn’t too long ago, except you kissed Hoseok, who is now the on-looker.
Bile rising in your throat, you curl your fingers around Yoongi’s wrist and pull him through the double doors, the light from inside hits the shiny floors as you drag him into a dark corner.
You don’t want to be named someone that kisses a different guy each week, but you really want to kiss Yoongi.
Slamming him into a nearby wall, he looks down at you with a perplexed look on his face.
“What are hmmf-“
You grab his cheeks and smash your lips to his, moving fervently, tasting his cherry-flavored chapstick. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, hands pulling your hips against his. Moaning, your weave your fingers through his hair, head moving this way and that as your tongues clash. You can still feel the confetti raining down on you, the muscle in your chest pumping with a thunderous beat.
Breathlessly, you pull away, eyes struggling to open, so immersed in his touch.
“Wow,” he pants, and you finally look up at him, half of his face illuminated.
Smile splitting your face, you realize that you kissed Min Yoongi, the guy you’ve been crushing on for the past two years. The guy that has feelings fo-
“Wait,” your eyebrows furrow.
His thumb rubs over your hip and you realize that your bodies are still packed together, you try to move away but his iron grip keeps you in place.
“What is it,” his voice is just above a whisper, so gruff.
“Do you have feelings for me?”
He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, “yes I do,” you gasp when he presses his hips against you, feeling his very large bulge dig into your stomach.
“I have so much feelings for you.”
He keeps rocking his hips against you all while bringing your own forward, his leg slotting between your thighs.
“Yoongi,” you squeal, “someone could see us.”
“Did you get here with your car?”
You nod, jolting when the skin of your thigh rubs against the material of his shorts, “with Taehee and Naya.”
“Text them,” you purse your lips when his thigh meets your center, feeling the wetness pool there, “tell them that they need to find another ride.”
Head falling forward to his shoulder, you nod again.
“Let them know that you’ll be coming home with me.”
Unable to speak, he moves you away from his body and drags you down the hallway toward the exit, feeling your pussy clench, panties damp with your arousal.
He shoves his hand into your jacket pocket and pulls out your keys. Hand still enclosed around yours, he opens the passenger side door and buckles you in, despite your protests. As soon as he closes the driver side door, his lips are on your neck, teeth nipping on your soft flesh. His hand comes up to close around your breast, each press in time with his suckles on the column of your throat.
You hear muffled talking, and you tighten your hold on his hair to pull him away, but he just groans, the sound reverberating through your body.
“Yoongi,” you gasp, his hand squeezing your other breast. Tugging on his hair a little harder, you pull him away from your neck, he looks up at you with blown out pupils and puckered lips.
Looking out the window, you point to a few people who are walking to their car, “people might see us.”
“Fuck,” his thumb and forefinger pinch your stiffened nipple through the fabric, “I want you.”
Grinning at him, the throb between your legs makes you clench your thighs together, “I want you too.”
Begrudgingly, he switches on the engine and drives onto the road. You can’t tear your eyes away from his posture, streetlights casting a glow on his features, flexed arm gripping the steering wheel.
“What are you thinking?”
Resting your hands in your lap, you shake you head, “nothing, you just look incredibly sexy when you drive.”
“Hand me your panties.”
“Hand me your panties, princess.”
His eyes stay on the road as he repeats his request, no, order. Your hands lay flat on your thighs, as if by his words, your undergarments would magically come off.
“I’m- I’m wearing shorts underneath my skirt.”
He turns onto his apartment street, “hand me those too then.”
“We’re almost-“
“I’m waiting, princess.”
Staring at the side of his face, you pull off the black shorts and place it in his awaiting palm, which closes twice to indicate that you aren’t done.
With flushed cheeks, you drop your white cotton panties into his hand. He hums and keeps it in his enclosed fist while you avert your gaze to the road.
Wordlessly, he parks your car and steps out. When you join him on the pavement, he grabs your hand and pulls you all the way up the stairs and in front of his apartment door. Your other hand holds the hem of your skirt down uselessly, you still feel the cold night air touch your soaking folds.
You’ve never been to his apartment before, you know he shares the place with Hoseok. But you don’t even have time to explore, he pulls you into the first room down the hallway and locks the door behind him. Hands on your hips, he pushes you down to sit on the bed then pulls off his jersey, skin glistening with sweat.
“I should shower, I’m sweaty.”
Shaking your head, your greedy hands smooth up his chest, “I’m sweaty too.”
He bends down and places a finger under your chin, lips hovering over yours, “I like you sweaty.”
Spreading your legs so he can fit between them, you pull him down with you on the bed, “me too.”
The kiss is all tongue and teeth, spit mixing when he swirls his tongue around yours, grunts coming from him when your twist your fingers in his hair. You feel his hand run up your inner thigh, arousal seeping out of you when he thrusts his tongue into your mouth. Suckling on his bottom lip, you moan when you feel a finger run up your slit, collecting your juices on the pads of his fingers.
Squirming under his weight, he breaks away from you, teeth tugging on your upper lip.
You sit up a bit as he pulls off your vest, sighing when you let your hair loose from the tight ponytail.
His eyes stay glued to your chest as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra and once the material is nowhere in sight, his mouth is latched onto your nipple, hand coming up to pinch the other. He’s merciless with his tugs and suckles, teeth grazing your perked buds, cries of his name joining his satisfied sighs.
His hand continues with its ministrations, earning moan after moan when he begins to swirl his index and middle finger around your clit, his hand unseen as he works you under your skirt, your legs spreading wider.
Happy with the way your nipple turns a bright red as he tugs it between his lips, he moves on to the other, gaze locking with yours when he sticks his tongue out of his mouth and flicks the tip over your hardened bud, spit coating it, lapping and sucking, moaning like he’s the one being stimulated.
You feel his fingers prod at your entrance, his thumb pressing against your clit. He pushes two of his fingers inside your pulsating hole, his thumb flicking your clit from side to side, drawing moans from your swollen lips.
His mouth stays enclosed around your nipple and with a final nip, he moves up to suckle on the tops of your breasts, his fingers building a steady pace, your walls squeezing around him. Purple blooms on your supple skin, he seems proud of his work as he moves to your other breast, teeth sinking into the flesh, his tongue lapping at the skin to soothe the burn.
“You’re squeezing my fingers in,” he speaks against your body, hair sticking to his forehead, “so fucking tight.”
He picks up the pace, the sounds of squelching reaching your ears as he hooks his fingers on each push in, your hand flies down to grab his wrist when he touches the spot inside of you that has you twitching. Your dreams couldn’t compare to the sight of his flushed cheeks and glistening lips, fire swirling in his eyes.
“Fuck, right there, princess?”
Eyes closing, you nod, whimpering when he twists his fingers inside of you, his thumb moving languidly over your clit. You feel the pressure build, walls hugging his fingers with each drag and press.
He seems to notice, and he begins to kiss down your stomach, his head disappearing under your bothersome skirt.
His fingers still plunge into your sopping pussy, mewls tumbling from your lips with each thrust. The first swipe of his hot tongue has your back arching off the bed, high approaching a lot faster when he wiggles it against your clit.
“Yoongi, fuck.”
His other hand comes up to fondle your breasts, fingers massaging your walls, tongue curling around your clit. When his lips wrap around your pulsating bud, he suckles, thumb pressing down on your abused nipple, you cum, seeing stars behind your eyes, heat enveloping your body.
Chuckling tiredly, your hips move against his face to ride out your high.
When he reappears, his face is bright red, sweat collecting at his temples. You notice the purple marks that dust your chest, marks made by him.
He pulls down your skirt, you see his cock pressing against his shorts. Hand going down to rub his massive erection through the fabric, his eyes shut, grunting, leaning into your touch.
Sitting up, you push him down on the bed, pecking every inch of his skin. Holding eye contact, you curl your fingers around the edge of his shorts, licking your lips when his length springs free. He tangles his fingers in your hair, watching your every move.
“Y/N,” he rasps, “wanna fuck your tits.”
Gripping the base of his cock, your mouth falls open at his request. You’ve never done that before, your gaze flickers from his girthy length to his face.
Noticing your slightly puzzled expression, his thumb rubs your cheek, “get it nice and wet first, princess.”
Taking a deep breath, your lips hover over his dusty pink tip, he hisses when you squeeze a bit around the base. Tongue darting out, you massage the head with the wet muscle, spit trickling down his length.
“That’s it,” he bucks his hips, “spit on it.”
Gathering a pool of saliva, you purse your lips and let the liquid drip, fist pumping once to spread it all over his cock.
“Come on, Y/N,” he taps your cheek with his thumb, and you look up at him, the sight makes your breath hitch, his eyes are half-lidded, staring down at you, lips swollen.
“Spit on it.”
Shutting your eyes, you hold the tip to your mouth and let the spittle fly out of your mouth with a noisy sound, flattening out your tongue to lick the vein that runs on the side.
“Fuck yes, love it when you’re dirty for me.”
Moaning at his words, you wrap your lips around the head, sinking down, hollowing out your cheeks, taking him as far as you can before you’re pulling back, taking a deep breath, then sinking back down, his fingers tug at your strands, making you moan around his length.
Twisting the base, your tongue presses against the underside as you take each inch, his hips lift off the bed when you place your palms on his thighs and take him all the way to the back of your throat, swallowing around his length, breathing through your nose.
“Shit, fuck,” he yanks you up by your hair, away from his length, “you’re gonna make me cum, still wanna fuck those pretty tits.”
Wiping your chin with the back of your hand, you bite your lip at his words.
He leans down to press a kiss to your lips, your tongue traces his cupid’s bow, hands rubbing up and down his sides.
You adjust your position as you kneel in front of him, his cock slick with precum and saliva.
His hands smooth down your neck then to the sides of your breasts, keeping his gaze on your mounds, he pushes them together, thumbs rubbing over your nipples, still sore from his earlier attack.
“Keep them like that for me, princess.”
Obliging, you place your hands on either side of your breasts to keep them together while he pumps his cock, the slick sounds reaching your ears. Your eyes meet and he gestures for you to move closer. He places the head of his cock under your breasts and when it pushes through the top, he lets out a guttural moan, neck being exposed as he leans back on the bed, his palms holding him up.
Getting the gist, you move your breasts up and down over his length, seeing the slit dribble out precum, smearing over your skin. His groans of pleasure urge you to move faster, bouncing over his length, you press them together as much as you can, spitting down on his twitching cock.
“Fuck, Y/N, just like that, ah fuuuuck,” he slips down to his elbows, hips lifting up off the bed as he thrusts.
You don’t know where to look; his cock that’s fucking into your boobs or his expression of pure bliss.
Moving a little faster, your tongue darts out to split his slit on each thrust, tasting the salty beads that collected.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he paints your skin with white, gasping, some enters your mouth, some hits your chin. You slow your movements, stroking his softening dick as he gives you a fucked-out smile that has your cheeks flushing even more.
You don’t even have time to survey the mess before he’s pulling you up and wrapping his arms around your body. You feel sticky with sweat and cum.
“You have no idea…I wanted to do that for so long,” his hand runs down the back of your hair.
Your arms encircle his torso, still a little shocked at what just happened.
Min Yoongi is cuddling you, you’re cuddling him. Nuzzling into his chest, his sweet yet musty scent surrounds you. You grimace when you feel his cum drying on your chest.
“Yoongi,” he hums in answer, and you look up to see him almost dozing off.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall,” he mumbles.
Giggling at his sleepy state, you look around to find your clothes when you see a T-shirt of his hanging on a chair. Putting on the grey piece of clothing, you pad down the hall and head to the bathroom.
On your way back, you think he might be fast asleep with the way he lays motionless, blanket lifting with his steady breaths, until he speaks.
You see him pat the space next to him. Moving under the blankets, you push his hair away from his face, his eyes are still closed.
“Spend the night,” he slurs.
Settling next to him, you press your back to his chest, his arm wraps around your waist and tugs you closer.
“Goodnight,” you intertwine your fingers and bring your hands up to your lips, kissing the back of his hand.
He does the same, kissing the back of your hand, “goodnight.”
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You wake up the next morning, stomach crying for food.
Kissing Yoongi’s forehead, you take a moment to appreciate how cute he is as he sleeps, you’d never say it’s the same guy from last night with hungry touches and wild eyes. You fight the urge to pinch yourself, almost like you’re living a dream. Waking to Min Yoongi’s angelic face feels surreal to you. It felt impossible for the longest time.
As quiet as you can be, you open his room door and walk to the bathroom to freshen up. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you turn around the corner to find the kitchen, seeing Hoseok who is sitting at the table. You tug the hem of Yoongi’s shirt down when he looks up at you, crossing an arm over your chest.
“Hey, Y/N. OH! I’m not looking, I promise,” he spins around so his back is facing you while you walk further into the kitchen with heated cheeks.
“There’s coffee over there,” he points to the counter on the left, mugs next to the machine for convenience.
You fill a cup and sit on the other side of the table, sliding down a bit in the chair.
“You can…turn around now.”
You glance at him when he calls your name, feeling a little awkward in his presence. You hope you weren’t too loud last night.
“I’m happy for you and Yoongi.”
Your lips hover over the rim of the mug, feeling guilty for everything that happened between the two of you.
“You were Yoongi’s before I even knew you.”
You stare at him, eyes narrowing in confusion.
He shrugs, “Yoongi liked you way before I even knew you existed. I honestly didn’t know until recently.”
You listen to him, placing the mug on the table.
“If I had known…I’m just really mad at Suhee. She cheats on Yoongi then tries to win him back by telling him the truth. Like that’s going to solve anything.”
“The truth?”
“Yeah…She told Yoongi that you liked him from our first year, but she said she loves him now. Even though I saw Youngsik with her that same afternoon,” he scoffs.
That doesn’t surprise you at all, she will stop at nothing to get what she wants. Maybe she did love Yoongi? No. That can’t be. You’re faithful to the person you love.
“Anyway,” he drums his fingers on the table, “I have to be somewhere, I’ll see you guys later.”
His lips stretch, small dimples forming in his cheeks.
“Bye, Hobi…Thank you.”
He salutes, then steps out of the apartment.
You drain the mug and return to Yoongi’s room, seeing him sitting up with his back leaning on the headboard.
He smiles at you as you enter, his gaze lingering on your (his) T-shirt.
“Morning, princess.”
“Morning,” you smile, sitting down next to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek, like this is completely normal, like you’ve been doing this for years.
“How did you sleep?”
You rest your cheek on his bare chest, “haven’t slept like that in years.”
“You look good wearing my T-shirt.”
Tilting your head, you place a kiss on his chin, “thank you.”
He clears his throat and takes both your hands in his, nudging you to sit up.
“I know it might seem a little too soon,” he begins, your eyes search his, “but I’ve had feelings for you since the first year.”
You grin, “I know.”
“Yes, and what I wanted to say is- I mean, what I wanted to ask…” He trails off. Your heart begins to race.
You poke his cheek, “go on~”
His thumbs rub the back of your hand, “will you be my girlfriend?”
Deciding to tease him as well as get a little clarification, you stare up at the ceiling, “weren’t you dating Ahn Suhee a week ago?”
“If you’re talking about Y/L/N Y/N’s best friend then yes, yes I was.”
“Former,” you correct.
“Right, right.”
“Hmm, I don’t know if he still has feelings for her.”
He shakes his head frantically, “none, none at all. Might seem hard to believe but when someone proves to be a terrible person, they make it easy to un-love them.”
You tap your chin.
“Is that a thing?”
“You know what I mean, Y/N!”
He tackles you and you yelp, falling back on the bed, your hair sprawled across the sheets.
Gazing into his black orbs, you lift a hand to cup his cheeks, checking if he’s real and not a figment of your imagination.
He places his hand over yours, “if you have doubts…then we can take it slow.”
You think about what that could mean, “take it slow?”
“Yes, princess. Take it slow, I don’t want to rush you into anything and fuck up this whole thing.”
“I don’t want to fuck it up,” you pout.
He presses his thumb to your bottom lip, “then we’ll take it slow, okay?”
His eyes stay glued to the way his thumb rubs on the flesh, “but right now…”
“Right now?”
You’re breathing a little heavier, seeing the lust-filled look in his eyes return.
“I want- no, I need to fuck you. Keep thinking about those pretty sounds you made.”
His gaze travels down to your clothed breasts, one of the bruises he made visible to his eyes.
“Want to make you mine, cover your body in this,” you hiss when he touches the sore spot.
Grabbing your waist, he pulls you onto his lap, his hands settle on your bare thighs, pushing the grey material up. The familiar thrill gathers between your legs, spread open and waiting. Memories from last night flood your mind, how he pleasured you, how good he made you feel, it all collects in your core, and you rock your hips against his bulge, whining when he doesn’t make a move, observing you.
“So needy for my cock,” he grips your hair harshly and captures your lips in a heated kiss, your hands smoothing up his shoulders to rest on his neck.
You feel his fingers tickle your inner thighs, ascending to your folds, he licks into your mouth as his tongue swipes up your folds, moaning as you jerk your hips forward wantonly.
Kissing down his jaw, your tongue traces the outer shell of his ear, hearing him gasp and press two fingers into you at once. You nip on his earlobe, mewling when he scissors your ridged walls, prepping you for his cock that presses into your thigh. Hard and throbbing, all for you.
He removes his fingers, and you watch as he pops them into his mouth, your pussy clenching involuntarily when he groans. Pushing you back down on the bed, you grip onto his shoulders, ravenous with the way he pulls off your shirt.
“Wanna eat you out,” he wraps his arms around your thighs, yanking you further down on the bed.
“Yoongi, I need you,” you sit up on your elbows, suckling on his neck, tongue darting out to lap at his Adam’s apple.
The ache between your legs is becoming unbearable, “want your-,” feeling a little shy despite being stark naked. He chuckles at your sudden change in character.
“Want my cock?”
You feel more of your juices leak out of you, his raspy chuckle sending tingles down your spine.
Nodding meekly, you wrap your legs around his waist and run your fingers through his hair, pushing him against the headboard, your nipples rubbing against his muscular chest.
One hand stays on your ass as he reaches over to pull out a condom from his nightstand, mind fogging up with desire, you had almost forgotten. He rolls the latex down his length and guides it through your folds, his hand squeezing your ass when you lift your hips and sink down inch by inch, burying your face in his neck.
“So fucking tight,” he grits out, your mouth hangs open, the tip reaching deep inside of you, you feel stuffed full with his cock.
He sinks his fingers into your hips and lifts you up, only for you slam back down, your moans muffled by his sloppy kisses.
He begins to thrust into you, knocking the air from your lungs while you sink your teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder, tears prickling your eyes with how good he’s stretching you out, how good it feels to have him massage your walls. He guides your body in time with his thrust, setting a pace that has you crying out, his cock brushing that spot with each drag.
The pull out of your walls seems electrifying, but each time, you change your mind when it pushes back in, your brain seems to short-circuit.
Body going limp in his hold, you let him guide you over his cock, panting and grunting, pressing into you, each lift of his hips, each rub of his cock has you close to unravelling and when he keeps himself buried deep inside of you and you roll your hips around, when he adds his thumb to your clit, flicking at break-neck speed, and leans down to capture your nipple in his mouth, you feel a wave of goosebumps prickle your skin, walls closing around him with a vicelike grip, you cum around his twitching length.
Spasming in his hold as you collapse onto his chest, he helps ride out your orgasm, riding out his own too. You’re unable to form a coherent thought, muttering ‘wow’ and ‘thank you’ as he pulls out of you and discards of the condom, using his grey shirt to wipe you down.
You feel a blanket being draped over your figure, sleep washing over you once again.
Mumbling, you don’t know what you might be saying. The last thing you see are two cat-like eyes blinking at you, and the last thing you hear, is an “I love you too.”
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a/n: feedback is appreciated.
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taglist: @ggukkieland @moonchild1 @mwitsmejk @fancycollectormoon
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btsarmy9593 · 12 days ago
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Part 13 - Home
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: one night stand, early relationship, noona, smut, angst, fluff
rating: M
word count: about 6.5k
warnings: SMUT (of course) in the form of penetrative sex w/o protection, hand job, oral f. receiving; language, FEELINGS, alcohol intake (we know everyone is way of age here), FEELINGS, talking about feelings, yoongi being way too amazing for words
a/n: hahaha, so um, thanks for not you know...hurting me for last chapter's cliffhanger. i swear it's the last one. speaking of last, this is the penultimate chapter, but really, it wraps up things (I think and hope). I will do an epilogue and i already have a few drabble ideas in mind, but this....holy shit....this is it. hugs to my support team of @sasseone, @deoxyribonucleicacidworld, @xjoonchildx, @hobi-gif for encouragement and critique. to my patreon ppl who support me with some finances and lovely comments.
and to you dear readers, wow and expletive (i have no idea what to put here). this has been a real journey for me as a writer and me as a person. you all have sent me the kindest asks, comments, messages about birthday girl and this yoongi; and how much they mean to you. i can't express what that does for me. thank you. from the bottom of my cynical, dried-up heart: thank you. i hope this doesn't disappoint.
if you like my writings, consider Patreon. supporters there get an early look at my stuff. :D
series list
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12
yoongi:: i’m so so sorry, jagi. I can’t get off work to pick you up. I’ll bring the car the moment i can tonight.
You don’t mind. Not really. You’re gross from being on a plane for over thirteen hours, never mind living out of a suitcase for nearly a month. The idea of going home to an empty house to take a shower and do laundry and possibly nap for seventy hours sounds like heaven.
The best friend and her husband have no problem dropping you off, with a travel-weary hug and a promise to have a meal together soon. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been with them this whole time. You always have it in you to spend time with them.
You find the spare key under the deck chair and let yourself in. It smells clean. Not that you live in a disaster, but it’s a very nice lemon-clean smell that you recognize as one of your bottles of cleaner.
Did he clean?
You lock the door and set your keys on the table, pulling your suitcase and carry on with you down the hall to your bedroom. Before you’d left, you’d emptied a drawer in your dresser (no easy feat as you hated to throw things away that were mildly functional) for Yoongi if he needed it if/when he stayed.
You didn’t mention it to him before you left, your mind and body too occupied with other thoughts and actions.
You set your case on your bed and pull open the once empty drawer.
It’s dumb, right? Dumb to feel so much at a drawer full of black and grey t-shirts, black boxer briefs and a few rolled up pairs of socks (he really doesn’t do much color, does he)?
Dumb to touch one of the shirts and sigh at its softness?
You close the drawer, shaking your head and move to do the unpleasant task of unpacking. You make sure that the first load is going before you turn on your shower. Your phone beeps at you.
yoongi:: home?
:: yes, thank you. The place looks better than how I left it.
yoongi:: i wanna claim responsibility but a lot of it was hoseok.
You laugh at the honesty.
yoongi:: it’ll be late when I get in.
:: if you need to stay in the city, that’s fine. I’m not planning on leaving for at least 24 hours.
Was that okay? Yes, you needed, wanted to see him, but you’re nervous. And when you’re nervous you procrastinate.
What a great adult you are.
yoongi:: i might like your bed better than mine.
Your face heats. Even if it really just means that you chose your mattress well and it’s a delight to sleep on.
You take a shower, washing off the hours of canned air and so much human interaction, and enjoying your own loofah and large bottles (no more travel size). You have one of the longest showers you’ve probably ever taken.
You resist falling into your bed in your towel, knowing it’s still a little too early to go to sleep, even though it’s six hours later according to your body. You reluctantly dry yourself off, leaving your hair a wet and tangled mess.
It’s dinner time, so you scrounge in your own kitchen to come up with leftover fried rice. The idea that he has just chilled here and had takeout gives you way too many feelings. It smells okay and all of a sudden you’re starving.
Most of the hours pass in a whirl of laundry and going through a month of mail. Yoongi didn’t throw away anything. Not even the obvious ‘or resident’ mail. It amuses you that he didn’t, that you are now stuck with life insurance offers, and realtors wanting to ‘be the one’ to sell your house. The pile of pointless and rather wasteful mail is much taller than the bills, one letter from your surrogate grandmother, and two ‘this much off if you spend more than you should’ coupons.
You can be gone for a month and very little has changed.
And yet… a lot has changed.
You glance out the window of your back door as though your car and Yoongi will suddenly be there.
Fuck, you’re really anxious.
Which part do you say first? It doesn’t matter that you’ve thought of nothing else on the entire way back. Probably why your dreams had been so unsettling when you dozed on the plane.
As you sit on the couch, exhaustion falls, making you yawn. You glance at the clock over your television. It could be hours with what Yoongi considered ‘late’.
Maybe closing your eyes isn’t the worst idea.
It’s amazing to hear his voice, even in your dreams. You’ve never been really great at remembering too much of your nightly imagines, only the emotions stirred. To hear the low rasp of his voice makes you hum.
You think if you reached out you could actually touch him.
“I can’t carry you to bed. I’d probably drop you.”
Your eyes open and there he is, sitting on the end of the couch, looking at you with messy hair (did he get a haircut?) and his glasses fogged up.
“Yoongi.” You’re up and moving over to him before your brain can catch up, your hands seeking to touch. “You’re here.” His skin barely feels real in your hazy state. You brush your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. You can feel his skin heat under your hands.
“I missed you,” you say, wanting to infuse those three words with everything you’re feeling. Every time you thought of him while halfway across the world. Every time you wanted to hold his hand, to kiss him.
You can see that he is holding a takeout bag and his messenger bag, so he’s not touching you back. But he’s looking.
What are you so nervous for?
“I missed you too.” He leans in and presses his forehead to yours. “You smell good.”
“You smell like fast food.”
He chuckles and you close your eyes to soak in that laugh of his. The one that always sounds like he didn’t mean to.
“What do you mean you’d drop me?” you ask, eyes opening again. “Are you calling me fat?”
You can’t stop smiling. He’s here. You’re here. A month apart felt like ages but also only two seconds. He bumps noses with you.
“You did say you ate your way through Europe.”
You laugh and playfully push his shoulder, drawing back from him. All you want to do is stare at him. He looks great, but tired. The messy hair is adorable, but the smudges under his eyes make you want to wrap him in your arms.
“How’s work?”
He sighs and then sets down both bags, right on the coffee table. He brushes back your still wet hair.
“I’m exhausted.”
“You look it.”
“My honest girl.”
You feel your eyes well up. You have to tell him.
“I need to talk to you.”
Something flickers in his eyes, noticeable even though the lights aren’t bright in your living room.
But he nods, slowly. “Okay. But I'm honestly half-dead and you look like you might conk out in three seconds.”
“You’re just full of compliments tonight.” Your quick answer covers your disappointment that he wants to wait. You need to get it all out. Right? “Okay.”
He smiles, a slow sexy stretch of his lips. “Can I sleep in your bed?”
You make a face at him, wrinkling your nose. “Only if you shower first.”
He rolls his eyes. “So no kiss?”
Your lips part, eyes dropping to his as though the mere mention makes them a target. The smirk is back.
“Not even a little one?” he whispers, moving closer, reminding you how much you need to tell him. You gently place your hand over his face, pushing him away.
He huffs, but his grin is sly. “You’ll probably be asleep by the time I get into bed.” He gets up off the sofa, stretching
“Probably.” You reach out to grab his bag, but you’re startled by a kiss to your temple. You look up at him and he gives you a lopsided smile. But he doesn’t say anything, just takes his stuff and leaves you in the living room.
You press your hand over your heart like a southern belle in a bad period film. You’re not sure what your heart is doing. You’re not sure your heart knows what it's doing.
You eventually make your way to your bedroom, checking the doors and turning off lights. It’s more early than late for bed, but jet lag is a bitch. You curl up under the sheets, inhaling the scent of your laundry detergent (who knew that felt like home). The sound of water running in your bathroom causes your eyes to drift shut.
It’s in that sleepy fog that you feel your bed dip with his weight. You reach out, almost instinctively now. His hand clasps yours.
“Okay, jagiya?”
“Okay,” you whisper, tired enough that your inhibitions are almost gone. But you’re too aware of the power of the words you wish to say.
It’s about timing, right?
He wakes you with another kiss. This time, on your nose. The softness of it, the sweetness draws you out of whatever dream island you were on.
“Morning.” His voice is effectively rumbly and despite the heaviness of your limbs, you feel much more alert.
You squint your eyes open to see him right above you, looking down as though this is normal. Waking you up after a night by your side is just… normal.
You immediately cover your mouth with your hand and he smiles.
“I really don’t care.” Never mind that you can smell the mint of your toothpaste on him.
“I do.” You maneuver away from him, trying not to laugh as his lips chase your covered ones. He lands a kiss on your fingers, not too far off from where your lips are. You roll out of your bed, avoiding his legitimate grabby hands and hurry to the bathroom. You attempt to tame your hair before brushing the morning out of your mouth. You look like you’ve been sleeping and as you spit and rinse, you remember all the things you’ve been turning over in your brain for what feels like days and weeks, maybe even months. Turning over like those rock tumblers, smoothing the rough edges away until something acceptable is left.
You really hope it’s acceptable.
When you return to your bedroom, he’s slipping on a t-shirt. You pause and he catches your gaze. He sighs, making a sheepish face.
“I couldn’t get off work today.”
Of course he couldn’t. It’s a very important ‘last step’ of his schooling. He needs to be there.
You nod. “Of course. You’re going in early?”
He sits up, opening his drawer and grabbing a pair of clean boxer-briefs. With his eyes squarely on you, he strips the underwear he slept in and puts on the new ones.
Your cheeks heat at his ease stripping in front of you, especially when there’s no aim for sex.
“If I go in early, I can get off early. And come home to you.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.
His words are so powerful. Does he understand how much his words mean to you?
He approaches you, still clad in just a t-shirt and his underwear. He tilts his head to the side.
“That okay?”
Your response has him grinning wide, all teeth, and moving in to kiss you.
You have to tell him.
He stops. “What is it?”
You open your mouth, but close it. Maybe you’re really aware of everything or maybe you read him better, but is he nervous? Is that the little shake in his voice?
“When do you have to leave?” You look beyond him at the clock on your vanity. He turns too.
“Like 15 minutes.” He looks back at you. “Bad timing.”
Isn’t it just?
You press your lips together. You can tell him this much. Let him decide what to do with the information.
“The night I called you.” You watch him take a step back as you begin. “Um, when I was drunk?”
“You said you were tipsy.” The teasing is in his voice, there beneath the worry.
You force a smile to your face. “Same thing. I ended the call.”
He lets out a long breath before backing up to sit on the bed. “You know it doesn’t matter, right?”
You blink at him, taken out of your carefully thought-out, though rather dumb, speech. “Huh?”
“Whatever happened. With that guy. It doesn’t matter.”
You don’t feel very impressive in your pajamas, standing in your bedroom. But you cross your arms anyway.
“How could it not matter?”
“I mean, to me. Whatever happened. You still–” He swallows. “I mean, you aren’t acting like you want to break up.”
Your eyes widen. “I’m sorry?” You can hear your voice drift into that shrill range and you work to keep it even. “Why would I share my bed with–? No. No. I’m not, but you–”
His head lifts at that, having dropped after his bombshell. “But me?”
You drop your arms. “Can I just… get this out?”
His smile is tiny, but encouraging, like he can’t help but be fond. “Go on, sweetheart.”
The endearment makes you falter, but you strive on, determined. “I kissed him.”
He waits as though you plan to say more. “And?”
“That’s it. I was a little drunk, and he was nice and handsome and I figured, maybe you had a point. Maybe I just want you because you want me. So I kissed him.”
He swallows again and you watch the movement of his throat. “I see.”
“Do you?” You walk to him, intent on finding the right words to make him understand. “Do you understand that the kiss was nice, but it wasn’t you? Kissing him was like… eating my favorite meal, but not made right. He wasn’t right.” You stop walking when your legs touch his bent ones. You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you just lay them lightly on his knees. “He wasn’t you.”
Yoongi’s face can be completely unreadable, but at the moment, you think he’s in shock. He thought you’d slept with Val, which is both frustrating (you’ll never agree with him) and sad.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to kiss me if you knew I’d kissed someone else.”
He encircles your wrists with his fingers, a little too tight. “I thought you had slept with him. And I still wanted you. A kiss…”
You interrupt him. “Do not say a kiss is nothing.”
His hold loosens. “I won’t. I just… “ His head drops and rests on your upper chest. “When you hung up, I hated myself for saying it. For encouraging you to be with someone else.”
Well, that is satisfying.
“Don’t sound so smug,” he replies, not looking up. “I still think–”
He sighs. “I know.” He runs his hands up and down your forearms, raising up his head.
“Promise me you’ll never suggest it again?”
He purses his lips. “Yeah.” He glanced over at the clock, halting you from continuing. “I have to go.” He stands up, causing you to back up a few steps. Without hesitation, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you.
You melt.
There’s no other way to describe kissing him. It’s the same motions, the same body parts touching as anyone else you’d ever kissed, but it was different. It is different.
You realize you’ve rarely kissed anyone, loaded with feelings as you are right now. A sad commentary on your love life, but even the first night, kissing Yoongi was different.
“I’ll be home before supper, okay?” he says against your mouth. You kiss him again, gripping his t-shirt. “Can I use your car?”
“Yes. I plan to not do anything all day.”
He smiles, making you open your eyes to gaze at him. “I’m jealous.”
“You wanna stay and ‘not do,’ with me?”
“If I stay, we’re definitely doing something.” He punctuates the suggestion with another kiss, lingering this time, his fingers tracing along the curve of your ears.
“You might want to put on pants before you go.”
“You think?” he says, chuckling before letting go of you. He walks around to your closet. You watch as he pulls a haphazardly folded pair of jeans off the shelf in the corner. As he puts them on, he speaks again: “You emptied a drawer.”
“Yes. I thought you might need one.” You don’t say that you debated it for about three days before clearing out the ridiculous amount of t-shirts you own (how many is too many?). You don’t say that you’ve never made space in your home for someone. A guest room is one thing. A drawer is something else entirely.
“Thanks.” He buttons his jeans, allowing him to slide his hands into his pockets. “You sure about the car?”
“Of course. I might sleep more.”
He bites his lower lip to keep from grinning too wide before pulling you in for a hug. “I’ll hurry home.”
“Thank you for telling me. Even if it doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“It matters to you. But it doesn’t change anything for me.” He rubs his cheek on the top of your head. “You can show me all your pictures when I get back.”
You just nod, holding him closer.
“Jagiya?” He notices. He notices everything.
“It was a long month.”
His breath catches before he replies. “Yeah.” He draws back. “Go back to bed.” Another kiss to your forehead and he heads out of the bedroom. You don’t move for several seconds, listening to him gather his things, including your keys. When the door closes, you mouth the words you want to say, trying them out.
You don’t give them voice. Not yet.
You doze for an hour or so after he leaves, your nose buried in his pillow before drifting off, wondering how he smells both comforting and desirable (much like the man himself). It takes a little while, your brain back to dissecting your plans, thoughts, feelings, and in general, the very makeup of you.
But jet lag is stronger than your ability to overanalyze and sleep does come. When you wake again, you feel better; maybe not emotionally, but your brain is less hazy. Enough to go through work emails that you avoided during your trip (out of sight, out of mind), learning that someone left suddenly and you are now no longer an assistant professor.
You pause, staring at the email.
You send a quick text.
:: I just got promoted.
It’s several minutes before a response comes in.
bff:: bout damn time
yoongi:: while you were gone? that’s talent
You smile at both texts.
:: I’m kinda still in shock.
yoongi:: i’ll bring home something to celebrate, okay? gotta go. congrats, birthday girl
The moniker surprises you. He seems to prefer ‘jagiya’ to anything else, saying it like it’s your real name. Does he still think of you like that? The bold but naive woman who approached him in a club, resulting in a one-night stand that has now lasted almost half a year, at least in communication.
You grab the book you’d taken with you on the trip, that you’d never gotten round to finishing and decide that maybe you’ll forget for a few hours, enough to finish the book and perhaps Yoongi will be home.
You close your eyes at your own thoughts. Home.
It’s not completely gone from your mind, but the book is entertaining enough to make two hours pass relatively quickly. You haven’t moved for those two hours and you can feel it. So, you close your laptop and walk back to your bedroom, standing in the doorway to see the stack of jeans on your closet shelf.
You’ve lived most of your life alone, and often in your own thoughts and feelings. Many times someone you offered your heart to wasn’t interested, citing reasons that you fall short. Making you feel like you misinterpreted anything that had appeared like affection, fondness, or interest.
You aren’t making this up now, right? You’re not alone in this. You can’t be.
Inclined to picture the worst scenario, you comfort yourself that this might be devastating, but you risked it. You won’t play it safe.
You jump, so completely in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the car approach, the door or even his footsteps. You spin around to see him at the end of the short hall. He holds up a bottle.
“What’s that?”
“Something sweet and bubbly. You like that.”
“You’re home for lunch?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, walking toward you, glancing at his watch. “A late lunch. It’s nearly three, jagiya.”
Your grasp of time is really off currently. He leans in to kiss you.
“You didn’t hear me?”
“I was… thinking.”
He draws back, eyebrows raised. “That sounds ominous.”
He’s not wrong.
“You’re not denying it.” He sets the bottle on the washing machine, placing his hands on your shoulders. “What’s going on? You just got promoted. I thought I could take you out for dinner. I’d really like to see you tipsy when I can actually touch you.” His smirk is mischievous and when you don’t smile back, his eyes lose their mirth. “I thought we were good.”
“We are. I just…” You should wait, right? For the right moment, for the perfect setting. “I need to tell you something.”
His hands drop from you, a glaze over his eyes. “That’s… not good.”
“It could be.” Why are you talking? Just say it. He’s taking you out to dinner for a tiny promotion, something that no one but those who care for you would do: your parents, your bff.
“Jagiya… I really don’t want you–”
“I love you.”
Your confession would interrupt the man you love who almost sounds like he’s saying he doesn’t want you. But you’re trusting him. And yourself.
“What?” You had no idea his voice could go that high.
You take a deep breath, deciding to relish the words because who knew when you’d get to say them again.
“I love you.”
You’ve never actually seen the expression so clearly on someone’s face, but Yoongi is gobsmacked.
Which makes your confidence teeter just a little.
Maybe you should have waited for a nice dinner, the setting and atmosphere all romantic. Maybe not in the middle of your hallway, the bottle of something sweet and bubbly dripping condensation onto the white metal lid of your washing machine. Maybe wearing something a little nicer than yoga pants and a t-shirt. Maybe with Yoongi having styled his hair, not under a beanie.
Maybe you fucked it all up.
He still hasn’t said anything.
“You don’t have to say it back.” That’s what they say in the movies, right? Even though that is probably the only thing you want to hear in this very moment of your rather uneventful, certainly boring life.
What would it be like to hear someone say ‘I love you’ and not because it’s family or friends? The love; eros, romantic, the wanting of someone for life. A partner. A person you choose.
A person who chooses you. Chooses you first. Not last, or in second place. You’re the one he chooses.
“Yoongi?” You reach out to put your hand near his nose, just to make sure he’s breathing. It’s silly, but he really looks frozen.
“You love me.”
Can you get an allergic reaction from words? Your face feels so hot, like the sun is beneath your skin, blasting outward.
Is this what it means when writers write ‘time stopped’? You always thought it might be a good thing. The world disappears and time stops. But right now, all you feel is a weird combination of both relief (you finally said it) and anxiety (what the fuck is going to happen now?).
“You… love me.”
This is not how you saw this going in any imagined scenario.
“Yes.” You move your hand to rest on his cheek. His eyes close. “I think you are one of the most wonderful men I’ve ever met. Ever known. I know I always seem nervous or jumpy, but being with you is so safe. You are–” Oh great, you’re gonna tear up. How many times has he seen you cry by now? “You’re the person I always want to be with.”
He releases a shuddery breath before turning his head to press his lips to the inside of your palm. Your heart rate, already rather staccato, speeds up. He meets your eyes and you curse how not helpful the one hall light is in revealing anything about his gaze.
Like a brighter light could help you understand this man.
He shakes his head, moving in toward you, ushering you backwards and into your room. You stumble against the side of your bed. His hands fit round your waist to help you sit on the edge.
Perhaps you are now gobsmacked.
The hand kiss meant something good, right? He wouldn’t do that if he was bothered, or burdened, or just in it for sex, right?
You want to speak again, but you press your lips together and wait. Hoping that he’ll say something to ease the marathon of thoughts in your head.
“I am so fucking in love with you.” It comes out of him like water released from a dam, bursting and gushing. His head is dropped, as though the mere act of speaking has exhausted him.
Now time stops.
He looks up, those dark eyes sharp and burning.
You can’t speak.
“You’re so giving and warm. You have your shit together. You don’t need a barely-making-it-by grad student, almost out of school, with no secure job in a completely unstable industry. I live with guys, pretty much everything I own fits into one tiny bedroom.” He swallows and you see his fingers dig into your bedspread on either side of your hips. “You don’t need me.” He tilts his head to the side, half-smiling at you. “You’re crying.”
You hadn’t noticed. You wipe your eyes, mostly so he doesn’t go blurry. This is the moment of all moments to be savored. To be remembered.
“You’re also the person I always want to be with.” His hands find your hips, one thumb dipping under the waistband to touch your skin.
He waits, that little half-smile never wavering. You try to stop crying. You are more or less unsuccessful.
“Please say it again.”
“Which part?”
He chuckles, low and deep, before leaning in to kiss you softly. “I love you.” He cuts off any reply, mouth back on yours, not softly. You open to him, your hands eagerly seeking his hair as he nudges your knees apart with his leg.
Can you hold him closer? Can you hold him too tightly? You want to be so close that not even air can separate you. He groans when you tug his hair after dislodging his beanie.
His mouth leaves yours only to trail down to your neck. You gasp and he chuckles into your skin.
“My pretty, sensitive girl.” He looks up at you, frowning. “You’re still crying.”
“I’m… overwhelmed.”
He makes a face at you. “You’re dumb. How could I not fall in love with you?” He gently pushes you so you fall back on the bed, letting him climb over you, his arms bracing so only his lower half touches yours.
You shudder.
He smirks.
“I thought… we were doing dinner?” he asks playfully, sliding his leg back between yours, pressing his knee right against your core. “Aren’t you hungry?”
You glare at him, even though you’re trembling with need right now.
“Now you say something like ‘Yes, I'm hungry. Hungry for you’ or you know, some variation.” He looks so pleased with himself that you grab his shirt by the collar, pulling him down so you can kiss that stupid smirking mouth. He grunts at the move, but acquiesces to sliding his tongue along yours, one hand guiding your leg to bend and wrap around him. His other hand slips under your t-shirt, calloused fingers pleasant against the soft skin of your stomach.
Then your stomach growls.
He breaks the kiss, rolling over and laughing hysterically. You can feel your face burn with embarrassment and you cover your betraying body part with your arms. He’s still giggling when he rolls to his side to stare at you.
“Let’s go out.”
You stare back. “Us?”
“Yeah. Let me take you out. We’ll eat, drink, be merry.” He leans in, nosing and kissing the curve of your shoulder. “I took tomorrow off.”
“You did?”
He reaches out to lace his fingers with yours, resting both hands on your stomach. Which growls again, making him grin.
“Well, my sort of boss made me.” His eyes move away from your clasped hands to your face. “When I asked off early to be with my partner who’d been gone a month, she told me to take tomorrow off too.”
“Is that what you call me?”
He shrugs. “Girlfriend always seemed so…”
He rolls his eyes. “Kinda. Just not right for what we are.” He brings your clasped hands up to his mouth, kissing yours lightly. “Partner.”
“If I say that with a southern accent, it’ll be weird.”
He grins and kisses you. “Pardner.” It’s an atrocious attempt at the dialect and you snicker.
“Keep your day job, Min Yoongi.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but once again your stomach makes noise.
“I’m gonna shower. We’ll leave in thirty?”
It’s much later. After he takes you to his favorite Cajun restaurant. After he slides in next to you in the booth, hip to hip. After he teases you for your sensitive mouth, but makes sure you have plenty of water and cocktails to drink to abate the burn. Afterwards you order crème brulée for the both of you, but you eat all of it as he grins and sips his whiskey.
It’s later. After you get an Uber, swaying slightly as he ushers you into the backseat, giving your address to the driver. You know you’re tipsy, drunk more on him and his presence than anything you consumed. He kisses you once in the back seat, squeezing your thigh to get you to stop. Which does nothing to lessen the new kind of burn. You just want him so much.
It’s after all that that you’re back home in your bedroom. He’s pulling off his army jacket (never mind that it’s midsummer and hot outside) to hook on the back of your bedroom door.
He turns to give you his attention.
“I love you a lot.”
His smile is so soft. Almost like he doesn’t realize he’s smiling.
“Yeah?” He walks toward you. You’ve planted yourself on your bed for safety as you are still spinny from everything. “Cause I’m pretty?” He wears arrogance so well.
You nod, enjoying his face so close. You cradle his face in your hands once he’s on the bed with you.
“Pretty. Inside and out.”
The smile goes back to soft. He kisses your nose.
“You too, birthday girl.” He moves to kiss you solidly, pressing you back onto your pillows. “I really, really want to be inside you right now.” He meets your eyes. “That okay?”
You nod, taken with the gruffness of his tone, the lower register giving you tingles. He starts to peel away the simple sundress you’d put on for dinner. He starts to tug it down your frame, but you shake your head.
“What’s wrong?”
“Won’t go over my hips.”
His flash of smile is dark and tempting. He reverses, sliding it up, his hands along your sides, making you tremble. When it’s over your head, he kisses you leisurely, letting the fabric keep your arms above your head, restrained. You have a moment of doubt, of fear that he’ll leave you like this, unable to touch him.
He continues to kiss you, biting your lower lip as he removes the dress from you entirely, letting it fall on the side of the bed.
“I won’t ever do anything without asking, or checking in with you, jagiya.”
You’re so easy to read.
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, looking down at your underwear-clad body. “No apologies.” He sits up on his knees, his hands running back down your sides until he’s at your waist, his thumbs right under your ribs.
You squirm.
“Ticklish?” He doesn’t really want an answer, continuing his path now at your hips, his fingers brushing along the width and roundness of them, where the bone protrudes slightly, where it’s all cushioned because you will never be skinny. “I had dreams of your body, its shape when you were gone.”
You try and sit up, but he hooks a finger in your underwear, tugging it down just a bit. He chuckles when you squeeze your legs together.
“You did?”
“I keep thinking I can somehow get that into my music. But no effect quite works.” He raises up off of you, removing your underwear completely. “Fuck, I have missed every part of you.”
You turn your head, unable to watch him stare at your cunt like that.
“Embarrassed, jagiya?”
“I’m still adjusting to someone wanting my body… and me.”
He waits until you look back at him, eyes both heated and soft before sliding down to kiss and lick your folds. You make an indescribable noise and he laughs against your skin. You try and squeeze again, but he has one hand on your inner thigh and he’s holding you open.
A month is a long time and you hardly feel like you have time to enjoy his gifted mouth when you come, your body shuddering with waves of release. He doesn’t move away until you push at his head, causing him to sit back up and wink at you. He removes his shirt, wiping his face on it and letting it fall, probably next to your discarded dress. He’s quiet when you sit up, shaky from your orgasm, but determined to get rid of his pants and underwear. He idly traces his finger along the cups of your bra.
You shove down his pants to his thighs, then his boxer briefs. He hisses when you take him in hand.
“Too harsh?” you ask, worried you gripped him too hard in your eagerness to make him feel good.
“No…” He grins sheepishly at you. “Just really missed your hand.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s a hand.”
He wraps his own around yours as you stroke him, smearing his precum to make him slick. His hand tightens around yours making you look up.
“It’s yours.”
You feel tears again, so you lift up to your knees to kiss him. He sighs into your mouth, his free hand sliding to the back of your head, fingers in your hair. He pulls firmly, making you bare your throat to him. The sounds his mouth makes against your skin only add to the already obscene soundtrack.
Then his hand stops yours from moving.
“You good?” you ask as he loosens his hold on your hair. His face is flushed, glistening with exertion, lips shiny and pink. You kiss him, breathing him in. He inhales sharply, hands on your shoulders to push you back on the bed. He moves some of your pillows, propping you up some, his hand gently keeping your head from hitting the headboard. “I love you.”
He looks up. “I love you. Saranghae.”
You mouth the foreign word back.
He smiles, eyes bright before he puts one more pillow behind your head. He lifts one of your legs and slides in. You both moan in tandem.
“Oh fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, you feel good.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” You barely can speak, but you get that out. His nose flares at your teasing and his only retort is to pull out and push back in, rendering you silent.
No matter how long you get this, you know it won’t ever be ‘just sex’ to you. It still mystifies you: both the ordinariness of it, and the sacredness of it. It’s just bodies, doing something that bodies have been doing for millenia. And yet.
There’s no way to put it into words, just how much having Yoongi this close affects you. You won’t come from this. You don’t. But it doesn’t matter. He will. Tugging on his hair, kissing his jaw, his neck, moving in rhythm with him will make him feel good.
Just like he makes you feel good.
You hope you make him feel as good, cared for, and loved as he does for you. That’s what love is, right? Just giving and giving to the other person as they give and give to you.
You hope so. You can’t wait to know for sure.
When he falls on top of you, exhausted and spent, you play with his hair, feeling his rough breath panting against your chest. You kiss the top of his head.
“You good?” you ask after a few minutes.
“Yeah, jagiya.” He kisses your collarbone. “I’m good. I might fall asleep like this.”
You feel his body vibrate with his chuckles. “I don’t think it’ll be comfortable for you.”
“I don’t care.”
He pushes himself up and off you, pulling out and you both wince. “Come on. Let’s clean up and go to bed. We can sleep in tomorrow.”
You nod tiredly and take his proffered hand and get off the bed too. You clean yourself up in the bathroom as he strips the bed. You pull on one of his t-shirts from his drawer and he smirks at the sight of you in it. While he pops into the shower, you put on new sheets.
Your phone, discarded on the dresser, flashes with a message. You smooth out the comforter before opening your phone to see.
bff:: hell yeah he loves you! don’t forget to hydrate while having marathon sex. you don’t want to pass out.
You show Yoongi the text when he comes back in and you’re laughing. He smiles wide, gums and teeth showing.
“Should I tell her we’re about to go to sleep?”
He takes your phone from you, setting it back on the dresser. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you under the clean sheets and against him.
“Let her think that and I’ll make it up to you with marathon sex and water to drink in the morning.” He buries his face in your hair, holding you close. You turn to face him, hands resting on his chest. His eyes already shut, face smooth in repose.
“Do you think you can say ‘I love you’ too many times?” you ask quietly. He scrunches his nose, telling you that he heard you.
“Don’t know. Let’s find out.”
crossposted to ao3
© 2020-21 btsarmy9593: BTS belongs to BigHit and they are just inspiration. I am fully aware that my stories are not them, in any way. They are far better than any thing I could write. The rest is from my little brain. Please do not steal. Why would you do that?
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jiminrings · a month ago
take five
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pairing: yoongi x reader
wordcount: 10k
glimpse: dr. min yoongi’s a board-certified dermatologist; skilled, renowned, and in-demand — oh and also, he’s divorced.
alternatively, you’re yoongi’s nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out — he never said anything about accepting though.
[ angst, fluff, unrequited love, so much pining ]
notes: inspired by yang seok-hyeong and choo min-ha’s dynamic from hospital playlist!! you don’t necessarily have to watch it in order to read this :D this idea has been sitting in my notes for like a year now (yikes) and i’ve only found the wILL to do it now!! took a short break because i’ve been mostly just pumping out stem koo for the past months, but here’s a yoongi piece to cleanse everyone’s palate!! this has got to be one of my favorite pieces ever hee-hee
as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback/requests/love to my askbox anytime!!
[ part two ]
“Now where the hell did you hear that?”
Yoongi looks at you incredulously and for a moment, you think you’ve actually hit homerun with your stupid myth of the day because not only does he roll his eyes at you, he also scoffs and stops in his tracks.
“Just somewhere,” you mumble under your breath and hope that Yoongi doesn’t ask you for the exact source and citation because he already looks irked with what he just heard. “But they say it’s true though! If you don’t immediately drink water when you start having hiccups, you would have a breakout the next day or hours later, even.”
There is bliss in ignorance.
There is bliss and beauty in ignorance and it comes in the form of knitted brows and an agape mouth on Dr. Min, his eyes trained on you as if you asked him the stupidest question he's ever heard (you probably did) in his career and perhaps his lifetime.
Every week, from Monday to Saturday, Yoongi comes to his own clinic between the window of 8 to 8:15 in the morning wearing a bucket hat and his choice of clothing to wear under his white coat. Only his right hand would be occupied by the Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière 45 bag, which he later tosses as soon as he enters the clinic and see his employees scramble to catch and save it, just to give himself a little chuckle every morning. He really couldn't care less if none of them manage to catch it, but it's kind of nice having a pointless yet joyful routine.
Additionally, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you come to Serendipity Aesthetics at 7:00 AM to drop off your things so you could walk to the expensive coffee shop to buy equally overrated coffee because after all, your place of work is in the heart of the luxury district. Between the window of 8 to 8:15, Dr. Min walks in and throws his designer bag into the air, to which every employee tries to catch so there wouldn't be a single scratch (but everyone knows that he literally wouldn't care if nobody could save it), and every single time, you're the one who catches his bag.
Also, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you make sure that you're Dr. Min's first interaction of the day.
It always starts with a pathetic skincare myth that you ask him to verify while he either confirms or denies it for you while walking to his office, giving him his coffee that you buy with your own money. It originally started with you searching compilations online and eventually, they got so boring and repetitive that you started making up your own.
The more ridiculous it is, the more reaction you get from Yoongi.
You quickly learned that by now and every morning, you get to see the way he furrows his eyebrows and you're convinced that if you say your myth in a defensive and completely-swayed tone, Dr. Min would actually look at you to deadpan.
This time, however, you probably struck gold.
"I would actually fire you if you even thought for a second that it would be true."
Granted, maybe the gold you thought you've struck is just plated and would turn green overnight.
"Very funny, Dr. Min. No explanation today?" you try to coax one from him because the door to his office is looking especially near and he doesn't allow you to enter anyway.
"I think it's pretty self-explanatory that I studied to be a doctor for more than a decade, have my own clinic, and threatened to fire you for your useless myth of the day, don't you think?" he hums lowly, wiping his finger to press his code onto his door.
"You do have a point," you sheepishly mumble at being outed more harshly for your tactics, "can I ask you something else though?"
Yoongi's eyes are glued on his phone as he just waves you off to both shoo and acknowledge you at the same time, leaning his weight to the door so he could both watch the highlight reel of a show he watched just last week and carry his bag.
"Later. I'm busy."
"No problem!" you stammer because you're not sure if you're ready to ask him anyway, wordlessly pushing the door open for him because he's deeply immersed on his phone. "Can I ask you over lunch? I-..."
... know a place.
Yoongi's door already closes on your face as the result of him kicking it backwards as he enters, making you take a step back to gather yourself.
You are not ready at all to ask him.
It's no secret that you have a crush on Dr. Min. Not at all. Practically everyone knows how head-over-heels you are for him; even the man himself actually.
It was embarrassing at first when it sinked into you that everyone collectively knows how you trail after him like a stray kitten whose gotten their first feed of the day, but later on, it’s something you actively and unnecessarily took pride in.
That way, you could ward off any other people in the clinic who has an eye on him! Dr. Park says that it’s the equivalent of a dog peeing on a fire hydrant within a street that nobody likes to walk in, but you just dismiss his comment as per usual. You’re sure that it’s impossible that no one likes him a little more than usual as an employee would, but perhaps they’re just not as showy as you are.
You can't pinpoint exactly why you have a crush on him because truth be told, you liked him in entirety. It was gradual, sure, but you liked him as a whole even from the start. Something about him’s so pulling that you find yourself complaining silently sometimes.
Liking him is easy. The variables aren't.
It just so happens that Dr. Min doesn't like you in that way, or in any way at all, but that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. Everybody starts from zero at one point.
"Not to burst your bubble, buttercup, but you do know that Yoongi used to have a wife, right?"
Jimin, the cosmetic surgeon of Serendipity Aesthetics and Yoongi's business partner, asks you. He has no ill intent — he actually finds it adorable to see you pining after his best friend who's done nothing but turn you down.
It’s harsh, entertaining, but not laughable. Even the secondhand embarrassment and heartbreak makes Jimin look away whenever you ask Yoongi about his weekend. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but the only difference is that the mouse is unfazed and untouchable, and the cat's scared yet determined.
Coincidentally, Jimin's your childhood friend. Both his and your parents would assign him to watch over you even if he's just some years ahead of you. It even strengthened the bond of you treating him as an older brother and him fulfilling the role well, just as annoyingly.
Your communication hasn't been consistent especially when he entered medical school, which is why you've rarely ever heard about Yoongi before you even worked here. None of it matters though because it feels that you’ve been with Jimin for a lifetime in a literal sense, feeling a stroke of fate because somehow, he’s the common string that bridged you and Dr. Min unknowingly.
You like him a healthy amount. In a very respectful, healthy, almost pitiful amount.
"Yeah. I knew that," you sigh dejectedly, stirring your iced coffee that’s already gotten too watered-down for your taste. “She’s the model, right?"
How could you not?
How could you not know who Dr. Min’s ex-wife is because even before you worked in his and Jimin’s clinic, you’ve already heard of her?
You once saw her in an LED billboard once at a prime spot in a busy street. You saw her face on a promotional liquor poster in a convenience store without knowing that she was the wife of your then-crush (who you didn’t know yet) at the time. You see her large signature on the wall at a restaurant you regularly eat at but don’t have the appetite for nowadays.
"Mhmm, Jihye."
Jimin hums in agreement, spooning a portion from your plate and into his mouth because you’re too preoccupied to swat his hand away.
"Is she your best friend?"
Jimin rolls his eyes playful at the tone of your voice who’s suddenly gotten meek. "No, that's you, buttercup.”
You atleast feel comforted that Dr. Min’s ex-wife, whom you barely know, hasn’t managed to snatch perhaps your favorite person in the whole world. She once had Yoongi and that’s something you can stomach because it’s their life you’re not a part of, but something tells you that you’d be a little more bummed to know that Jimin and her are close just like the two of you.
“We were friends at best because I'm close to Yoongi and well... y'know..." He coughs awkwardly, eyes hesitantly looking up at you before he buries his face to the noodles to the point he could feel the steam rise to his face. "I was the best man at their wedding."
Jimin notices the way your mouth is just fixed on your dumpling, unmoving. It's only rare that you ask him about Dr. Min because there's always the guilt that you're just using your friendship with Jimin as leverage to know more about his colleague, but in the few times that you do ask about him, it always has something to do with major facts you can't immediately grasp your head around.
"Don't worry! They were in a relationship for three years, and only married for one. They knew each other even before Yoongi became a resident."
"That does not help me, Jimin. At all."
He only sheepishly scratches the back of his head, going back to his words which he now realizes did nothing to make you feel better.
"Relax. If you say something superlatively dumb enough for your skincare myths, he'll probably take the hint and date you out of pity."
You unclench your mouth on the dumpling, finding no will to chew it now that Jimin, once again, opened his mouth. "Made it even worse, actually."
He's no stranger to you feeling bummed but he knows that he's somehow in a bind because he's in a point of conflict between you and Yoongi, both his best friends. He can't exactly give you false hope in order to cheer you up, but he can't lie either and say that you don't have a solid fighting chance with Yoongi.
You're frowning but he knows you understand, well-aware that you'd recuperate soon enough.
"Cheer up. Just ask him out and if he denies you, then be it! I had a hand in designing this clinic, remember? It's big enough for you to avoid him."
"Not sure if I should feel inspired or discouraged," you tut under your breath, pressing your forehead down the table so you could ignore him while he leaves you alone. "Thanks, Dr. Park."
Jimin rolls his eyes at the nickname you use to spite him and only call him when the other employees are around, in which case there aren't, just because he did the equivalent of making you gulp orange juice after brushing your teeth like his sudden "I was the best man at Yoongi's wedding" revelation.
You don't know how long your forehead's been pressed to the table but it feels long enough to the point you hear a familiar set of footsteps you didn't anticipate to come this soon, immediately straightening your posture.
"Dr. Min! You're here!"
Yoongi looks up from his phone and nods, completely unsurprised that you're here in the breakroom at the exact moment that he comes in.
"Dr. Park bought everyone lunch today, yours is in this bag," you gesture to the meal you've separated and took the initiative of writing his name on so no one would "accidentally" claim it for themselves because it's always the one with the extra sauce and napkins.
He only hums as he plops down to the seat parallel to the paper bag, not registering it at all that you did it on purpose so he'd be sitting beside you. You didn't actually think he'd fall for it, but it's one of the times you feel indebted to his eager attention to his phone because he doesn't notice.
Yoongi sets his phone down on the table as it's held up by his convenient popsocket, immersed in slurping his own noodles to be oblivious of you who's close to losing your shit right beside him.
The opportunity is sitting right next to you and you didn't expect it to come this soon because if you knew that Dr. Min would be setting off your tentative plans unknowingly with how everything's coming to place, you probably would've rehearsed endlessly in front of a mirror.
"Can I ask my question now?"
Dr. Min's in the middle of chewing when you ask but he doesn't flinch, already aware that you ask him so much questions within a day that he feels like he's working with a nosey toddler.
"Go. You're gonna ask it anyway," he replies monotonously and continues chewing, bringing more noodles to his mouth even if his cheeks haven't deflated yet.
His nonchalance is what simultaneously intimidates and eggs you on, finding the words leaving your mouth with no filter at all.
"Can I ask you to go out with me? I'll only ask you five times and after that, I'm gonna get off your tail."
There's no beat of silence because Yoongi keeps chewing and you're sure you heard a chuckle in-between, looking at his side profile while holding your breath. You're just about to apologize for crossing a line you've been toeing for the better portion of a year when he looks at you once, briefly and lazily.
The word doesn't immediately click in your mind as you stumble with spelling out the letters in your head. Are you hearing it right? Is this just a side-effect of Jimin randomly clapping his hands beside your ears when you're getting groggy?
"O-okay? As in, yes?"
"Okay as in yes, you can ask me to go out with you," Dr. Min clarifies calmly, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips when he sees the favorite part of his show appear on-screen. "Asking me to go out with you is different from going out with you."
You're shell-shocked because that's exactly what you asked of him and you're even more surprised that he interpreted it as such, the weight of his approval now dawning on you.
"Of course."
Yoongi only hums but he can't bring himself to get another bite because you don't let a second go to waste, seeing your face plead closer to his peripheral vision that he only manages to give you a side-eye.
“Can we go out later, Dr. Min? I actually checked your schedule and you have nothing booked past 4 PM!”
You try to tone down your excitement and you're glad that the expectation of him answering you in the first try is only an afterthought, because he shoots you down twice as quick as you asked.
“Do you have plans tonight then?” you prod with a gentle smile, trying to see if you can sway him even in the slightest.
“Then why don't you wanna go out with me?” there's a light-hearted frown on your face and as much as you know that it won't elicit a reaction from Dr. Min, it's only playful. There's no real accusation nor anger behind your tone.
“Because I don’t, Y/N," Yoongi actually chuckles and he looks at you as if you're the silliest goose he's ever come across a pond. "You’re on closing duty later, bye!”
( ♡ )
“Good morning to my favorite dermatologist in this whole wide world!”
Yoongi hears you greet him cheerily and it almost makes him flinch because you materialized out of nowhere. He's about to scold you for doing that because who knows if you get mistaken and accidentally give a faint-hearted client with the shock of their lifetime, he really was about to — but he sees his cinnamon bun on your hand (courtesy of Jimin telling you his favorite dessert for the price of one cheek kiss), and all the words melt from his mouth.
“Good morning.”
Dr. Min almost snatches what you're holding and you almost huff, trailing beside him as his fingers quickly undo the familiar teal box packaging of his favorite pastry.
“You forgot 'Y/N, my favorite nurse in this whole wide world'.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget anything," he adds for good measure but something doesn't quite fit because as much as his hand is holding a box that houses his favorite type of sweet, his other hand doesn't feel warm. There's no cylindrical cup on his hand that makes his palm just the right amount of toasty and he realizes it the hard way because he raises his hand, ready to take a sip of a whole lot of nothing.
"Where's my-"
“Here’s your coffee.”
"Thanks," Yoongi feels the familiar warmth in his hand in a second and he sighs in relief inwardly, but there's just something off. Feels that there's something actively off because it's definitely more warm than what he'd feel in his regular cup. "Huh? Why is it in a mug?"
He wonders out loud and the sight of the ceramic mug is enough culture shock from the usual lidded paper cup he sees almost every morning, looking at you as if you've told him the worst insult known to man.
You didn't exactly think that Dr. Min would react as differently as this because Jimin said that coffee is still coffee to him, but in the process, you've directly forgotten that your friend told you right after Yoongi's coffee preferences — is that he tends to be a creature of habit.
“From the shop. I-I also bought the mug from the coffee shop so I can present it as this.”
You thought Dr. Min would be pleasantly surprised as he holds the too-expensive ceramic excuse for a coffee mug, but you don't know what to anticipate as he casts his eyes down.
GO OUT WITH ME? :), written in cocoa powder amongst the white froth, a product of going to the coffee shop extra early and having to fend off the red-haired barista with the bunny smile because he thought you were asking him out.
"Mhmm," Yoongi spends a second longer looking at the foam art before he takes a big gulp and effectively washes away what you significantly paid higher for than his usual coffee, trapping your wince at the back of your throat. You're looking at his Adam's apple and he looks just one gulp away from finishing it all, and he does right in front of you. "Can't. I'm taking my mom to go shopping."
You awe unconsciously as it's a known fact within the clinic that Yoongi adores his mom a lot and you see her quite often, having extra snacks being delivered personally to the employees each time because she's a nice and sincere woman.
“I can carry the bags?" you're only half-joking, a cheesy grin on your face, but Dr. Min only shakes his head at you and disappears into his office.
That's your second chance gone as quick as the latte disappeared into Yoongi's throat, but atleast you know that he doesn't hate the beverage and he can reuse the mug.
There's still some merit in your attempt somewhere.
There's never an empty instance in the clinic. It's always full. It's a little more high-end than most clinics and you could see it in the design and layout of the clinic itself, but it doesn't mean it's fully-exclusive. You see celebrities and socialites every other day and with the hands-on nature of your work, you're not as starstruck and bothered as you used to be.
There would always be more than a handful of VIP clients but that doesn't mean they're the only clientele. Serendipity Aesthetics isn't that snooty, and it's something you can manage with.
Your work's just as tiring as the doctors' and not a lot of people credit you for it, but it's something you shove to the back of your mind at the end of the day. You only scrunch your nose under your mask when you see the 73rd trustfund baby come into the clinic for the day, unfocus your eyes so you couldn't roll them when they manage to bring in their wealth that wasn't questioned into the conversation, and move on to your next patient.
You've just finished giving a diamond peel to a breadwinner mother (whom you've had a nice chat and laugh with throughout the process) when your eyes immediately lock in to the figure that knows no queues nor other clients as she walks past, walking straight to Dr. Min's procedure room.
And of course, you don't know whether fate is on your side or not, but you're the only assistant available to assist so naturally, Hoseok, the secretary, looks at you with a knowing nod.
You don't know what to expect when you come inside the procedure room, making yourself as small as possible when you knock twice briefly and enter, standing in the corner with your eyes trained on your clipboard.
Yoongi nods at you once in acknowledgement as his attending assistant, and you can barely acknowledge him back because the Jihye, who was Mrs. Min at one point, is in your direct line of sight.
She's sitting down but you can still see her graceful posture then with her shoulders pulled back and her hair framing her face perfectly. The casual sweater ensemble she wears is probably more expensive than your whole closet could be, but the gray of it doesn't dull her out at all. There's creases on the material since she's sitting down and is therefore not taut, but the wrinkles look poised on her figure nonetheless.
Her manicured hands sit prim and proper on Dr. Min's desk and you can't help but think how they used to look with a wedding band on her ring finger, your thought process making you look at his hands that are clasped right in front of him.
She smells expensive and important, just like how Dr. Min does. Not only do they have a figurative scent of gravitas surrounding them, but they also carry it literally. When they shared a home, have they started smelling like each other at one point? Does the intoxicating smell of daisies on Jihye become Yoongi's scent on his white coat at one point?
"What do you want, Jihye?"
You find yourself holding your breath in anticipation of hearing her voice in-person, and it's everything you've ever expected.
"Undereye fillers, please. I have campaigns and Fashion Week back to back so I need a touch-up."
Expensive, important, elegant, sweet.
Yoongi sighs under his breath, standing up from his seat to examine closer. You almost move to stand beside him to assist but you forget that of course, Dr. Min has his own penlight. You're paralyzed at your corner but you can't help but watch.
You watch him press Jihye's undereyes lightly with the pad of his thumb and then with his ring finger, assessing intensively but holding her lightly as if she's made of glass.
"They're not that sunken-in like usual. You still want a touch-up?"
Jihye laughs sweetly, putting a hand on her chest as she tilts her head up at Yoongi.
"Ah. You're still so sweet to me."
Yoongi doesn't indulge her with a laugh but instead just rolls his eyes, going back to his seat as he types into his chart. "Would that be all?"
"That's it for now," Jihye grins, clutching her purse to her chest as she rocks back and forth on her heels even if she's sat down. "Always down for a facial from you though."
Yoongi clicks his tongue and gives his ex-wife a warning gaze, and just for the slightest fraction, you feel him turning his gaze to you. His gaze that's not for the purpose of feeling sorry you had to hear that, but rather for the purpose of telling his ex-wife that the two of them aren't alone.
She drawls sweetly and you could only look away because this banter of theirs doesn't concern you at all.
Dr. Min ignores her and looks at you, a firm line on his lips.
"Get me the materials, Y/N."
"Extra ice too! I wanna munch on some," Jihye adds as you're on your way out and you make the note of getting more ice from the freezer because she asked so, filling up a champagne glass neatly.
You wheel in your cart and you could only reply with a stiff nod when she thanks you eagerly, already plopping an ice cube to her mouth.
You wait as you see Yoongi become gentle, all from the way he injects the filler to massaging the skin underneath Jihye's eyes.
They're divorced and yet they look casual as they've always done this. They probably did and still continue to. They look like they still belong to each other.
You can't deny that Jihye's pretty and although you're not privy to details if she has work done or not, it doesn't change the fact that she's pretty. She must and is the prettiest girl in the world for Yoongi because obviously, he married her. Loved her. Maybe even currently love her even.
You feel silly. A little more silly than usual like what Yoongi points you out to be because after all, you're an assistant at work who's holding the tissues and the icepack, feeling as if you have the right to intrude or even be jealous of the fact that your boss, the one you have a pathetically huge crush on, is laughing with his ex-wife over an inside joke like what all couples have.
Like what all couples, divorced or not, have.
( ♡ )
Yoongi thinks he's actually managed to escape you.
He's in his procedure room simply because the airconditioner blows colder and not because he has a patient to meet at the moment. It's his favorite kind of quiet; no one's daring to knock on his door, no shoes squeaking, no you who keeps asking him questions at every waking moment you could find.
Come to think of it, not only did he barely see you today, but he also barely saw everyone in the clinic. It's unusual to say the least because for the hundred times that he passes by Hoseok, he now realizes that he barely occupies his position at the front desk. He's heard nothing from Jimin either whose office is just right next to his, unaccustomed to not having someone knock on his door until he budges and lets him in because the guy just wanted to hang out even in silence.
Actually, he doesn't know anyone's whereabouts at the moment. The clinic's full even at lunchbreak but it oddly feels quiet, making him put his phone down and debate to whether or not he should check up on everyone.
“Give me a facial, please.”
Yoongi practically jumps out of his seat when he hears someone pipe up from right behind him, goosebumps forming at the back of his neck as he automatically flinches.
He knows it's you but he didn't know it would be you who's sneaked up on him out of nowhere. Sometime in his whole thought process, you've already opened the door to his room without him noticing and he's badly reaping the consequence of not being perceptible enough.
"Holy fuck," he clutches at his chest from the shock upon seeing you that's slowly simmering down, throwing his head back, only to see you smiling at him gently as if you didn't age him atleast two years faster. "A facial?"
Yoongi grimaces at your crude plead, snickering to himself, but when he registers the weirded-out look on your face, he immediately remembers his profession and what you're actually asking from him.
“Yup! A facial.”
You seem to have no qualms about repeating your request and that's because you don't have any, feeling fully confident in yourself because you're certain that he can't deny such a trivial request at the time.
“Do you have a schedule with me? Have you paid to the front desk already?” Dr. Min asks you in succession and tilts his head at you, making his newly-dyed blonde hair bounce from side to side intentionally.
It's cute, really, but you didn't come here unprepared. After all, you believe that it's Dr. Min this time who owes you something.
“But it’s my birthday — you didn’t know?“
That throws him off the loop for a second and he doesn't even actually believe that it's your birthday at first, especially coming from you whom he believes is a big fan of bogus skincare myths and probably eats them for dinner.
He's about to ask you for some ID but the dots connect in his mind before he polices his employee over their own birthday; why everyone's been missing, why Jimin couldn't stay still the whole morning, why he's been seeing random balloons being held by patients in the waiting area, and why there's some bit of frosting left on the side of your jaw.
“Why would I know when your birthday is?”
“You hired me.”
You blink owlishly at what’s supposed to be an obvious answer but Yoongi reads it as being a smart-ass.
“I hired you for your credentials, not your birthday,” he rolls his eyes and you already know he’s fully recovered from the unintentional spook you’ve given him. "Actually, scratch that — Jimin told me to hire you."
You'd like to think that you'd get hired nonetheless if not for Jimin, but the thought lingers heavily on you. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue and you’re unaware that it shows on your face because for a second, Yoongi feels as if he should apologize because he may have took it too far. In full honesty, the whole concept of it only struck you now and you don’t know what to think of it, especially in a day you swore you’d only be self-indulgent.
You miss a single beat and the needier part of Yoongi’s guilt feels compelled.
“Nevermind. It’s okay! But it’s my birthday, and you told me that you give your employees a free facial as a birthday gift!”
Yoongi feels saved with your smooth transitioning but his eyes narrow once he recognizes the gist of what you’re saying, deeming it to be a little too demanding because all he wanted to do this afternoon was to lay back in between appointments.
"I can just give you a gift card,” he offers and he thinks you’re gonna accept the upgrade which is why he’s about to stand up and retrieve it from his office right this instant, being stopped abruptly when you block his way out of his chair.
“No. I want a facial.”
He hasn’t even started telling you that he has some designer gift cards in his drawer as well but you already shake your head no to what he was about to say, unrelenting when he tries to walk past you that only prompts you to hold your arms out horizontally.
“Fine. It’ll just be a quick one after the last patient and-...”
“Actually, your patient for this hour just cancelled because she has to appear in court for evading taxes or something.”
He blinks once, clearly unnerved. “Oh. Naeun? Again?”
Dr. Min hums to himself about taxes and turns his back on you silently, making you stammer in place because you don’t know if you’d accept rejection at your birthday this early into your attempt. You want to ask one more time if he’s still giving you a facial or not because you’re just standing there as still as an idle video game character, waiting for a prompt that would directly address you.
“What are you doing?” he asks you and you look straight to the mirror that’s in front of him, wide-eyed at being guilty for simply just standing in his presence. “Lie down already. I thought you wanted your birthday present?”
You realize belatedly that Dr. Min’s standing by his employee benefit because while he had his back turned on you because it turns out he was just preparing the tools and equipment he needed for your facial, not because he was annoyed at you and wanted you to take a hint by making you look at his back.
You've never been in this position, actually — the one where you're lying on the patient's bed and Dr. Min's looking down on you, the mix of a scowl and a small smile on his face just to appease you.
He's gentle. Much more gentle that you thought now that you're on the receiving end of his hands. Puts the least amount of pressure in holding up your head to put on a headband before setting you back down, his hands close enough to your face that you could smell the familiar scent of the clinic's hand soap.
You surprisingly melt when Dr. Min dots the cold cleanser to your face and rubs gently in small circles, expecting to flinch because of the overwhelmingly new experience, but there's just something in the way he caresses your face that puts you into ease.
“Jimin and the others prepared me a cake in the breakroom awhile ago.”
Your eyes are closed and you're relaxed and you don't entirely know if it's still a good look on you because Dr. Min's still rubbing in the cleanser, not entirely lying when he says that he's considering on rubbing in the lather to your mouth because he expected you not to talk this much considering he's already in the midst of giving you a facial.
“I pay all of you and you didn’t offer me any,” he mumbles in faux dejection, but the thought of having cake with the chocolate icing he's swiped from your jaw does sound appetizing.
“You were out on lunchbreak.”
You were out on lunchbreak with your ex-wife.
You withhold the last bit that you came to know because of Jimin, since he was on the way to Yoongi's office to invite him for your impromptu birthday lunch but couldn't even finish his invitation because Yoongi already uttered urgent lunch and Jihyo in the same sentence.
“Do you know what my wish was?” you speak meekly but Dr. Min doesn't notice the dimming hope behind it, one that's about to wear off sooner or later.
“Humor me,” he murmurs and that's when you hear the familiar beep of the steamer in your side, knowing that it would grant him 20 minutes of separation from you which he probably craves.
You've memorized it by now — steaming your face doesn't actually open your pores, and neither does washing your face with cold water close them. Steaming just loosens the pores which therefore allows products to seep in deeper and further.
Apart from that, there's one thing you've also come to memorize.
“That you’ll go on a date with me.”
Dr. Min chuckles and atleast you know that it'll soften the blow you expect by now.
“Nope. I’m watching a movie in the cinema with my friends tonight.”
You open your eyes and he closes them right back because it'll hurt to open with the hot steam, unconsciously doing it with a tut on his lips.
“It’s my birthday," you weakly offer with a pout on your mouth and you're oblivious to the half-smile Dr. Min has on his face because of course, your eyes are closed and have been threatened once again to be fired if you don't keep them closed.
“It’s my movie time.”
( ♡ )
Nothing’s going right.
You watched a movie last night with Jimin and it ended up having a cameo of Jihye, making the remaining thirty minutes in the cinema become a darkroom for all of your doubts and insecurities, while Jimin chews your remaining popcorn as silently as he could (because it would be a waste) while rubbing circles on your forearm.
You drank with him all night but he's counting his shots because he obviously has some clients to attend to the next day. It's not exactly a good look of being hung-over with his eye twitching as he completes a rhinoplasty at 1 in the afternoon.
Your car wouldn't be fixed for another week and when you hitched a ride with Jimin and passed by the shop, it's because your car's in the corner and everyone's working on a flashy blue Maserati, in which he made the off-hand comment that it looks like Jihye's but he isn't entirely sure.
Everything from last night until today makes you feel like you don't have control over anything at all. It's deflating and pitying and it adds to the ever-growing con list of what it's like to have a crush on your divorced boss.
So while Dr. Min's standing in his gown since he's assisting Jimin, and in turn you're assisting them and the two of you are alone because Jimin's still washing his hands outside, you ask.
“Go out with me?”
Yoongi's eyes widen at your straightforward reply, cutting to the chase. There's no pleas, no rebuttals and most of all, there's no underlying curiosity. No sneak-handed question that inquires what exactly were his plans.
It's just a plain okay that he can't wrap his head around, making him look at you whose gaze is set on the patient's gown.
“It’s Jihye’s grandmother’s birthday today. She’s old-old — you get the point. Still thinks we’re together and we don’t wanna break her heart.”
He feels compelled to explain even if you haven't asked him remotely, preparing himself for any added questions you might have.
“M’kay. Have fun tonight.”
The question marks visibly float on top of his head and he doesn't know what he's missing, the opening of the door to the surgery suite signifying Jimin's entrance furthermore making his head cloudy.
“Yup. Gonna have a blast with my ex’s family," he says it either as a snide remark or a half-attempt in getting a reaction from you; either way, it dissipates into the air and he gets nothing.
You accept that nothing's going your way and it rarely does otherwise.
Yoongi keeps looking at you like he's never met you before.
( ♡ )
Yoongi enters the clinic, throws his bag into the air, and his eyes practically pop out of his head when he sees that it's Hoseok who's holding it.
Where are you?
It's emptying, almost. He's not hearing a skincare myth first thing in the morning and he doesn't have a warm cup of coffee on his hand, be it in a regular cup or a mug.
In fact, he's walking alone to his office and he feels the need to keep darting his head around because you must be hiding in one of the many vantage points you could spring out of.
There's a shadow set on the large couch, and he feigns his surprise that it's you who's gonna jump beside him any moment now, but it turns out to be the fake plant in the corner.
It's the big green fake plant they bought for accessories in the event that a patient of theirs would be allergic to a real one, and Yoongi's never felt this much annoyance towards an overpriced leafy hunk of plastic.
Jimin hasn't arrived yet but he assumes that it's because you're with him. You've got to be.
Jimin arrives sooner than anticipated as if to calm the curiosity in Yoongi's mind but immediately furrows his brows at him because he actually looks disappointed that he's here.
Yoongi peers at the empty spot beside his friend, even trying to peer his head further for the familiar package deal named you that he carried in mornings.
"Is Y/N with you?"
"No...?" Jimin tilts his head, genuinely confused that he's asking him about you, but is even more confused to learn that you're not here. "Is she with you?"
"No," Yoongi shakes his head no somberly, awkwardly standing as he tries to look behind him to see if you've already creeped your way there. "Weird."
He exits himself from the situation even before Jimin can question him and they both think it's the logical thing to do, especially since it's concerning you and they've been dancing around the topic of you for some time now — from the perspective of the one being crushed on and a potential love interest, the other being your best friend.
You come in some time later, still early before opening but Yoongi's not used to it at all. This is perhaps the first time he's seen you arrive later than he does, but he's conflicted if he ever wants that to happen again.
He's looking at his schedule for the day yet he can't help but peek at his window, anticipating a you who's trying to steal a glance but there's no attempts made, just walking straight past his office and into Jimin's next door.
His whole day started off weird and his first interaction is basically omitted from his book because it doesn't start with his usual habit of fact-checking your myth, leaving a bitter taste on his mouth.
He has his own stash of his favorite snacks in his office but he plans to drop by the breakroom nonetheless after flying through all of his appointments before noon, instead accidentally (but thankfully) walking out to the whiff of your perfume because you just walked in front of him, entertaining a client that must be a walk-in.
You walk to the familiar face you probably last saw just a few weeks ago, seeing his face register you belatedly in warmth and relief.
"Y/N, there you are! I was about to start knocking on every door to look for you," he sighs and you know he sincerely means it, thankful you've showed up just in time because he probably would've caused a ruckus by doing that.
"What do you need? I fell asleep early last night so I didn't get to answer your call."
Yoongi thinks that if he stands still enough, he could be mistaken for a fake plant with a white coat. He tries his best to fix his eyes and not be caught eavesdropping and looking, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's the best at it.
This guy calls you? At night too?
"Just my lobes. I need you to stitch them up back to normal. Tried the rubbing oil method for like a month but it barely did anything."
"Ah," you hum in recognition, gently taking Taehyung's earlobe into your fingers that makes him tilt his head to you in obedience so you could examine it closely. "You only had small gauges. 10G, right? 2.5mm is something I can work on alone."
Yoongi manages to conclude that you're somehow familiar and acquainted with this Taehyung guy, easily taking him under your wing and into an empty procedure room as if the two of you do this everyday.
It's a minor procedure. Local anesthesia and some stitches and Taehyung could walk out in less than an hour. Normally, if the gauges are bigger and therefore the earlobe's more stretched out, Jimin's called in to operate but 10G is something you can do without supervision, meaning that you and said guy would be alone together in the procedure room.
“Need help?”
As a doctor, Yoongi's just offering his supervision and guidance — that's all.
Taehyung's already well-acquainted in his position and so are you, the past fifteen minutes he's spent talking and hyping himself up to stroll in as casually as he could already meant giving you much leeway in between.
“No need doc," surprisingly, it's Taehyung who answers, a warm smile on his face which makes his shoulders vibrate in the slightest to which you tut at him. "Y/N’s used to this already.”
Yoongi's surprised but he doesn't let it show, clicking in his mind that the guy seems like a familiar face he's seen before but he can't place it exactly.
“Oh. Are you a regular in my clinic?”
“Hmm? Oh, no! I’m a first-timer here. I just meant that Y/N’s-“ he gets cut off and it's because you bump your knee into his to stop talking and moving, your voice finishing up his small explanation. "Used to stitching him up."
Tae's kind of scared to talk even more because after all, you're the one who's holding the needle to his ear, not wanting to unintentionally test you further so he just whispers to Yoongi instead.
“Exactly what she said.”
Yoongi feels like he's barging into a couple's business whom he's not a part of. He's seeing you in action as you reconstruct Taehyung's earlobes and that's where the familiarity hits him, quietly awing to himself.
Isn't this Taehyung guy famous?
You didn't take his offer up for help but he still shadows you, maneuvering himself behind you instead of standing by the door alone, not even pretending to give you pointers to fill up the uncomfortable silence (for him) because you both know you're doing a great job.
“Hey, remember when I thought that guy was flirting with you in the bakery?”
Taehyung suddenly pipes up and you have to hold still with the needle in your hand, shoulders shaking in a slight laugh.
“Of course. You ended up punching my brother.”
The two of you fondly laugh and it feels extra humorous because the two of you are trying not to move your bodies to the best of your abilities, seeing his cheeks turn red from trying to stifle his laughs as much as he could.
“He didn’t know whether he’d feel mad or proud of me that time.”
Yoongi turns up the light brighter that focuses on his earlobes that makes Taehyung squint. Normally, that's his non-verbal way of saying that the two of you should not be a having a moment right now, especially with him in the room.
He quips his lips to the side but stays quiet, his once-stable breaths dragging out extra slow.
“You free tonight? Minhyung’s staying with me for a week," he complies when you ask him to turn his head slightly, getting a response to his offer just as quick.
“Yeah, sure! Missed him anyway. He’s how old now?”
“Seven. He pokes fun at me now.”
The reminder of meeting Minhyung when he was barely a toddler versus the comparison of bullying his older brother now makes you laugh, remembering all the fond interactions you've had and continue to have with him. Just last month, Tae called you in the middle of the afternoon because Minhyung was suddenly looking for you.
You wrap up quickly and you wouldn't realize if not for Dr. Min who's been standing behind you almost the entire time, a barely-audible bite to his words. "He's finished."
Dr. Min beats you into relaying the aftercare instructions and follow-up check-up, the lax nature of how he usually explains being a stark contrast to how he sounds quick right now.
Taehyung's oblivious to the difference you could notice but he listens nonetheless, bidding you with a sweet warm smile as he exits the room.
“Thanks Y/N, see you later!”
Dr. Min shuts the door behind him and proceeds to clean up the station you've worked on, getting you into work because you don't quite understand why he even came in here in the first place.
“You didn’t tell me you had Kim Taehyung the model for a boyfriend.”
He passive-aggressively murmurs but you catch it, thinking nothing of the unusual nature your superior is exhibiting.
“You know him? He’s that famous now, huh?”
Yoongi, however, freezes. It's far from your easy chuckle and way further from the territory of peace because his face morphs into confusion. “What? I was kidding with you. He is your boyfriend?”
"What?" your eyes glaze at the odd joke you wouldn't have bothered correcting in the first place because you didn't think he'd ask, much less assume, in the first place anyway. “Oh no, he’s my ex-boyfriend.”
Yoongi genuinely doesn't know what to feel about that.
Is he frustrated over the fact that Taehyung isn't your boyfriend at the moment, or is it over the fact that you're exes and therefore share history together in a way he can't decipher?
He doesn't meet your gaze, the pettiness running through his bones before he could register it as such.
“I don’t believe that. Pretty sure no one would go to their ex’s place especially at night.”
The words he's just uttered basically tells you that he's eavesdropped well and even added his own analysis to it, feeling offended because as what you can recall, you didn't even ask him for his own take.
“I’m hanging out with him and his little brother.”
“Still. No one does that.”
You play off the offense you feel into nonchalance, gritting your teeth as you disinfect the area for the next patient.
“You can be friends with an ex, it’s possible, Dr. Min,” you wipe extra hard at the bed, not even knowing why you feel defensive for a situation that doesn't even involve him. “We didn’t break up in bad terms anyways so it was more than plausible that we would be friends.”
He looks up inhumanely fast, eyes trained on you as if you've grown two heads within a second.
“That’s impossible.”
You humorlessly chuckle and that's the end of it, choosing to tune him out while you clean up as quick as you could because you don't even know if you could stay in a space with him any longer.
Yoongi finds it odd that you're not searching for his gaze, stopping right in front of you when you retrieve the remaining sanitary equipment.
“Have you even checked the schedule? You agreed to him so quick. Who knows, we’d probably do overtime.”
“Then I’m reminding you that I’ve never been absent ever since I started working here, and if we need to do overtime, I’m using my leave.
Dr. Min hardens his glare at you. “That’s against the law, I’m pretty sure.”
“I can ask Tae later, his mom’s a lawyer.”
You add harmlessly as it's the truth and it does make you curious if it's just his unknown pettiness or the law that's talking, seeing his eyes roll at your quip.
“Heh," he narrows his eyes and turns his back on you, quick hands moving into a blur while he goes on his way out. “The gauze’s contaminated now. Get a new one.”
Yoongi can't explain it but he feels like something's changed in his routine and in some way, it has something to do with you.
His entrance every morning feels weird and his arm wants to give out every time he throws his bag into the air because it's not your familiar face that squeezes in so close beside him even if there's plenty of space for you to walk on.
He finds himself looking through windows and wandering through hallways just to look for a trace of you, even if it's the little chocolate nibs you snack throughout the whole day or if it's your extra handkerchief that Jimin uses because he forgets his all the time.
You’re supposed to ask him anytime now, aren't you?
You've used four of your chances in four different occasions with no exact pattern to it, but Yoongi knows. He knows and feels that it's been too long ever since the last time you asked him out (that was two weeks ago) in the procedure room and he doesn't know when the next would be.
He's sure it's a tactic of yours. It must be. You must've been doing it in a certain method that trains him to miss you and look for you unconsciously, even if he's at home and not in the clinic.
Yoongi finds himself lingering around you and he doesn't know if he could just continue hovering and hovering in this way; in a way that's unlike yours because you're unafraid to stand so close to him, talk to him whenever you please, and trail around him like a lost puppy.
He thinks he's had enough when he sees you enter the clinic, just thirty minutes away from opening and goes straight to Jimin's office, walking out later in your scrubs that makes him audibly gasp in surprise.
You enter the breakroom and he finds himself tailing after you unceremoniously, not being able to wait atleast five minutes to enter.
You're just now eating your breakfast because you've had a late start to your morning, also waiting a little later for you to retrieve your car from the shop that took longer than what you initially expected.
You're mid-bite into your cereal when you see a shadow cast onto the table, looking up to see Dr. Min who avoids your gaze as soon as you catch him.
You chew slowly and cover your mouth when he turns to you, arms across his chest while you try to swallow. “I’m not following...?”
He sighs heavily, not knowing he had to spell it out for you.
Yoongi sits beside you and scoots his chair closer to yours, leaning his face onto his hand that makes you confused even more on how he's willingly sitting this close beside you.
“Yes, I’m going on a date with you.”
You swallow your cereal without a fuss as it registers in your head collectively, a curious and inquisitive quirk to your lips that throws him off.
“I didn’t ask, though.”
“No, this is the part where you use your fifth chance to ask me out and I accept.”
It's quite entertaining to see Dr. Min act and talk so impulsively, not used to seeing him this frustratedly determined. “But I haven’t asked.”
Yoongi closes his eyes once, his shoulders relaxing.
“Then I’m saying yes for the four previous times you asked me.”
You snort to your cereal and you're thankful that it happens before you scoop another spoonful to your mouth, shaking your head somberly.
“That doesn’t count.”
Yoongi pouts childishly, his brows furrowing at the concept of you denying him this time and not getting what he wants.
“Yes it does.”
“I can’t take you out, Dr. Min. I’m actually a little short on some date money because I’ve been buying you expensive coffee every single morning.”
"Just Yoongi," he corrects but doesn't choose to comment on the fact that you haven't been buying him coffee for two weeks now and he's unknowingly formed a dependency on the coffee and you. “Then I’ll pay for the date.”
“Then that means you’re taking me out on a date.”
“I know, which is why I’m saying yes, I’m accepting-“
You stop the flow of words that makes Dr. Min frown even deeper, looking severely dejected but the guilt doesn't hit you as much. “You can’t. That wasn’t our deal.”
“Then ask me to go out with you.”
It's a suggestion he brings up softly, uncertainty lacing his features because actually, it doesn't sound like a suggestion at all — sounds more of a plead than anything.
“Hmmm,” you pretend to think even if you already had a concrete plan for the day. “I’m busy. Dr. Park needs me.”
Dr. Min clears his throat, sitting up straighter and looks at you.
“Please ask me to go on a date with you.”
“Dr. Park needs me.”
Yoongi exhales through his nose and stands up, straightening his shirt and rearranging the bucket hat on his head before he relents, leaving you alone.
You think that's just about the end of it, but you're wrong because you see Dr. Min pop into the breakroom the moment lunchbreak starts, picking up Jimin who's sitting beside you and ushering him out of the door.
"The fuck? Yoongi! Stop — stop pushing me! You seriously can't just throw me out of the-"
Your eyes are still fixed on the door that Dr. Min just pushed Jimin out of and locked him out entirely, barely glancing to the paper bag that he put in front of you.
He occupies the chair beside you and clears his throat once again, clasping his hands tightly.
“Five takes.”
"Huh? Dr. Min, did you seriously just-..."
Yoongi pokes your cheek to get you to look at him, effectively taking your gaze out of the door.
“Give me five chances to ask you out.”
You thought he wouldn't push it to this because you swore you know him — know him well-enough that he doesn't like you and wouldn't care enough to pursue you once you've stopped.
He blinks owlishly because you're still asking him why when he thought he couldn't make his intentions any more clear, the two weeks without the usual you making him realize it further.
“I could say that I’m asking you this so you could give me a taste of my own medicine,” his attempt at what's supposed to be a joke makes you scoff, later chuckling when he waves his hands around desperately to clarify. “But as much as my pride would like that,” he murmurs. “I uh, I do want to go out with you.”
Hearing it from him is surreal, to say the least. It's something you've never thought to hear and it's admittedly something you've given up on trying to hear not too long ago.
“I’m going grocery shopping later,” you tell him and it makes his eyebrows knit in confusion, lips opening apart as he understands.
Yoongi grabs the prescription pad that fits snugly to his white coat, handing it to you as he explains it could be something for you to write your grocery list on.
“Thank you Dr. Min,” you chuckle at the wholesome gesture, a lot of pages left when you could've settles for a single leaflet.
“Great! I’ll be seeing you-“ he stands up and claps his hands, effectively being stopped when you reach out for him.
Then he understands.
“I have a rewards card that’s been accumulating points for years now! You can use it," he offers gingerly, a grin on his face.
“Thoughtful, but no.”
“I can drive the cart really smoothly and I can promise you that I won’t even bump to your foot once," he nods for a convicting effect, thinking if he'd pass this time.
“Talented, but no.”
“I can lift all the grocery bags in one trip.”
“Nice try, but no.”
“No?” Yoongi parrots you with a tilt on his head, a slight pout on his face that makes him look warmer.
Yoongi accepts it and nod his head, pulling himself out of his chair before he convictedly talks again.
“M’kay. That was take one,” he says it out loud to console himself, earning a surprised gaze from you. “Four more chances left, right?”
Yoongi wordlessly stands and grabs a plate from the cupboard, taking out the lunch he's bought for you from the paper bag and sets your favorite food (courtesy of Jimin for a price of one hug) there instead, setting and plating it in front of you.
He taps two fingers on your cheeks, a cozy smile on his face as he tries to earn himself a loving smile from you before he exits the breakroom.
“Four more chances.”
482 notes · View notes
burningupp · 2 months ago
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main masterlist
pairing: y/n x yoongi
summary: at night, yoongi tends to frequent cafés to get some work done. one night, he hears you sing, and his world is forever changed.
updates: pretty much every day
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one - random stranger
two - a lot of inspiration
three - fix it
four - serial killer
five - original
six - a lot of questions
seven - bop
eight - dumb questions
nine - recording
ten - mp3
eleven - leaked my recording
twelve - babe
thirteen - back by unpopular demand
fourteen - protected
fifteen - everyone will love it
sixteen - who's the girl?
seventeen - music is a gift
eighteen - crazy
nineteen - wbk I'm a genius
twenty - shit
twenty-one - let me in (TW: abuse)
twenty-two - moving in
twenty-three - worried
twenty-four - overthinking bullshit
twenty-five - Cuffed Energy™️
twenty-six - cheesy romcom character
twenty-seven - dohun
twenty-eight - I just want my life back
twenty-nine - the verdict
513 notes · View notes
youmyjhope · 2 months ago
Sex With Min Yoongi // Audio Smut // Riding him in his studio
so this is it.
Imagine Yoongi letting you ride him in his new studio.
the audio quality wasnt that good you know
do not repost
692 notes · View notes
agustdakasuga · 4 months ago
Reflection of You (Series Masterlist)
Genre: Historical!AU, Timetraveller!AU/ Different Dimension, Romance
Pairing: SUGA x Reader, Yoongi x Reader
Characters: Normal!Reader, Idol!Suga, King!Yoongi, Guard!Seokjin, Guard!Jungkook, RoyalAdvisor!Namjoon, Servant!Jimin, Servant!Hoseok, Prince!Taehyung
Summary: Confirming you were dating the famous Min Suga of BTS, you knew you were bound to make some enemies. But what you didn’t expect was to be cursed, leading you to meet a cold-hearted, arrogant king that shares the same face as your rapper lover.  
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Interim I
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Interim II
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Drabbles List
736 notes · View notes
joonessence · 13 days ago
The devil // myg
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⤷part of the In the cards series
summary: Yoongi is elusive, hard to catch and harder to keep, usually doesn’t stay long. Oh, but, you wish he would. 
wc: 4k
tags: fwb au, smut, angsty a little, small mention of something voyeuristic i guess idek, some dirty talk, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, slight over stimulation, unprotected sex, yoongi does not pull out, think that’s it
notes: this is part of my tarot cards series so the banner below is the spread for this specific fic, kinda lets you know what to expect, this starts out with smut so caution, mostly edited
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Yoongi’s warm breath fans over your face as he pounds into you like he’s trying to leave the imprint of your body on the sheets. Your whimpers fill the room, bouncing off the walls and colliding with the occasional low grunts coming from Yoongi. Around your friends, Yoongi doesn’t say much directly to you, but surprisingly he’s much more talkative when he fucks you.
“F-fuck, your cunt’s dripping. You’re so wet; how are you so wet?”
You’re not sure if he’s actually expecting an answer, but even if you want to respond Yoongi reaches around your hips and rubs circles against your swollen clit with his thumb, forcing a loud moan to come out instead. His lips attach to your shoulder, sucking harshly.
“Y-yoongi, please.”
On a different day, he would tease you, make you beg a little more for it, but tonight Yoongi’s just as desperate to cum inside you as you are. His thrusts become sporadic but the fast pace of his thumb on your clit remains, pushing you until your fingers twist the sheets and you fall forward onto your pillows.
Yoongi’s final thrust has him spilling inside you, holding himself there for a moment and dragging his hand from its place on your hip to push his now drenched hair out of his eyes. He pulls himself out and flops onto the mattress, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. As usual, Yoongi doesn’t have much to say afterwards. 
You sit on the edge of your bed. The feeling of excitement you used to have is replaced with a feeling of emptiness. Yoongi clears his throat and pushes himself off your bed, reaching down and searching for his jeans in the dark. Knowing he always leaves right after is hard, but it's even harder watching him get ready to go so hastily. Your best option is to look out the window in your bedroom, lit from the outside by the streetlamp. 
Over the last few months, you realized that there wasn’t much you knew about Yoongi. You knew he wrote and produced his own music, that he had just a few friends he surrounded himself with, one of whom had introduced him to you, that he generally kept to himself if he wasn’t with them. You’d known Yoongi for a while and it never used to bother you how much you didn’t know about him.
Until this whole thing started. You’d call it friends with benefits but you’re not sure if you and Yoongi could be considered friends. Which is why it came as a surprise to you when Yoongi kissed you in Taehyung’s kitchen seven months ago. Standing at the fridge, you reached into the cabinet to pour yourself a glass of water when Yoongi walked in to do the same. When his eyes landed on you there was a small fault in his step, but regardless he made his way to grab his own glass. When he stretched his arm past your head towards the cabinet, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. Noticing your gaze, Yoongi turned to you, expectantly. You stumbled on your words, looking for an explanation. It’s then that Yoongi decides he’s had enough trying to listen to you explain, pushing you against the counter and pressing his lips hard on yours. The next forty minutes were filled with Yoongi sneaking you to Taehyung’s bathroom and his cock shoved so deep in you with his hand covering your mouth.
Since then, Yoongi would message you ‘can i come over tonight?’ or ‘are u busy right now?’ and you’d let him come over because that dick sent you to heaven and what could go wrong? And nothing did go wrong, until you started wishing that Yoongi would stay after he was done, wishing that he didn’t only think of you when he wanted to fuck. You couldn’t get him out of your head; that’s what could go wrong.
The sound of Yoongi’s belt buckle pulls you out of your pensive state and you turn to look at him. It’s coming down hard, rain batters on the window, you try to distract yourself by making shapes in the falling drops. 
“It’s raining pretty hard out there,” you start, swallowing thickly before your next line comes out, “You can stay here until it lightens up.”
It’s a desperate attempt, a shot in the dark, just to get him to stay a little longer. Just so you can talk a little more about things other than each other’s bodies. 
Yoongi turns and looks at the window, his eyes widen at the harsh sound of the rain, as if he was just now hearing it. He looks between the window and you a couple times.
You cross your fingers even though you know it won’t do anything and like a little kid, you wish, to whatever’s out there, that Yoongi would stay, just this once.
“Okay,” it comes out hesitantly.
Before you have even a second to celebrate internally he follows up with, “Just until it’s safe to drive.”
His words anchor you back to reality. You knew from the start, Yoongi doesn’t stay much.
Wordlessly and without looking back at him, you remove yourself from under the comforter that started to suffocate you since you asked Yoongi to stay. Head down, you gather your clothes, strewn carelessly earlier that evening. Your eyes beg you to look at Yoongi, to see his disheveled hair before he fixes it and his first real smile of the night when he finally finds his left sock, but you don’t give in. Can’t let yourself fall in deeper. Yoongi’s like quicksand, catches you and doesn’t let up until you drown in it and you can’t keep getting caught in Yoongi. 
“I’ll make tea,” you say over your shoulder, already halfway out your bedroom door.
The kitchen in your apartment isn’t very big but it doesn’t need to be, it’s just you. You turn the knob for the stove and wonder how much longer Yoongi will hide in your room. You know what he’s doing, he was almost done getting dressed when you walked out so he’s definitely finished by now. You sigh while grabbing the tea kettle and fill it with water. 
Yoongi’s footsteps draw nearer as you dump a few tea bags in. He stops at the frame of your bedroom door and looks around at your apartment, like this is the first time he’s taken in the details since he stepped foot here seven months ago. He takes a seat at the table, dragging the chair out harshly. You stay leaned against the counter, figuring if Yoongi wanted to be closer to you he would have been.
“How do you like it?”
Yoongi looks clueless as your words pull him out of whatever consuming thoughts he was having.
“Your tea. How do you like your tea?” you clarify.
Yoongi lets out a puff of air instead of a laugh, “One sugar’s good.”
You nod your head and turn back away from him, fixing your tea as well. Behind you, you can hear Yoongi’s fingers tapping against the table. The atmosphere is thick and heavy. The mugs clink together as you pull them out of the cabinet, reminding you of that first time with Yoongi. Shaking the overplayed memory from your head you turn, careful not to spill anything.
“Thank you,” Yoongi says softly as you hand him the steaming drink.
You hum in response and stand in front of him. Once again, Yoongi looks puzzled, like he can tell you have something you need to say. You figure there’s not much you can lose at this point.
“Do you wanna sit on the sofa?” you ask nervously, your second brave question of the night. 
Yoongi raises his gaze up from his mug and looks at you, studying you for a moment. You prepare yourself to get let down once again.
“Sure,” Yoongi gets up, grabbing his mug, leaving you just almost as surprised as you were in Taehyung’s kitchen.
You follow behind him, watching as he sits, looking so out of place on the black sofa. He sits on one end, the one closer to the door. He must be in a hurry to leave, you think, not that it’s unusual. You sit on the other end and bring the mug closer to your face, taking in the smell of Earl Grey.
“Never really stayed before,” Yoongi says before sipping his tea and then making a face when it’s still too hot.
You sigh before you can catch yourself, “Yeah, you leave pretty quickly.”
Yoongi turns to you, looking you over. You can’t maintain eye contact with him, so you pretend to be interested in the milk swirling around in your tea. Yoongi is quiet after that, tapping his fingers again but on the arm rest.
“You know,” you start, “you could. You could stay, if you wanted to.”
You’re not sure what possessed you to say that. You thought, you could remind him, maybe you never even told him he could. Maybe Yoongi wished he could stay too but never knew if you wanted him to.
Yoongi’s fingers stop tapping and you’re sure this time you’ve overstepped. He turns to look at you again, turning his whole body this time so he’s facing you. It’s like you can see the gears turning in his head before he opens his mouth to speak.
Just then, a loud crack of thunder fills the silence, making you jump. Your sudden jolt spilling hot tea all over Yoongi’s shirt, making him let out a noise of shock.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, let me get some tissues,” you say, mortified at the fact that Yoongi’s once white shirt now has a tea colored stain covering the front.
“It’s alright, seriously.”
“No, no, let me get something to clean it.”
You scurry to the kitchen and grab more napkins than you need, wetting them and hoping this would be enough to get the stain out. You rush back to Yoongi and hand them to him mumbling, ‘wait here’ under your breath. 
Back in your room, you search in your drawers for the shirt Yoongi forgot a couple months ago. When you found it, you washed it and planned to give it back to him. But you could never get yourself to do it because, well, at least some part of Yoongi stayed with you that way. Finding it, you hurry back to him to find him still wiping at his shirt.
“Here,” you hand it to him with your eyes cast to the ground in embarrassment. 
“Thanks,” Yoongi says, confusion evident in his voice, “Where’d you get this?”
“You left it here once. It’s clean; I washed it. I was gonna return it, I just forgot, I guess,” the lie doesn’t come out as nicely as you would have hoped.
Yoongi stands up as you take your place on the sofa again. Peeling the damp shirt off, he puts on the clean one. You’ve seen Yoongi shirtless before, obviously, but something about this specific time makes you suck in a breath. 
“All better,” Yoongi says quietly.
“Sorry about that,” you say, your face flushing.
“It’s fine. I didn’t know you were scared of thunder though.”
“I’m not. Not all the time, it’s just that time wa—,” you stop, feeling the sofa dip much closer than you were expecting.
“That time was... different,” you trail off and look up at Yoongi to see him smiling softly.
Yoongi’s been confused all night but now it’s your turn to be confused. Yoongi’s never sat so close to you unless he was about to fuck you or unless the seat beside you was the only one left when your group was hanging out. Not that you’re complaining, you don’t know how many times you’ve wished that Yoongi would want to be close to you.
“So, about what you were saying,” Yoongi starts as he reaches for your mug that was placed on the coffee table in the chaos, “You want me to stay?”
You grab the mug from him and your heart beats against your rib cage. You were not expecting him to bring that up willingly.
“I was just saying, if you wanted to, you don’t, uh, you don’t have to be in a hurry to leave,” you fumble around, trying to find the right way to say it.
Yoongi nods his head and hums, “Okay.”
You try not to smile too big and look down at your, now half empty, mug, finger tracing around the rim. This feels like a small win. The silence between the two of you is comfortable now, so much lighter than it usually is. Beside you, Yoongi knocks his knee against yours and chuckles when you mimic his action. 
You can hear the rain has settled now, hitting the window at a slow, rhythmic pace. You glance up at Yoongi. If he notices the change in weather he makes no attempt to show it, still leisurely drinking his tea. This all feels so...domestic? You can’t help but wonder what made Yoongi change so suddenly, made him sit so close to you and agree to stay longer.
“Yoongi?” you take a deep breath.
He doesn’t look up from his mug, “Hm?”
“It’s not raining so hard anymore,” you don’t know why you make him aware of this fact when you’re finally spending time with him like you’ve craved for so long.
He doesn’t spare a glance to the window, “Oh? Do you want me to go?”
“No!” you collect yourself, “No, you can stay.”
This was good. Finally Yoongi wants to stay. You decided to push your luck once more.
He laughs and teases you, “What now?”
“Yoongi I—,”
“You don’t have to say it. I do too.”
He lifts his head from where it was resting on the back of the sofa and looks at you, eyes unwavering from yours.
You furrow your brows, “You...what?”
“Like you, did from before that time at Taehyung’s.”
Your heart could burst. Whatever was out there had heard you, wishing that Yoongi would feel the same way. 
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looks away now, “You didn’t feel the same back then, did you?”
You’re hurt for him, now wishing you could go back and tell him how you felt so much sooner. How long had he known that you wanted more with him?
“How did you figure it out?” you wonder out loud.
“From my shirt,” he answers, assuredly.
“Your shirt?”
“My shirt,” he confirms, “You washed it and kept it; when you handed it to me I could just tell.”
You want to laugh at how silly it seems; Yoongi figured out that you liked him because you washed and kept his shirt. 
“So this whole time I could have said something and it wouldn’t have ruined anything? Been holding onto that shirt for months,” your hands move around as you try to grasp all this new information.
Yoongi does laugh, “Yeah, I guess you coulda said something. Shoulda said something.”
It’s quiet between you two now, both of you taking in the big changes in such a short amount of time. When you asked Yoongi to stay you were just trying to spend a little more time with him, outside of the sex. You weren’t expecting confessions coming from either of you.
“Yoongi,” you look up at him, “I do really like you. I’ve liked you and wished you would like me back.”
Yoongi’s eyes soften and cocks his head to the side, mouth curling up into a small smile.
“I know now. It’s okay.”
You nod in agreement, “Yoongi?”
“Please kiss me,” it flows out of you like you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
His hands find your cheeks, cupping them and closing the distance between your lips. Yoongi has kissed you before but never like this, so soft and gentle, like he has all the time in the world and wants to spend it with you. His lips move against yours slowly, with none of the hurry you had grown accustomed to. Your hands trail up his arms to his shoulders, bringing him closer to you. His hands move to your hips pulling you onto his lap. You can feel yourself starting to drip into your underwear. Your hand finds his hair, pulling lightly and moving your hips forward just enough so you’re settled directly on the growing tent in Yoongi’s pants. Yoongi pushes your shirt up to expose your abdomen, massaging the fleshy part of your waist.
He pulls away, lips still so close to yours they might as well be touching, “Baby?”
You launch forward, capturing Yoongi’s bottom lip between yours and moan at the name, foreign coming out of Yoongi’s mouth. He lets out a muffled chuckle at your urgency before pushing softly at your shoulder.
“Baby, take off your shirt, hm?”
“R-right,” you nod rapidly.
You pull your shirt over your head and throw it behind you, not caring where it lands. You’re not shy around Yoongi anymore, he’s seen you too many times for you to be shy still. But Yoongi looks at you like this is the first time he’s seeing you, like he physically can’t look away.
“So pretty, sweetheart,” Yoongi says, admiring you, “Always been so beautiful.”
Your face flushes at the compliment and you mumble a ‘thank you.’ You eye Yoongi’s shirt and motion with your hands, hoping he gets the hint to take his off too. Yoongi looks at you amusedly but complies, throwing it along with yours. Yoongi’s chest looks bigger, buffer, you make a mental note to ask him about it later.
“Baby, let’s get you to lay down, hm?”
 He pushes you off his thighs and flat onto the sofa. Fingers hooked into your shorts, he pulls them off, along with your soaking underwear. Hands gliding back up your thighs, your legs open for him with little resistance, inviting him for a taste, a touch, anything.
Yoongi leans forward, placing a wet kiss at the top of your mound, then at the sticky insides of your thighs. He’s teasing, you’re getting impatient and Yoongi can tell.
Yoongi spreads your legs wider, pushing one over the back of the sofa and the other hanging off the edge. His fingers run down your slit, collecting your arousal and bringing it to his mouth, sucking them clean. You shut your eyes tight at the sight, confident that if you saw him revel in your taste, you’d be done for.
Yoongi sees this and laughs, popping his fingers out of his mouth and using them to spread your puffy lips open. You moan loudly as he finally puts his tongue on you, licking a stripe up to your clit.
“More, Yoongi, more,” you plead.
He obliges, circling his lips around your clenching hole and sucking lightly. Your hands shoot to his hair, twisting in the strands and pulling. He laps his tongue over the hole while his thumb pushes on your clit.
“Y-yoongi, please, need you to do something,” you beg, close to tears.
Yoongi makes a noise of acknowledgement against you and takes his middle finger, rubbing your hole before pushing it in, to his first knuckle. You moan in relief, your soaking pussy sucking his finger in all the way. His lips attach to your clit sucking as he moves his finger in and out.
“Can you take another?” Yoongi asks without a break in his movements.
“Y-yeah, please.”
Yoongi’s index finger nudges its way in, stretching you further. He thrusts his fingers inside you more quickly, still sucking at your clit.
“Oh m-my god, faster.”
Yoongi’s free hand travels up to your breast, twisting your nipple almost painfully. Your stomach tightens at the feeling of your approaching orgasm.
 “Yoongi,” you pant.
“Hm, baby?”
“I-I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop, wanna cum around your cock,” you somehow let out in between moans.
Yoongi pulls off licking his lips, “That’s okay sweetheart, you’ll do that too.”
“Oh fuck, fuck,” you whimper, legs starting to shake.
Yoongi’s tongue continues its assault against your clit, flicking and prodding and sucking until it’s swollen. His fingers scissor inside you, then curling.
“Fuck, right there,” you whine.
Yoongi keeps his fingers pressed against that spot, rubbing it vigorously until his fingers are covered in your cum. He keeps his tongue licking slowly at your clit until you’re too sensitive and shoo him away with your hand.
“Holy shit, Yoongi,” you pant out.
He sits up and grins at you proudly before massaging your thigh to help bring you back down from your high. You lift your head to look at the tent in Yoongi’s pants, now straining painfully against his denim jeans. Pushing yourself up with whatever strength you can muster, you stand before Yoongi, reaching for the button of his jeans.
“Are you sure?” 
“Mhm,” you assure him and pop the button.
Yoongi raises his hips to pull them down with his boxers and you find your place on his thighs, legs on either side of him. You move your hips against him, cum dripping from your cunt onto his hard cock. Yoongi moans loudly at the feeling of your lips around him, grabbing your hips and speeding up your movements.
“Fuck, you feel so good on me, always felt so good,” Yoongi rambles.
You lift yourself and reach down to line up his cock. You sink down, both of you sucking in a breath and letting it out in moans when he’s all the way inside.
“God, you feel amazing.”
Slowly, you drag yourself up his cock, until just the head is inside and slam back down. Yoongi’s head is thrown back, eyes clenched shut. You find a steady rhythm, clenching around the feeling of Yoongi filling you.
Beneath you, Yoongi is struggling to keep his hips still, thrusting into you occasionally, like he can’t help it. 
“Oh, fuck, fuck, riding my cock so good,” Yoongi says, thrusting so deep into you.
“G-god, Y-yoongi,” it comes out brokenly.
His thumb makes contact with your swollen, sensitive clit, flicking as he continues to thrust into you. You clench around him and
“Yoongi, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan out.
“Go, go ahead, baby,” he says, giving you permission.
Your fingernails scratch at his shoulders as you cum around him, still bouncing, riding out your high. He surges forward and wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking and biting at it. His hand reaches around your head, pushing your neck down so that your lips meet. Yoongi’s hand threads in your hair, pulling at the roots so your lips are just a centimeter away from his.
“I’m gonna cum, can I? Inside?” Yoongi whispers, voice sounding hoarse.
“Yeah, yeah, cum inside, please.”
Yoongi moans at your approval, bringing your lips back to his. His thrusts lose their steadiness as he cums, warm all over your walls and mixing with yours. 
“Holy shit,” Yoongi mimics your earlier reaction, chest heaving.
You lift yourself off of him and sit beside him, head resting on his shoulder. As the two of you catch your breaths, you inch your hand closer to Yoongi’s hand where it’d resting on your thigh. Even with his eyes closed, it’s like he can tell what you’re doing, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers between yours. 
“Can I stay the night? Even if it’s not storming anymore?” Yoongi asks, quietly.
taglist: @marcoazz2
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whatifyoulivelikethat · 11 hours ago
chained, m | myg
pairing(s): yoongi x reader
summary: You ever fuck someone wearing a collar and a chain... that's attached to the hot girl with the demonic grin? No? Just Min Yoongi? In his defense, he really likes a bad bitch.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; yup, there are Marilyn Manson and Slipknot references; D/s smut (fem reader, black leather collars and a chain leash, [a lot of] choking, saliva everywhere, handjob, m-receiving oral, slight edging, hair pulling, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - rapper, sub!Yoongi x goth (also kinda his manager? lol) dom!reader; kinda PWP; Yoongi's POV
feel like I'm hexed, yeah, that bitch bad collar on her neck and her ass real fat
Most people would say, “Nah, dude, don’t mess with girls like that.”
Most people would say, “She’s fucking scary, why the hell would you think she’s hot?”
Most people would, but Min Yoongi wasn’t most people.
“I want to play a game.”
He tilted his head. “Then let’s play a game.”
She grinned, wild hair over her left eye. “Yeah?”
The first time he met her, he was at a bar and a woman was chatting him up, engaging him in conversation he didn’t want to be in. Fuck. The only reason he came was to accompany his friends, but they were all much more extroverted than he was and had already wandered off with potentials of the night. He didn’t want a potential. He just wanted a damn shot of whiskey and then he was going to slink into a corner and pretend nobody existed.
He minimized his responses to, “Mhm” and “Yeah,” but the woman wasn’t getting the hint and the bartender was busy. Sigh.
All of a sudden, a short man with a white, mannequin-like mask appeared. The white mask was painted with black streaks. He had stringy, long black and red hair and was wearing black coveralls.
Yoongi and the woman jumped away from each other, disconcerted by the appearance of the strange, tiny man.
“Bartender! Hey, real quick, can you get my friend here a drink?”
And then, fuck.
Black leather jacket, silver hardware. Tight fitted white top, so shredded the black bra underneath was visible. Short black pleated skirt. Ripped tights. Thick black boots with chains. Yoongi felt his eyes widen, looking up and down at this curvy frame. Wild hair, lush tits, juicy thighs, an ass that could put anyone in a trance with the way those hips swayed. Dark makeup, playful grin with red-stained lips.
A black choker with at least eight-centimeter spikes.
A pure white contact lens in her left eye.
“Hey, you can’t cover your face here,” a patron interrupted. “That’s creepy.”
The small man in the mask didn’t reply. The woman in black, however, swatted a hand like she was whacking away a fly.
“He’s part of the entertainment. Buzz off.”
“Oh, yes, you’re the band’s drummer, right?” The bartender rushed over. “Sorry, sorry. What will it be?”
The masked man said nothing.
“Double shot whiskey on the rocks,” the woman replied for him. “Did I get it right this time, Hana?”
A single nod from that stringy head.
“What about you?”
Yoongi jumped, startled the woman in black leather was addressing him. She cocked her head to the confused bartender. “You’ve been standing here ignored for the past ten minutes. I noticed because I was waiting for the guys to suit up to bring Hana to the bar.” She waved her hand. “Come on. Give me your order. I got you.”
“O… Oh. Same thing.”
She nodded. “Ya heard him. And don’t just only pay attention to cute girls, bartender.”
The bartender’s cheeks flushed. “A-Ah, I apologize! I’ll have them ready right away.”
The woman sighed and shook her head, completely ignoring the chatty woman who was making eyes at Yoongi, trying to get near him again. Yoongi pretended not to notice, stepping closer to the short, creepy man. The white mask didn’t move. The woman leaned down a bit because the man was shorter than she was with her height and platform boots.
“Don’t be takin’ nothing with the whiskey now. I’m treatin’ ya,” she chuckled under her breath.
Yoongi noticed the slight satoori. It made her voice a little deep and gruff.
“Shut it.”
She snickered. “Made you talk, Hana.”
The white mask went back to being silent.
She sighed and stood back up turning her attention to Yoongi. “Sorry about my friend here. He doesn’t like talking or people. I’m trying to get him to be more personable. Is it working?”
Yoongi blinked.
Damn, every time she smiled, he felt a thrill shoot up his spine. White teeth showing, pink tongue peeking out between them.
It just seemed a little psychotic, a little mischievous, and a lot sexy.
“I know it’s not working. Can’t say I didn’t try.”
The masked man might as well have been a mannequin with how still he was.
“You’re his manager?” Yoongi found himself asking.
She shrugged. “Kind of? I actually just own the studio space the band records. But I like coming to the gigs sometimes if I can. Good excuse to get a little drunk, eh? Plus, I’m trying to find musicians to rent out the other spaces.”
Was it his lucky day or what?
“I’m looking for a studio space to record my music, actually.”
Her eyebrows raised. “No shit? You wanna talk some business?”
Oh, they talked business to bass and drums thundering the bar.
Later, they talked about some… other things too. What could he say? Yoongi liked a bad bitch. She wore leather, she owned cluster of studio spaces – “well, they ain’t mine, they’re my dad’s, but he’s never here, he’s off gambling and chasing booty, I think” – she gave him a fair price, and she loved to suck dick.
Yoongi didn’t find out about that last bit until later.
Right now, she was clipping the end of a silver chain to the collar around his neck.
It was heavy, probably metal. The collar he was wearing was thick black leather, with a steel ring resting against his collarbones. Yoongi was pretty sure she was doing a number on him. He wore a lot of black, yeah. He liked leather jackets too. But being around her presence was messing with his head and he was pretty sure he was being influenced by her energy. He used to hate his eye shape and his dark circles, but when he saw himself in the mirror with her tangled around him, riding his dick, he found himself thinking he didn’t look so bad after all. He looked good standing with the woman with the white contact lens and the demonic grin.
Maybe he was a little crazy, but everyone was a little crazy. Yoongi wasn’t worried about something like that.
Right now, she licked her teeth with that lithe, pink tongue of hers.
The other end of the chain was connected to the collar around her neck.
“You wanna play?” she drawled.
Fuck, he loved that shit. Her voice got slightly deep and throaty when she spoke in satoori. He wasn’t sure if she noticed it or not. It must be from her father. She mentioned that she had been raised by her dad – “sporadically, he liked to travel and, by travel, I mean gamble and chase ass, although surprisingly he didn’t come back with more kids, so I guess he learned his lesson” – but she was kind of the same way.
Not the gambling bit.
He didn’t really mind it though. She didn’t try to hide anything and he encouraged her to be herself. Plus, no one was getting the treatment he got. Yoongi was pretty sure about that, because when she fucked around, she did it in public. He had to be the one to tell her to take it upstairs and go for the throat.
Alright, not the throat. The dick.
In some way, Yoongi felt that was her way of asking if he approved, because she never took it upstairs and out of his sight unless he gave her the go ahead.
Right now, her tongue extended and wiggled in the air, glossy and slick with her saliva.
He smirked, open-mouthed and with a flick of tongue at the edge of his teeth.
She gripped the chain and yanked him by the neck to her face, crashing that demonic grin to his lips.
Like an injection or a spell, it gave him a rush, the firm leather snapping against his neck, chained to her, both wearing the collars, but she was always in control, always, and he liked it like that, liked the way she traced his lips with her powerful tongue, her saliva his aphrodisiac, before she captured his lips and rolled her body into his lap, skin to skin, moving like a snake, his gasp against her devouring mouth, her bare ass sliding on his thigh, fuck, so sexy, so soft, so bouncy, one hand on his face and another on his shoulder, fingers spread out and tendons flexing.
He liked to say she was the angel that held up her blinding halo with devil horns.
She yanked on the chain and Yoongi sucked in a breath, closing one eye as she licked his cheek, ending with a kiss on his brow. Cold air chilled his wet skin, making him shiver.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ hot, Yoongi.”
Pretty sure neither of them believed in a god but it got the point across.
He raised his hand and she smacked his wrist down, pinning it to the bed.
“Nuh uh.”
Yoongi wasn’t really expecting her to let him.
He raised his other hand. It was immediately swatted down onto the bed, her eyebrow cocking.
“Naughty, naughty.”
He cocked an eyebrow back, defying.
She leaned down and snatched the chain in her mouth, tugging on it with teeth and neck, narrowing her eyes. The white contact lens on her left eye gleamed under her lashes. She always wore it except right before sleeping. He once asked her why and she had shrugged.
“Mental security, I guess.”
Now, she growled like an animal.
She looked like she was about to headbutt him. He wouldn’t put it past her.
He lowered himself slowly, her mouth holding the chain taut until he was laying on the bed. She grinned, pleased at his obedience. Yoongi was quite sure that she was probably the closest being to a succubus that he would ever encounter with the violent thrill of arousal she was giving him with those plush lips and white teeth around the silver chain, pink tongue circling around the metal to tease him.
Maybe he was the crazy one for being turned on by it.
She dropped the chain on his chest. He flinched, the wet, heavy metal thudding onto his sternum, right against his pounding heartbeat. She rubbed her thigh against his balls and hardening cock, raising her head, chain following, higher, higher, letting go of his hands, arching her back, tits up, until it was fully taut between his neck and hers, the sides of the collars forcefully digging into his neck and hers. Yoongi did not lift his head from the bed to reduce the tension. Her devilish smile widened. A chain tug-of-war between collar to collar, both of them choking the other.
She lifted her hand and licked her palm, saturating it with saliva.
She reached down and wrapped her long fingers around his stiff length.
Didn’t say he could touch her though, so Yoongi didn’t.
“Think you can last longer than last time?”
He clenched his jaw. “Maybe.”
She pulled harder and he locked his neck and shoulders, clutching the sheets with a sharp gasp, pleasure shooting up his core, firm, strong strokes up and down his cock, fuck, fuck, every damn time, that second of cold as her saliva soaked his skin and then it warmed up fast to hot, slippery ecstasy, hard and getting harder, his pre-cum mixing with her saliva, staring at her hard nipples and juicy hips, knees around one of his thighs, shaking her ass when she noticed him looking, changing the pace, addicted to the feeling of her hands. He could feel the bones and the hard muscle of her grip and, sure, that didn’t sound sexy, but it felt incredible, adding stimulation in that inescapable hold and paired with slickness, choking his cock slightly and he craved every second of it, thighs tense and hard, growling in his throat as he dug his head into the mattress, pulling the chain for all it was worth, lightheaded now, the leather cutting in, probably leaving a mark, locking eyes with mischievous orbs and an impish smirk, the sides of her collar also cutting into the sides of her neck, choking herself as she was choking him while jacking him off.
Black haze threatened the edges of his vision.
He was going to pass out or cum. Yoongi didn’t care which happened first.
“F… Fuck!”
Yoongi snapped his jaw shut and shot up her forearm and down his length, strained groan of her name leaking past his teeth, bolts of pleasure invading his nerves all the way up to his scalp, blossoming into an erotic haze. She snapped her head forward. Oxygen flooded his brain, his jaw going slack with a moan, his eyes rolling back, high so high his whole body shuddered, barely registering her movement, hearing the lewd slurps of her drinking up his cum.
Her mouth enveloped his twitching length, burying it deep into her throat, slathering tongue and satisfied hiss, chain clinking against his stomach and hitting his trembling balls, twisting her head so the chain wouldn’t cause any damage to them as she began to suck, flashes of tongue flickering out of the edges of those plush lips, grazing his crotch and scrotum, pointedly staring at him with an arched eyebrow.
She bounced her hips when she noticed him looking, shaking her ass as she sucked his dick.
Yoongi grinned.
His vision was barely focusing, trying to recover from orgasm in the midst of the intoxicating pleasure of her soft and tight mouth, tongue rubbing under the head of his cock, causing it to jerk and swell in the back of her throat and then she thrust it all the way back in there, taking him impossibly deep, sinfully moaning around his cock, vibrating it with lust. He glanced at her hands, fingers spread out and joints locked, tendons flexed, pointed black fingernails clawing into the sheets.
The heat flaring over his abdomen and hips was rising to his limit once more.
Yoongi panted her name, hoarse and breathless, realizing his Daegu satoori was suddenly more prominent in his disheveled state.
“I’m gonna cum–”
She popped her mouth off his cock and he snapped his teeth, snarling.
“You bitch.”
She grinned, wiggling her tongue, thick plops of saliva dripping down and hitting his flinching hips and throbbing cock, the head an angry purple-red from being so roughly stimulated after orgasm. The white contact gleamed alongside the devious glint in her right eye, black pupils blown out, a little psychotic, a little mischievous, and a lot sexy.
It didn’t matter who was on top because she knew she was always on top.
To be clear, Yoongi didn’t take shit from anyone without a fight. It got him in trouble sometimes, but this particular brand was trouble was the kind he liked. She gave him a long period of two seconds to roll the condom down before tangling one hand in the metal chain and the other in his black hair, pulling both in opposite directions. He hissed dangerously, plunging his hard cock into the wet, waiting heat, scorched by her roughness and his desire, one of her legs on his shoulder and the other around his waist, smacking their bodies together with violent force.
The tip of her tongue traced her teeth, grinning demonically.
“Come on, you said you were gonna play the game with me, Yoongi,” she chuckled, naughtily mocking him, voice deep and rough from her satoori.
“Let’s see if you can keep up,” he growled in kind, low and gravelly.
She pulled on the collar much harder than his hair, but both were equally arousing, prickling pain on his scalp and circulation cut short once again, brief flashes of oxygen bleeding through with his aggressive thrusts, the excess chain knocking against her collarbones, just another layer of sound along with slapping hips and squelching juices, her velvet walls clenching around him with every descent, not going fast so he could last, burying deep and hitting her hard. She winced, guttural growl at the base of her throat and the side of his lips quirked up.
“Too much?” he taunted.
“I’ll tell you when it’s too much,” she grunted, jerking her hips up and brutally squeezing the head deep inside.
He knew she wouldn’t let him do anything she didn’t want, so he kept going, her wrist flicking up with every thrust, leather collar snapping into his skin, thinning his breath to gasps at the stinging pain, the hand in his hair releasing him, messy black strands invading his vision, but he had no time to complain, groaning as her nails dug into his back and dragged up, inflamed hot lines that shot into his system and fed his adrenaline. His fists bunched the sheets, locking his shoulders, clenching his jaw, flexing his neck, and now he was being choked again, consistently this time, oxygen thinning out once more, barely able to keep his eyes open.
Her smile sent thrills up his spine and they split at the base of his head, tendrils of vicious desire numbing all sensations except lust, gluttonous for the pain that nourished more pleasure, greedy for everything she forced him to take, too prideful to ask her to loosen her hold, desperate not to give in to her wrath, usually slothful but now using every fiber of his strength to push himself to the limit, high getting higher knowing that anyone would be envious of how good he got it from that fiendish playful grin and hot delicious body under him, collared together in joined sin.
She let out a low moan, basking in him, feeding his need to satisfy hers.
“You’re so fuckin’ hot, Yoongi.”
He managed to get out half of a breath, staring into those irises, one real, one covered in white.
“Fuck, your voice gets me off every time,” he hissed.
He slammed his hips down and she clamped around his entire length, releasing the chain, both of their heads tipping back, his in the air and hers into the pillows, moans in unison as he shot into the condom and she released onto his twitching length and skin, coating him with slickness. The scent of sex permeated the air, his previous orgasm soaked into the sheets already and hers smearing with it as their hips descended, his throbbing cock pulsed by her flinching walls, her thighs tense around his waist and his hard ones against her ass, making sure to lean forward so he didn’t fall out, savoring every second of their joined bodies.
The hotel room was certainly getting some important use.
Yoongi remembered he had been annoyed when she said he should rent one since the potential gig was rather far away and transportation so late at night was going to be a bitch. He almost didn’t do it, but she rolled her eyes and booked it anyway, triumphant when he sold out the venue. Not a huge venue, but bigger than he had ever performed before.
He still said she had to make it up to him for making him travel farther than he originally wanted.
As usual, Yoongi was not disappointed.
“Housekeeping is gonna be pissed,” she chuckled. “Smells like sex.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“How’s your throat?”
“Pretty sure rapping strains the inside of my throat, not the outside.”
She chuckled. “Now you hurt all over.”
Yoongi closed the distance and kissed that smirk, metal chain sandwiched between their hot, sweaty skin, the steel rings of the black leather collars clinking against each other.
the lyrics in the beginning are from hot demon b!tches near u!! by CORPSE ft night lovell
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kithtaehyung · 8 months ago
First Love, Last Love (M)
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title: first love, last love posted: january 19th, 2021, 7pm est pairing: bad boy pianist!yoongi x university!reader(f) genre: angst, smut; opposites to lovers, high school/university au summary: after the most pivotal moment in your life, you never thought you would ever see him again. years later, you cross paths in the last place you ever imagined him to be. was this the universe giving you a second chance? or were you destined to repeat the same mistakes you fought hard to forget? warnings: alcohol, house parties, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, choking, hair-pulling, oral (m/f rec), fingering, penetration, unprotected sex (pls be responsible!), dirty talk, gagging with a tie, creampie, nipple play, public sex (kinda?), edging, denied orgasms, doggy-style, cowgirl, overstimulation, min yoongi in mf general notes: thank you to @sketchguk, @softyoongiionly, and @yoonjinkooked (and honestly the rest of the @bangtansorciere network) for being incredible hype ppl! and @bangtantaegi​ this is filthy yoongi smut, what can i say?? mobile users: alt link if this doesn’t open in tumblr ➛ ao3 word count: 33.5k !! (omg i am so sorry, you can yell at me)
What does it look like when an artist’s passion dies? 
You imagined an unfinished painting, the canvas collecting dust in a corner amongst rusting paint pots and hardened brushes. Or an abandoned instrument case shoved into the back of a closet, sheet music stuffed in binders stuffed in boxes stuffed in the attic. The arts no longer spoke, danced, comforted. What was once a technicolor ocean of imagination now resembled an ugly, dried sludge of doubts and fears and excuses to find another path. Society’s standard path. One with a more stable lifestyle and greater number of career choices. 
No matter what you pictured, it was nothing compared to what you were witnessing. The world before you swam in your vision: the imposing, dark monster of a grand piano swallowing its prey whole. And the victim didn’t fight back - not even for a moment. They let it consume them under the blinding spotlight, a feasting on full display. They knew this was the close, proverbial wings folding around their slumped form in surrender.
The entire room held its breath, but inside you a storm raged so harshly that you wouldn’t be surprised if people could hear your thundering pleas. 
It was just four months ago when you first saw him. The overcast skies beckoned for you to return to your cozy apartment and slip under warm covers, so you hightailed it across campus after your last class. Crossing in front of the library, you glanced into the coffee shop windows and noticed something odd - rather, someone. Someone you knew from high school. Someone you absolutely thought about every lonely night during your days there.
Your neck almost snapped on the double-take, your backpack strap digging into your flesh. At least, the person looked enough like Yoongi for you to skid to a halt. There was almost no mistaking the worn sneakers, ripped jeans, headphones, and black hoodie blend - the silver earrings scintillating cherries on top. 
To be fair, the outfit wasn’t unique. There were plenty of students adopting the same style nowadays.
It was the way he was carrying himself that caught your eye. A sight harkening back to the days where you viewed the world through the narrowest of scopes. In a room awash with straightened postures and upturned noses, his lazy form slouched against the window in his booth, legs spread under the table while he remained preoccupied with his phone. 
All doubt vanished from your mind; it was Yoongi. His hair wasn’t blond anymore, but it was him. How did you think for a second that it wasn’t? Your reaction was visceral. Immediate. Only he would illicit something so potent. As you wondered how much time had passed, how he was even there in the first place, and how handsome he still was, feline eyes locked onto yours and frightened every thought in your brain. They bounded and ran in every direction, your body doing the same as you turned away and fled. 
“Alright, next up: Min Yoongi.” 
At the sound of his name, you swept your eyes over the sea of navy and white uniforms while marching back to your desk. Your presentation went swimmingly - to no one’s surprise - which meant it would be hard to follow. But if he was the one going after you? The difference would be night and day. 
When your eyes landed on Yoongi’s obnoxious hair, you frowned. Once more, the boy was ignoring the dress code. Not only were his locks bleached over an undercut, but his uniform appeared haphazard with the tie loose and the jacket unbuttoned. Ridiculous. 
In the backmost row, Yoongi didn’t bother moving. His low tone matched the level of your opinion of him. “I didn’t finish mine.” 
A mad and disappointed voice spewed from the front, blowing past you and slamming into him, “You had a month for these presentations.” 
“Uh, three weeks, but yeah. I didn’t finish.”
“Are you still presenting?”
Tsking, you plopped into your stiff plastic seat and awaited his fate of getting yet another stain on his scholastic record. Those presentations were worth a huge chunk of your grades. If he just went up there and presented what he had, that would’ve been better than just refusing to go. 
“See me after class, Min,” your teacher drawled. Tapping her pen, she addressed the room, “Class, don’t be like this. High school is just the start of your adult lives. If you screw up here, you’re only doing your future selves a disservice.” 
You couldn’t agree more. How someone could throw away their life before they could legally live on their own didn’t make an ounce of sense to you. Turning your head to face Yoongi’s desk far behind you, all that greeted you was a laid-back form with crossed arms. Typical. Foolish. 
As if he felt the heat of your stare, Yoongi shifted his gaze and tossed it right back. You immediately snapped your head forward.  
It wasn’t just his apathy that birthed your resentment. The academy you attended was extremely competitive, one that universities around the world plucked students from year over year. It was a privilege to be able to graduate from those troddened halls and sagging brick archways. To don those fitted, refined clothes. To see someone wasting their time in a school of such caliber irked you to your noble core. And many other people shared that mindset. As you surveyed the room, annoyance appeared in the form of scrunched noses, shaking heads, rolling eyes. 
Whatever. What Yoongi decided to do with his life wasn’t your problem. People like him - people that threw responsibilities to the side and caution to the wind - rubbed you the wrong way regardless. Did consequences mean anything to them? At all? 
You hooked one leg over the other, tugging your plaid skirt down to an acceptable level before folding your arms. Good riddance to him and his stupid platinum hairdye.
At the blackboard, the teacher sighed, “I’ll get off my soapbox now. Namjoon? Delight us, please.” 
“Yes, ma’am.” 
When you heard the conceited huff of a laugh from the back row, you clicked your tongue. Yoongi could scoff at academics all he wanted to. But if he ever found himself in a hole he couldn’t climb out of, you weren’t sure if anyone would be there to drag him out.
Two weeks after the initial coffee shop sighting, you spotted him again. And your heart leapt out of your chest just the same. 
At a private nook hidden between stacks in the library, books and papers littered your table, drowning you and your friend Aspa in waves of research and headache. One of your professors had no qualms about assigning extra work heading into midterm hell, so you figured you would tackle it early just to get it over with. Dawdling around? You couldn’t relate. Keeping on top of your studies never failed you at your academy, and they weren’t going to fail you in university. Despite being less uptight than you were before, academics still claimed first place as far as priorities went. As usual, your life was as boring as they came.
You just didn’t walk around with a stick up your cheeks anymore. With a hum, you wondered if you would’ve gotten to know Yoongi better if you were the same back then. What could’ve been if things were different? Maybe that incident would never have happened, for one.  
“I can’t believe she assigned this a week before midterms. For an actual grade? I’m telling you: she’s a sociopath,” Aspa groaned, her head thumping the table in an exhausted heap.
An agreeable sigh left you before you responded, “Imagine how her TA feels.” In all honesty, picturing Seokjin yelling at everyone’s papers while simultaneously crying over his own thesis was enough to get you through the whole thing. 
Garbled words sunk into the mound of books under your friend's mouth, complete gibberish. Knowing her, though, they were probably curses or threats mixed with snippy comments about your work ethic. 
Throughout your first year, Aspa was not just your first roommate, but your first friend. The matchmaking gods smiled down on you both - even if you didn’t think so at first. While she was vibrant, you were still monotonous. But over time, you learned that it was a great mesh of personalities and interests. A nice balance. In the end, you couldn’t have asked for anyone better. 
The booming thud of a book shutting pulled Aspa’s head off the table and almost launched your body into the ceiling. Instead, your knees hit the tabletop while your yelp blew through the stacks. Your friend darted her shocked eyes around the room. 
Shit. Even the people in study rooms must have heard you. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you rubbed your quickly bruising limbs.
Beside you, Aspa whispered, “What’s his problem?” 
When you followed her questioning gaze, you gasped. 
At the end of a narrow row left of your table, Yoongi was the last person you expected to see. Him? In a library? Was Hell freezing over or was this a studious twin you never knew of? His veiny hand clutched a thick volume to his bicep, the ends of the pages curling against the material of his sweater. 
Warmth fizzled on your cheeks as you wondered if he recognized you or not. Did you really want him to? While you no longer wore a school uniform, your facial features remained the same. But even then, so much time passed since you last saw him. Years. Surely he didn’t even know it was you. And if he really didn’t? Good. Things were better that way.
Before you could blink again, he left. And not without biting his lower lip, which occupied your brain the rest of the day and many nights after.
Aspa’s eyebrows shot past her entire forehead. Her voice was louder than library standards when she craned her neck to the side, “Okay, wait; that was kinda hot. Hello?”  
Sinking lower into your seat, you tried your hardest to calm your nerves while shamefully agreeing with your friend. 
“Oh, no no no,” you muttered, realizing that you left your sheet music back at the academy. In the orchestra room. In your locker. 
You had a recording test due the next day, and while you remembered your instrument and your recording device, the actual material you needed to present was laughing at you behind skinny white bars. Checking your phone, you noticed that you didn’t have much time left before the school closed for the afternoon. You swiveled around with a groan and jogged away from the bus stop. Your poor ankles; they were going to suffer under the unrelenting shapes of your Mary Janes.
Sunlight baked you the whole trip, and your sweaty form burst through the back door leading into the music hall. At least that was open. Your moist skin chilled in the sudden air conditioning while you sprinted to the orchestra room. Almost there, almost there, nearly there. 
To your horror, the director had already left for the day. Which meant the door was locked. Which also meant you couldn’t record. Panicking, you jerked the handle three times before tears sprang into your eyes. 
If there was one thing that destroyed a student at a competitive school, it was a failing grade. Everyone was neck and neck, which meant no room for error. But, you just made the most egregious one. If you failed this exam, you weren’t getting an A in the class. And that meant plummeting in rankings since the averages between students were hundredths of a point apart.  
Bottom line: you were done for. After loosening your tie, you lolled against the door in defeat, your gloom fogging up the slim window. There was no saving you now. Wallowing in sorrow, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you became part of the metal itself with how long your forehead sagged against the paint. Only the distant tinkling of a piano snagged your attention, and you pried yourself from the chilled steel. 
Briefly leaving your own pity party, you straightened the more you listened. Who was playing? Certainly not any of the current pianists on the orchestral roster. None of them could tame a Steinway half as well as what you were hearing now. Full of curiosity, you tiptoed up and down the empty corridor only to find all the rooms abandoned. It was then that you realized the sound was spilling out across the main hall, where the back entrance to the school theatre stood. 
With cautious steps, you inched closer and closer to the entryway, your instrument suddenly a great weight on your side. The sound captivated you like a pied piper, an invisible hook piercing your heart and dragging it along. As you neared the theatre, the notes rang clearer, crisper, sadder. What was this somber feeling? The tune was unknown to you, but you felt like you understood it. Or it understood you. The minor key tugged at your chest, dug its desperate fingers in your arms. The more you listened, the heavier you felt.  
You needed to know who was playing. They were incredible. 
The piano had to be the upright on the stage. There wasn’t another one you knew of that the theatre group owned. Peeking out from the lengthy black curtains, you gasped when you saw no one other than Yoongi skirting his fingers across the keys. 
Your lungs stopped. 
He wasn’t just playing music - he was the music himself. You watched in awe as his whole body swayed with the melodic swells, his eyes closed to the world. Notes skated around his head, pinged off the floors, flew into the rafters. The piano was an extension of his being. One living, breathing entity. You were witnessing something so beautiful that you held your breath, not wanting to disturb the creature lest it stopped. 
But the notes ceased regardless. Loud silence followed. 
You choked as Yoongi glanced over his hooded shoulder, shock releasing your instrument case in a clanging heap. The heavy thud echoed throughout the empty theatre, and with a severely reddened face you apologized and retrieved its bulky frame.
The blond watched you flail from afar, snorting as you hastily smoothed over your prim hair. “School’s out, doll. Aren’t you supposed to be a good girl and on your way home already?” 
Across the stage, his words projected all around you and propelled into the audience chamber. You couldn’t help but drown in the depths of his voice. Flustered from head to toe, you went on the defensive. “Aren’t you supposed to perform when school is actually in session, not after?” 
“Damn, chill,” he replied, condescension shooting out of his nose. Your eyes flickered to his gleaming earrings as they swung forward with his head. “This is the only time I can play without someone breathing down my neck. Uhh. Probably not after today, though. Gonna snitch on me, huh?”
You rolled your eyes to hide the accuracy of his accusation. A hard advocate for the rules, you never minded snitching. Honestly, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t have hesitated. But for some reason, you let Yoongi off the hook. 
But you weren’t gonna let him off that easy. “I mean, if you insist.” 
“If you’re gonna do it, then do it.” He frowned, his eyes turning to slits. “I’ll just ask them how you knew.” When he pitched a smug eyebrow raise toward you, you internally batted it away. 
Huffing once you knew you were stuck, you just dismissed his attitude with a scrunch of your nose, “I just came back to get something. I wasn’t patrolling or anything.”  
Remembering that your initial trip was a waste of time and that you now had to literally walk home empty-handed, frustration prickled the corners of your eyes. Ah, yes. You were about to fail an exam. You. Legitimately failing. How could you forget? 
Though you were technically on stage, there was no way you were making a scene in front of Yoongi. He was without doubt going to make fun of you in some form or fashion. The star student falling from grace? A spectacle. Maybe he’d even send you off with a ballad. “I’ll leave you alone now,” you mumbled before turning away, “I won’t tell anyone.” 
Behind the curtain, you swiped your eyes as you took weighty steps backstage. Could you ask for a make-up exam? Extra credit? No. You knew neither would be offered. They were strict when it came to recorded exams since students had ample time to turn them in. You just happened to exist under a mountain of work that week, so you didn’t find the time to record until the last night. If only you weren’t so distracted with your friends joking around in the stuffy locker room that you missed grabbing your binder. What a loser. 
The doors were fast approaching before you felt a warm hand close around your shoulder. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Yoongi explained, his gravelly voice sending chills down your back.
Did he follow you just to tell you that? Wiping your tears again, you hid your face from him as you responded, “It’s not you. Don’t worry about it.” 
“What’s wrong?” 
Was that genuine concern in his tone? Or did you just imagine it? You fully expected him to brush you off or ridicule your tears, but he didn’t do either of those things. 
Realizing that the first real conversation you would have with Yoongi was because he caught you sneaking around, you ruefully laughed. Of course you could never converse with him normally. Neither of you would give the other a chance. In classes, you two repelled like magnets. This time just happened to be when both of you were where you weren’t supposed to be. 
You closed your hand over his, lifting it off your person. His fingers were so cold. How did his touch feel so warm? “Trust me, it’s nothing you could help with,” you bit out, some of your frustration ringing through. 
Yoongi kept his stance behind you. “Try me,” he goaded. 
You wheeled around to face him, your instrument case tugging down your arm. His bleached hair was as bright as your anger, and his undercut was as short as your fuse. Snapping, you vented with a staccato bite, “If you actually care, I just - I need my sheet music to take my recording test that’s due tomorrow and the orchestra room is locked already. So now I’m going to fail and terrorize my grade, which will destroy me come applications next year! Well, at least, I know I’m applying. I don’t know about you...” 
Irritated with yourself, you couldn’t look Yoongi in the eye after your tirade. Sure, he was a tremendous piano player, but what did he know about scholastic competitiveness? He couldn’t help you. The guy was so far removed from caring about averages and numbers that you may as well have been crying out to a wall. You focused on the black hoodie he wore over his uniform, the vintage print an old band you’d never heard of. Your eyes roamed across the faded lettering when a finger lifted your chin.
“When’s it due,” Yoongi asked, his dark orbs taking in your sparkling tears. 
Your mind blanked. You had never been touched that intimately before. “Tomorrow,” you whispered, every limb locking at his touch. What alternate universe did you accidentally step into? Were you dreaming and actually at home on your sofa? You never crossed paths with this boy and suddenly you were centimeters away from each other.
“I meant what time, smartass,” he said through a smirk.
No words even came close to your tongue. Did ninety percent of your brain automatically shut off while in his vicinity? That wasn’t a good sign. Gathering yourself, you blinked rapidly before gasping in indignation, “I’m not being a… They’re due at 8 A.M.” 
Yoongi hummed before following up with another question, “And when does the room open?” 
“7 A.M.,” you responded, much quicker that time despite his finger still propping up your chin. 
“Then there’s your answer.” Yoongi retracted his hand before finally stepping away. “Just get in early tomorrow and record it then.” 
Why didn’t you think of that? How did you miss such a simple solution? It didn’t even occur to you to go in early. You went straight to the consequences and didn’t even stop at any intersections, stop signs, yield signs. Is that how you had been living your life until then? Usually priding yourself on eloquence, you could only reply with a tiny “Oh.” 
A firm hand pressed against your pliant hip as Yoongi rotated you toward the exit. “Now stop worrying. Be a good girl and head home.” 
Your feet were stones as you obeyed, plodding toward the entryway. You hated yourself for blushing so much, but it couldn’t be helped. There was something about that phrase coming from him that unearthed emotions you didn’t want to describe. Before you turned the corner to head down the hallway, you swiveled back to Yoongi. “Thank you,” you said, truly meaning it. “You should probably leave before you get caught.” 
“No worries,” he shrugged, “No one ever checks back here after the teachers leave.” 
“Okay.” His confidence was hard to argue with. “See you tomorrow, Yoongi.” 
“Ehh. We’ll see.” 
Your reaction was a strange mixture of a scoff and laugh before walking out of his sight. No matter how lazy he was on his grades, the boy did always show up for class. Which was more than you could say for the other delinquents at the academy. And it appeared that he possessed talent beyond academics.
Maybe Min Yoongi wasn’t as bad as you had perceived him to be. 
Rain coated every inch of campus when you ran into him next. Physically. Straight into him as you scampered to class. 
You were so set on watching for puddles that you weren’t looking ahead. In the quad between the library and your destination, your only warning was a pair of dirty sneakers before you rammed into someone. Their soft form melded with yours for a split second, and you noted how warm they felt before you jolted away. “I’m so sorry,” you blurted, using your hands to steady them over their soaked clothes. 
The poncho draped over you magnified the sounds of rainsong in your ears, but the deep voice you heard swam underneath. “Still clumsy.” 
Eyes flickering upward, you paled as you saw who you almost knocked over. “Oh, shit,” you whispered, embarrassment spilling across your cheeks. Yoongi’s voice was an octave lower than it was the last time he spoke to you. And if you heard him right, what he said implied that he indeed recognized you. From the library? Or from high school? You were clumsy in both places. Your cold hands on his arms felt white hot then, causing you to flinch and return them to your sides. Words didn’t appear in your mind until a moment later, and when they slipped out you imagined them appearing in the tiniest font possible, “Yeah, guess so.” 
When Yoongi suddenly leaned next to your ear, heat pooled under your skin; at his words, you blended in with the rain, liquifying into a puddle yourself. 
“Be a good girl and get to class.” 
Fuck. He absolutely remembered you. Memories flooded your brain faster than the storm drowned the quad. Feelings you harbored from before rushed into your veins, filled the crevasses of your heart, spread through your body like wildfire. Nothing else existed at that moment. All you knew was that a flame returned with a vengeance and refused to be put out a second time. 
While you were burning in the rain, his icy form slinked past your side. And his exit left you alone. You could only stare as he left, slowly turning to watch him amble through the downpour like he had nowhere to be.
For a brief moment, you pondered. Should you follow him? There were so many things you wanted to tell him, things he needed to know. 
But your moral compass realigned your body on the path to your next class, so with one last glance thrown Yoongi’s way, you ran inside and escaped the rain.  
Exiting the orchestra room with a tiny smile, you felt nothing but delight as you weaved your way through the crowded halls. Yoongi’s plan worked like a charm. You slipped into the orchestra room first thing on the day it was due, barricaded yourself inside a practice space, and finished recording in two takes. Your recorder was the first one in the basket. 
A week later, you got your results: near perfect scoring. 
That was more than enough. Giddiness added a bounce to your step, and you started seeing more colors around you than usual. Did you never look around the hallways as you traversed between classes? Strange. You should do that more often. Yoongi probably did. 
Speaking of the devilishly handsome trespasser, he was peculiarly the first person you wanted to talk to about your exam results. But alas, you already figured he wasn’t going to speak to you during classes. And you were only proven right as the day unraveled. 
During second period, you greeted him in passing and received a raised eyebrow in response. And in fifth, you almost giggled at the look of pure disgust your smile got in return.
Although he still annoyed you, you couldn’t completely resent him now. Not after he helped you when he didn’t need to. You gave it a lot of thought the entire week, and it was after you received your exam grade that you decided on your stance. You were going to tolerate him. 
It was during your penultimate period when a needle of a thought punctured your mind. What started as a pinprick expanded into a hole so large you couldn’t help but give in and trek through. 
You would try to see Yoongi after school. 
There were some points you had to consider, like getting caught or what to tell your mother. Luckily, nothing happened last time. But you could never be too careful. 
Your answer arrived two weeks later in the form of Namjoon, one of your classmates and realistically the next leader of the country, if it were up to you. While you were writing down the class agenda, you overheard the lanky boy behind you peddling his sessions, “You ladies comin’ to tutoring today?” 
“Depends. What’s on the menu,” one of the girls asked, a salacious lilt to her voice. You stopped writing, already knowing where things were headed. 
“We got Physics, and Biology.” 
“Mm, attraction and procreation? Kim Namjoon, you tease.” 
Multiple laughs in differing pitches sprang around his desk. Even yours left you in a short burst before you covered your mouth. You didn’t need to turn around to know how red the poor boy was turning underneath his splayed hands, but you did anyway to pat his desk in consolation.
“I’ll go for a bit,” you whispered with pity, earning a small, flustered nod. 
And you did just that. School passed in a flurry of more color than usual, and you were in Namjoon’s session. Pretending to busy yourself, you repeatedly checked the standard classroom clock until you decided it was an appropriate time to head to the theatre. 
The cobblestone hallways were one of your favorite things about the academy, followed by the wooden architecture of the theatre hall. You were transitioning from the former to the latter when soft notes started swirling around your hair. 
Yoongi was there. Just like you wanted. Unwittingly, a smile carved into your features. 
Peeking around the main hall to see if the coast was clear, you snuck through the backstage doors with a jittering in your stomach. You weren’t used to breaking rules. However, you did have to admit you enjoyed the slight thrill in doing so. 
When you poked your head around the curtains, you quickly determined that the thrill had nothing to do with breaking policies, and everything to do with the boy on the stage. You stood in silent wonder, softly clutching the satin in your fingers. 
The song was different than the first, but the sound just as beautiful and the key just as minor. It almost echoed the bounce in your step from earlier. You pictured the notes as rounder, softer, plusher. They rolled off the keys and fell to the ground, pooling around the piano and underneath the bench. Ladies in flowing dresses and flower crowns came to mind - colorful linens sitting amongst oil paintings and tea sets. And while they would be deterred by the inundation, Yoongi was not - one foot steadied on the pedals while the other bent under the seat. 
Imagining him actually sitting with said ladies made you giggle, which caused him to stop playing and turn on the bench. His expression flipped from fear to annoyance when he realized it was you.
“Felt guilty about not snitching last time? Is this the day you cave?” 
“No,” you pouted, shuffling out from the towering curtain to fully show yourself. Your instrument covered the front of your skirt as you clarified, “I just wanted to say thank you. For before.” 
Yoongi blinked twice before asking, “Did I do something?” 
Embarrassment splashed your cheeks. Shoot, did he actually forget that he helped you? Surely, the barrage of grins sent his way would be enough to clue him in. Was he messing with you? Either way, you felt like bolting. 
“I’m messing with you,” he laughed, and you flinched at his precision. “How could I forget with all the stupid looks you’ve been giving me the past two weeks?”
The comment shot out before you could stop it, “Normally, people just say ‘you’re welcome.’” A light snort was your response.
“I get nervous when I’m thanked.” 
“You’re weird.” 
“You’re creepy.”
“And now you’re mean.”
“You aren’t wrong,” Yoongi agreed, “I’m always mean. But it is what it is.” Hitting a lone key before dropping his arm, he watched you stand awkwardly at the edge of the stage. 
Under his gaze, you felt like you were being picked apart. Him, a critic; you, an art piece. What was he looking at? What about you was so fascinating? You stared at the ground in silence. In your whirlwind of imagination, you weren’t finding anything on your canvas worthy of attention. 
Maybe he was only waiting for you to say something. That had to be the case. Like he would ever find you interesting. As if. You were as cookie-cutter as they came - and he called you weird.
Giving into the pressure, you suddenly threw out a question, “What were you playing?”    
“Chopin,” Yoongi responded instantly, elongating the second syllable. His lazy demeanor lowered you into a more comfortable state of mind. “Nocturne. It’s a pianoforte.” 
“It’s pretty,” you admitted. Pocketing the information for later, you noted to search for it on your phone to save. Gripping the handle of your case, you shuffled from foot to foot, trying to quell the pain in your ankles. The sprint from the bus stop days ago did wreak havoc on them, as you predicted. Bandages could only help so much. 
Yoongi took your fidgeting form as anxiousness. “Why don’t you sit down? There’s like, a thousand chairs down there. Pick one,” the blond offered, pointing to the house of the theatre. Patting the piano bench, he tutted, “This seat’s already taken, though.” 
“I shouldn’t be here,” you rejected, backing up behind the curtains again.
“Suit yourself.” Yoongi immediately continued where he left off, the punctured notes traipsing off the stage.
Maybe you could stay. One song should be enough. Peering down at the dark area, you contemplated whether or not to venture further into the hall. At least he didn’t want you sitting next to him. You couldn’t risk your brain functions shutting down again. No way. 
Shyly, you made your way down the stairs to the audience seating. Scooting to the middle of the front row, you gingerly settled into the thin folding seat - very aware of a pair of eyes on you. Thin was too strong of a word for what you just sat on. With pursed lips, you noted that the academy could part with some cash to upgrade the chairs. When was the last time they ramped up the theatre? It seemed neglected. 
When you finally looked at the stage, your breath hitched. 
Seeing Yoongi at the angled piano from your new viewpoint was like a weight pressing your chest. You couldn’t form a coherent thought, other than to remind yourself to keep breathing. Inhale and exhale. In and out. You still weren’t taking a breath. All you could focus on was him. 
He looked angelic, his hair a radiant halo around his head. How could you not see it before? In your heart of hearts, you knew he belonged on stage. 
“No phones or flash photography during the performance, please,” he drawled, addressing the entire theatre. When you blew out a raspberry in response, he looked down at you and cocked an eyebrow. 
Rude. You were a good student - of course you’d pay attention. Rolling your eyes even harder than usual, you unzipped the front pocket of your backpack. Fishing your phone out as proof that you didn’t have it on you, you wiggled it at Yoongi before putting it back inside, huffing as you did so. 
“Thank you,” is all you got in response before you were flashed the most charming smile you had ever seen. Your heart dissolved into tiny butterflies, all one million of them trying to flutter about and exist together. 
As Yoongi started the pianoforte again, you couldn’t recall a single day in your life that was better than that Wednesday.
And you lost count of how many songs you sat through.
Winter was in full swing, which meant full Marshmallow Mode for you. You couldn’t risk contracting any sort of sickness during a crucial point of the semester, so you took every precaution you could. And that included dressing similar to the Michelin man. 
Bumbling through the campus grounds, you slowly but surely made your way to the library. You had a pretty significant break between your classes - something you vied to fix come next term - and you figured a coffee break was essential. Stumbling through the sliding doors, you waited until you were fully inside before shrugging off your puffy jacket. It proved more difficult than you preferred. 
The tantalizing aroma of coffee and bakery goods wafted through the cafe, and you scooped your jacket into your tired arms. You couldn’t wait to spend five dollars to burn your tongue. 
A dark figure strolled through the doors while you idly stood in line. Glimpsing at them from your spot, you noticed with a skipped heartbeat that it was Yoongi. Again. You were running into him at least once every two weeks, it seemed. Upon further inspection, you noticed the laptop under his arm right as he slunk into a corner booth. 
Exhaling, you decided on the next course of action. Was it foolish? Probably. But you wanted to try. When it was your turn to order, you went ahead with the plan. 
After you received both of your drinks, you prepared yourself before taking confident steps toward Yoongi’s table. You took in his telltale headphones around his thin neck, and his dark hair poking out from his black beanie. He was attractive with either color, you decided.
As your hip grazed the edge, you held a coffee in front of your former rule-breaking buddy. “Take it,” you demanded after he didn’t acknowledge you nor the paper cup. 
Eyes still trained on his laptop screen, Yoongi droned, “No, thanks.”
“What? Why?” 
“The drinks here are too expensive.” 
A small section of your soul sagged. Was this really the same boy you knew before? What happened to the guy with the smile so wide you could see his gums? The current Yoongi was completely dismissive and - dare you say it - boring. Your handing him a drink should have implied that you were paying. Did he not think that? 
Clutching the increasingly hotter cup, you sighed before slotting yourself in the booth opposite him, placing both drinks on the table. Your fluffy jacket proved ponderous, taking up half of your long seat. “I got it just for you; you don’t need to pay me back or anything,” you grunted as you attempted to push your winter protection of choice down in size.  
“Are you gonna keep sitting here?”
Wait. What the hell? His insulting tone had you completely taken aback. Mouth floundering, you couldn’t decide if wringing his handsome neck or pulling his perfect ears was what you preferred. Who even was this guy? Incredulously, you whispered, “Yoongi?” 
Dark eyes flickered to you. Finally. 
Shooting a cautious smile back at him, you teased, “So it is you. For a second, I thought you were someone else.” 
“If you’re taking this table, I’ll go.” 
Your expression immediately crumpled. “What?” 
Before you could stop him, Yoongi shut his computer and vacated his seat, leaving you speechless as you stared at the void in front of you. As you turned to see his retreating back, a pang of anguish ignited in your chest, the slow burn taking all the oxygen from your lungs. Taking in the two untouched, matching coffees on the table, you felt tears well in your eyes. 
Maybe you were reading things completely wrong. This wasn’t some test you could study for and memorize; mistakes and misconceptions were bound to happen. Sliding your palms down your thighs and closing them in defeat, you hid your face from the cafe before your tears could season your lukewarm Americano. 
He was still mad at you. You were sure of it now. 
And you absolutely couldn’t blame him. 
Wednesdays were quickly becoming your favorite day of the week. 
Namjoon always held his tutoring sessions those days, which meant you had an excuse to stay after and hang out with the boy that had an aversion to classwork. You started collecting suspicion in the fourth week, though, when the shy tutor caught you smiling on your way out the door. 
You couldn’t help it. No matter how you felt during classes, your mood improved exponentially in Yoongi’s presence. The pair of you didn’t even have to speak. Just sitting in the same worn down theatre seat watching him play on stage was enough. You found meaning in the way Yoongi lost himself in the music. The pair of you existed in your own little bubble, the piano transporting you to another time and place with every song.
Sneaking one foot into the theatre always sent shivers up your spine, but the feeling quelled the more times you did. It was the one guilty pleasure you allowed yourself. 
Besides, you weren’t without intent: you wanted to get Yoongi to take his studies seriously. Since he dodged you during regular classes, after school was the only surefire time to speak to him. At first, you chickened out. You figured he would lash out at you or shut down at the mere suggestion. But the more you both settled into a routine, the more you were comfortable with asking. 
Yoongi was dismissive at first. But that was something you expected, so you didn’t let it deter your efforts. Between songs, you kept trying. You mentioned a better future, something to work towards, not throwing his life away. Giving him different reasons, you wanted to see if any of them would stick. Nothing worked. Not until you brought up money. 
“What do you mean a ‘scholarship?’” 
Finally, he took the bait. Now you needed to reel in your fishing line. Standing from your designated chair, you approached the stage and rested your arms on the wood. “Like, you could get money. For universities.” 
Yoongi supported his lean by clinging his hands to the back of the bench. “Why would I try more school when I don’t even try at this school?” 
Hating that he had a point and that was the exact habit you were trying to correct, you puffed. “Remember? Our English teacher said that high school is the start of our adult lives. If you mess up here, you’re only going to hurt yourself in the future. You should take that seriously.”
“Let me ask you something then,” the blond pitched. “What if you don’t mess up here, but still hurt yourself later on?” 
What? What could he possibly mean by that? “I don’t follow,” you admitted. 
Tilting his head back, Yoongi’s voice projected to the high ceilings of the stage, “I mean, what if you work towards something, only to find out you didn’t want to do it anymore? You have all the schooling in the world, but no passion for it. Wouldn’t that be more of a screw up?”
“But school is meant to show you what you want to do,” you countered, “You could find your passion in a subject if you really tried to learn about it.” If he would actually pay attention in classes, he would know. A small part in the back of your mind didn’t disagree with him, though.  
“All school does is make sure everyone’s following the world’s rules. It loves the people that are good at shit that society likes, like math and science and even fucking history,” Yoongi said, rolling his head to face your form at the front of the stage. “And shuns the people that don’t.” 
You bit your lip. Even you had to admit that he had a point. You were one of the people that casted him off yourself, and all of the other students that didn’t take things seriously. The interest level was never taken into consideration for them. You just assumed they blew things off because of dumb reasons like they were too cool for it or something bogus like that. 
“Music, for example,” Yoongi continued, pushing his body back towards the piano. “Isn’t important. At least, to them.” 
As a song rippled to life on stage, you lowered your gaze to the wooden planks under your arms. You knew what he meant by Them. Society as a whole - you included. Until you got to know Yoongi, you didn’t deem music as relevant as the core subjects. Math, science, history - everything he mentioned. Stigmas surrounding the arts were ever present, wrapping them in undesirable facts. There weren’t as many opportunities in music as there were in math or science. And when there were careers present, they were difficult to attain and maintain. Only the best thrived at a comfortable level in that world. 
But you knew Yoongi could be one of those people. Those extraordinary, incredible people. Just the fact that he didn’t need sheet music was enough reason to think so. When you asked him about it before, he shrugged and said that he just memorized songs so he didn’t need to carry useless weight around.
He just wouldn’t be able to get anywhere unless his foundations were properly laid. And the boy could probably get more leverage if he went to a university, got a degree, and graduated. You didn’t doubt that the music classes offered in higher learning institutions were going to develop him further. Yoongi just needed to see the picture you framed for him - the possible future he could have. 
The tune flowed like a river under moonlight; a soundtrack to your thoughts. It seemed as contemplative as Yoongi appeared. Trying another approach, you offered, “If you get a degree, that’s more job opportunities opened for you.” 
At once, the notes ceased. “And if I don’t get one? Does that mean more are closed to me?” 
“If you don’t get a degree? Kinda. If you don’t graduate high school? Definitely,” you sighed, placing your chin on your crossed limbs. Absently, you tapped the ground behind you with one of your shoes. 
Yoongi’s head bent forward, thoughts forming clouds around his hair. From your spot under the stage, you waited. All you wanted to do was get him to consider the things you deemed important. 
When he spoke, you believed him. “I’ll find another way in.” 
And while that was strangely inspiring, you couldn’t help but worry about where that attitude would lead, and where he would eventually end up. 
Life dulled a few shades after you were completely rejected by Yoongi at the cafe. After that debacle, you actively tried to shove any thoughts and feelings about him in a box. An enormous, overstuffed box. 
Even Aspa was starting to get concerned. She had been texting you at random times to check in, and knocked on your door if hours had passed since you last left your room. You brushed her off every time, though. She didn’t need to worry about you with all of the things she was going through. And there was too much to unpack, too many regrets to admit.
The worst part was that he had every right to never speak to you again. Even if he did manage to enroll at the same university as you - as shocking as that remained - you couldn’t remove the regret from your bones. What you did back then would prompt anyone to spurn you forever. It was the one thing you regretted most. 
During one of your restless nights, an idea pooled into your mind and cleansed a layer of your stress. It was a way to provide some closure for the both of you: simply apologizing. 
Why hadn’t you thought about it before? Probably because you were so swept by the currents of feelings his appearance washed ashore every time. Suppressed emotions he unearthed whenever you laid fresh eyes on him proved stronger with each pass. Not for a second did you think about what he felt until that day he left you at the table, leaving you with two cold coffees and countless hot tears. 
The more you thought about it, the more determined you were to make it right. 
You weren’t going to hunt him down, though. The plan was to let things evolve organically. Yoongi was bound to visit that cafe again; you already spotted him there twice out of the four times you saw him. 
After a week of frequent visits to the coffee shop and convincing yourself you were not hunting for Yoongi, you caught him hunkered down in the same corner booth as before. 
Failure wasn’t an option. You had to apologize; he deserved that much. Hardening your resolve, you marched up to the table and slid into the seat opposite him. 
Yoongi jerked his head up and realized it was you. And while you were captured by his hooded eyes, you already saw him retreating. You needed to act fast. “Please don’t leave,” you begged in a whoosh. 
When he stilled, you said it again. Because this was too important. “Please.” 
Moments trudged past before he gave you the floor. A breath expelled from your lips. You didn’t think you’d make it that far. 
The boy slid his beanie off before raking fingers through his hair, and you watched as the natural dark locks fell in waves. Closing his laptop, Yoongi kept his gaze down, the deep bags under his eyes as curved as crescent moons. “What’s up,” he muttered. Every low syllable dropped in hollow thuds. 
Softly clenching your fists, you mirrored him and trained your eyes on the tabletop. This went much smoother in your head. “I know you hate me,” you started, your throat already tight, “And I know you don’t want to talk to me - and you don’t have to after this ever again. But I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.” 
By the time you finished speaking, your eyes were fully shut. You hated the possibility of him taking your offer to forever distance himself. Why did you even put yourself in this position? And for all that is holy, why did you decide to do this in a cafe on campus of all places? People were probably casting all sorts of looks your way right then. Shielding yourself from the world, you placed your head in your clammy palms. 
“So, umm,” you trailed off, not knowing if there was another reason to keep speaking. “Damn it, umm, okay. That’s really all I wanted to say. And I’ll take your silence as my cue to go. Bye, Yoongi.” 
You ditched the table in a flurry of windswept hair and teary eyes. There were still plenty of things left unsaid, but you couldn’t stand being near him and not connecting. It destroyed you. But you did it: you casted the most important point out into the universe. That was enough. He had to know that, above all, you were deeply sorry for before. The endless nights crying into your pillow attested to that. 
Cutting through the coffee shop and out into the October cold, your hot tears froze your cheeks over. Swiping your sadness away, you took heavy steps back to your apartment to chug down hot chocolate and cry through a movie. Which one would cleanse the most sorrow out of you? Maybe this time you could try one of those old period pieces that Aspa’s been begging you to watch with her lately. Then you would need to come clean.
As soft as fresh snow, a hand closed around your arm. 
Yoongi’s voice was as deep and clear as the last key on a piano, and the memories it brought up sprang tears to your eyes. 
“Where do you think you’re going?” 
It was during one of the hottest days of the school year that you finally threw your own caution to the sunburned skies. Instead of heading down the steps to the audience chamber, you walked straight up to Yoongi’s side, earning a raised brow. His hands slowed on the keys, the notes fading into a mere echo.  
Your bravery left him silent. The blond said nothing while he placed both fists on his knees, and as you took in his appearance you regretted the day you taunted him into finally forgoing the hoodie. That was something you mentioned to him before - teasing that the likelihood of you ratting him out may be less if he actually wore his uniform correctly. But that wasn’t completely the case. You were never going to mention that your intentions were a bit selfish. Formal white dress shirt, burgundy tie, obnoxiously bleached undercut, and ear piercings? That concoction resulted in sweaty sheets more nights than one, no matter how much you scoffed at it in class. 
And witnessing his current look up close almost caused you to fold over from weakened legs. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to combat the heat. Loosely, his tie dangled from his neck, the accessory appearing as lazy as the owner. It was too much. In fact, too much was an understatement. You focused on the piano instead.   
He just watched as you spared him a timid glimpse before your fingers slid along the porcelain, each thin cleft between the teeth prominent to the touch. The piano tinkered softly as you barely committed to pushing one key down, then another, and another. Roaming your eyes along the white and black, you marveled at how Yoongi was able to use them to create so much color. 
Before you could stop yourself, you confessed, “You’re amazing, you know that?” 
Caught off-guard, the boy only let out a soft breath of disbelief. “Thanks. It’s nothing special, though,” he murmured. 
“I’m serious,” you responded, more confidently than you ever had. All of your focus was on him. “You could make it big.” 
When Yoongi looked at you, each limb of your body stilled. Emotions cycled through his eyes before you could even put a name to them. Shock? Pain? You weren’t good at knowing those things. Somehow, the only concept outside academics that you understood was the music Yoongi played. But you had the feeling that you needed to wait until after he spoke. 
“My bad,” he apologized, swishing his hair, “No one’s said that to me before, is all. I kinda don’t know what to say to that.” 
Oh. That’s what he was thinking about? Strange. You figured with his confidence level that he was surely accustomed to compliments of that nature. “Well,” you said, “When you play like you do, I don’t think you need to say anything.” 
Sunlight burst into the room when he smiled, and you swore even the piano beside you perked up at the sight. Not wanting him to see your creeping attraction, you turned away. 
It was happening again. Sections of your brain started failing, starting with the logical sector. You took a step away from the bench before a hand closed around your wrist. 
A playful voice danced around the stage, “Where do you think you’re going?” 
Swinging your head toward him, you responded with minute agony, “The chairs!” 
“Nu uh,” he denied, “Come back here before I grab something else.” 
You choked on his implication, pulling your hand away. “Yoongi! Don’t you dare.” No one had ever been so crude with you before.
His blond hair bobbed with his laughs as you begrudgingly obeyed, settling next to him. Adjusting your skirt lower down your legs, you suddenly felt incredibly warm - no doubt the heat from outside. Definitely the weather. Couldn’t be your own heat swirling under your skin. Impossible. 
As it were, you were already flustered. Yoongi didn’t need to double-down by whispering in your ear. But he did, knowing fully well what it would do. “Good girl.” 
You shivered before sputtering, your arm pushing his smirking form away. “Okay, okay, no funny business.”
“As you wish, princess,” Yoongi responded, beaming at you before fully focusing on the upright. Diving straight into a familiar tune, his fingers waltzed along the keys, taking their time in the rests. Right by his side, you quietly swayed, carried by the tranquil waves as they sent you on a journey to the Moon. 
The world dissolved around you the further you drifted, the heat of a fast approaching summer the only thing remaining. As your lids slipped shut, you found yourself far away, lost in an ocean of stars. Hazy blues and yellows blended together like heavy paint strokes, melding into one giant galaxy made for two. Entranced, you dipped your hand in the sea of moonlight shimmering around your celestial boat. Just up ahead, the planets spun and spun. Bright meteors crossed your vision, lighting little fires in your eyes and in your fingertips. A deep, indigo, twinkling heaven. You never wanted to leave. 
“I thought about what you said.” 
Slowly opening your eyes, your starlit vision faded as you turned to Yoongi. The last couplet spun together until they dispersed, and he clarified, “About school.” 
Your question came as a whisper, not fully encapsulating the emotion you felt inside. “You did?” 
“Yeah,” he murmured in return. “I want to keep going with music, but if you’re right, I’m probably limiting myself right now. So, uhh, I guess I can give it a try.” 
Without a word, you placed one of your hands on his, not knowing where your sudden boldness sprouted from. Twining your fingers around his thin digits, you softly squeezed. Because you didn’t need to say anything back. You’ve learned that by now. Sometimes, the answer was never one written on a page. 
But other times, the answer was quite clear. In bold print. Like a blinding, scarlet letter on your school record for misconduct. 
At least, that’s exactly what you pictured when you were caught. 
The booming voice of a teacher rang through the theatre, and your hand left Yoongi’s quicker than your blood could leave your face. 
Shock left you in puffs of white as you stood in silence. Since classes were currently in the afternoon blocks, the sidewalks were void of any footsteps save for a few strays. Not like you would have noticed. Time froze at the stop of your heartbeat. Your cheeks stung as you spoke in barely a whisper, “Why did you follow me?” 
“If you look at me, I’ll tell you,” Yoongi answered, prompting you to turn. His jacket wasn’t black that day, but a light brown that suited him very nicely. It didn’t look thick enough to shield him from the chill, though. 
“You look cold.” Surveying the surrounding buildings, you realized that the one you just came out of would be the best bet to stay warm. “We can go back into the library if you want to talk. They have private rooms and stuff.” 
“No.” His answer was immediate, deflating you. “This won’t take long.”  
“Okay,” you surrendered, anticipating the blows of the last conversation you’d ever have with him. Perhaps he was just angry you left after getting the last word. Didn’t you do that last time? Yoongi just wanted to make sure your karma was delivered correctly. The right way. Scathingly. 
“If I’m being honest, I can’t talk to you right now,” he finally divulged. The confession smushed your heart, but you should have expected as much. There was one word in that sentence that piqued your interest above the disappointment, though, so you plucked it out of the bunch and held it under your scrutiny.
“Can’t? Or won’t?” There was a distinct difference and you knew one was preferred over the other. If he wouldn’t talk to you, that would be worse. If he simply couldn’t at the time, there was a hopeful tinge to it that you could hold onto. 
Yoongi’s hair poked out of the beanie now reattached to his head. Your curious gaze roamed over his features, noticing how much older he looked. You took in the more distinct cheekbones, the sharper jawline, the deeper set of eyes. Eyes that held ten times more weight than yours. What did they see in the years you’d been apart?
A sigh left him before he caved, “Both.” 
You swallowed the hard pill, respecting his wishes. Pain was going to eat at you until time caked your wounds and closed them, but you would eventually be fine. You had spent years away from him. It shouldn’t affect you too much. Right? 
Since Yoongi made no inclination to move, you posed another question, your boldness springing from the finality of the situation. “Why even chase me then?” His actions were completely opposite to his words. If he couldn’t and wouldn’t talk to you, he never would have followed you out of the cafe. He would have taken your offer and ran with it in the opposite direction. 
Yoongi pushed the inside of his cheek with his tongue, contemplating his words before speaking. His computer was cradled a little tighter to his side when he answered, “Because I just wanted to say sorry, too. About the other day. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 
Stunned at his apology, your jaw dropped a smidge. “Oh.” Hearing that phrase again sent you careening back to the first day you walked in on him, like a coda bringing you back to the beginning. When he initially convinced your heart to listen. To understand.
If this was his ideal last conversation with you, it was an odd choice. You expected him to be just as cold as the last time, putting the autumn weather to shame. Instead, he apologized for that behavior and left you confused. You couldn’t get a read on him at all. Nothing was making sense. 
At least, nothing was making sense to the logical side of you. In turn, that side had no clue how to proceed. The other half wanted to seize this opportunity to flesh everything out, so it spurned you to outright ask, “Will you ever talk to me again? You said you couldn’t right now, so I just wanted to know before...” 
Your voice didn’t peter off for the suspense. Rather, you refused to finish that sentence. It was giving too much life to the ending, making it real and in reach.  
Yoongi didn’t let you get away with it, though. “Before what?” 
“Before I decide to tell you everything I want to say to you or not,” you whispered. You fled from him just minutes before, but having him tolerate you in the moment boosted your ambition. The closure would be effectively given. You could cleanse yourself of everything you’ve wanted to tell him from the moment he disappeared from your life. Before you lost him again, this would be your swan song. 
As it turned out, Yoongi didn’t give you the stage. Looking away, he quickly shut you down, “Don’t. I don’t wanna hear it.” 
Fuck. There it was. Rejection in its rawest form was the toughest bite to swallow. You wished there was a sudden hole underneath your feet through which you could plummet. Forever falling was how you pictured yourself anyways.
But before you could finish your deprecating thoughts, he tacked on further explanation. “Once I get through this shit I’m dealing with, then you can say whatever you want. For now, I need more time.” 
What? That wasn’t what you expected in the slightest. 
After digesting his words, you sighed in relief. Yoongi’s honesty was freeing. Hope burgeoned in your chest when you realized that you had another chance. If time was what he needed, you could certainly give him that. Besides, you practically showed up out of nowhere. You were the one that kept running into him. Of course he needed more time to get used to seeing you again. That was enough to lift your spirits for the rest of the week. 
“I can wait,” you acquiesced, “I understand.” 
“Thanks,” he muttered, scratching his neck with his free hand. “I’ll let you go now.” 
You wished he wouldn’t, but you nodded. Seeing that he didn’t move, you took that as a sign to start walking away. On the fourth step you took, a blinding curiosity had you wheeling on your toes. “Wait,” you called out. When Yoongi flickered his eyes to yours, you blurted, “You’re still pursuing music, right?” 
His gaze softened then, and you almost felt like you saw the boy you listened to every Wednesday afternoon. “Isn’t it obvious?” There was a spark to his tone. “If I ever stopped, I would have nothing left.” 
“How good of a liar are you?” 
“Shit. Mm. Can you fake it just this once?”
“Yoongi, I don’t know.”
“If you can’t, I’m expelled.” 
“Expelled? How?”
“Long story short: I’ve been caught several times. This was my last chance.” 
“What am I even supposed to say?” 
“Say we were allowed to be back there. I was teaching you, or something.” 
“And they would believe that?” 
“You’re a good girl. They’ll believe you.”
“But what if they don’t? What if I’m caught?” 
“Just… Try, yeah? I can’t get kicked out. If you don’t… Fuck. This is all I got.” 
“...Okay. I can try.” 
“That’s my girl.” 
“You made it! I thought you guys weren’t going to come.” 
“Seriously? I texted you, Hobi,” Aspa shouted over the thrumming bass and competing voices. 
It was Halloween, which meant overcrowded fraternity houses and emptied Solo cup shelves at the local stores. Upon entering university, you weren’t keen on the whole party scene, but you learned to embrace it through both Aspa and the second friend you made on campus. 
Hobi - or Hoseok, to the people that didn’t know him - was the first person you befriended on campus after your roommate. Like a planet to a star, once you were in his orbit, you didn’t leave. You couldn’t. His bright aura drew all sorts of people in, and it was during one of your core classes that you gravitated his way. Eventually, his charisma loosened the screws in your character, and you started to live life a little more fully. And when Aspa met him, they immediately connected by familiarity. 
“You did? Shit, sorry. I forgot there’s poor reception here,” the boy hollered back, louder than he needed to since he already seemed a couple drinks in. He was right about the service, though. Being in this house before, you remembered having to walk a ways away to use a car app.
Watching liquid splash out of Hobi’s cup, you were curious about the state of the back kitchen. You arrived pretty late since you actually put effort into your appearance that night. There was a good chance all the bottles were killed already. “Is there even anything left?”  
“Yeah, should be. If not, we can ditch and go next door.” Hoseok took a swig before looking at you. Tilting his head, he nodded. “You look hot, by the way.” 
Instantly, you laughed in disagreement. “Thanks! Nothing special, but I tried, at least.” Not one for spending egregious amounts of money on costumes, you whipped together an absurdly basic schoolgirl outfit. It was the total opposite of your roommate: she splurged on a parental credit card and got an insanely and suspiciously beautiful kimono. It had to be authentic. She still couldn’t convince you otherwise. 
But, no fancy costumes for you. After all, you had the clothes. They weren’t your actual uniform from high school, but you did opt for a skirt, long-sleeved dress shirt, and tie. The only courageous step further was slipping on knee-highs Aspa flung at you while getting ready. And checking out Hobi’s all leather getup, you threw a compliment back at him, “You look great yourself.” 
“I’m serious,” Hoseok responded, his voice low next to your ear, “You got a lot of eyes on you tonight.” 
“Damn it,” you hissed. You didn’t expect to get too much attention amongst the other costumes, but that was a wrongful assumption. When you dolled up that night, it was mostly for your own enjoyment. Part of decompressing was just making yourself look decent and having fun. Alas, you needed a shield. Hoseok was pretty floaty during parties, but you asked him just in case, “Stay next to us?” 
Your friend cringed. “I can for a little bit. But I’m also meeting someone tonight,” he explained before panning around the stuffy room. “I don’t know when she’s coming but we’ll try to find you two some company by then.” With this, he winked. 
“Umm, I can find someone myself, thank you very much,” Aspa scoffed over the current song.
Hoseok’s name hissed out of your mouth in a warning, but it only prompted him to laugh. Damn him and damn your pitiful single status. You mentioned it offhandedly during a previous party - something about never having another love other than academics. Contrary to belief, you tried. There were relationships - if you could call them that. Some even broached on territory you flushed at later, but each one didn’t last long. 
Evidently, Hobi wasn’t as drunk as you were during your inebriated confession. He would’ve forgotten that awful prophecy like you did. But, to your dismay, he did not.
“Wouldn’t doubt it, Aspa. And you! We’ll find someone for you in no time.” He took a sip of his drink, surprising you by not causing any spillage. You just shook your head at his dedication. 
Impatient to find his hookup, Hoseok panned around the cramped room. Recognition dawned on his face before he beamed. “Actually, ladies, follow me.” 
“Wait, what!” Your yells were beaten out by the blaring music, and you had no choice but to squeeze through the crowd behind his glossy form. The tie around your neck was getting slightly uncomfortable, and your collar was already collecting sweat. 
Entering a calm eye in the storm of people, you and your roommate found yourselves in a corner of the living room. Hoseok was already talking to a group when you arrived. An incredibly intimidating, handsome group. 
“Excuse me? Where the fuck has Hobi been hiding these guys,” Aspa questioned beside you, yanking a cough from your throat. You wondered the same thing as you stood awkwardly on the edge, watching as all three people hung on Hoseok’s words.
They were dressed similarly to him: matching dark leather pants and jackets. Some of them had metallic embellishments, and one adorned a black choker around his porcelain neck. Who were these guys? Each one of them looked so natural in those outfits that you couldn’t tell if they were actually in costume or not. Even their hairstyles were perfectly slicked.
“Who’re your friends?” 
Your thoughts dispersed as all four pairs of eyes locked onto you and Aspa. The voice that interrupted your hovering disbelief must have come from the boy currently grinning. 
Stunned by their inspection, you both stammered before introducing yourselves, with you lamely lifting a hand in a small wave and your friend blurting, “I’m Aspa and I’m also leaving to get a drink.” 
You tried to grab her as she left, hissing when you failed. How could she leave you to this wolfpack? Damn her flighty attitude and fast legs. 
“She’s amazing,” Hoseok started, signaling for you to join his side. “Kept me from failing so many classes.”
Scoffing, you clarified, “Too many. Do I need to start charging you for my services?”
He laughed, as did the rest of them. Of course their laughs were attractive, too. Where did Hobi find these people? And Aspa was right: where had he been hiding them? Your friend’s eyes suddenly lit up like he remembered something. “Oh, and uhh, these are my boys. This is Jimin, Taehyung, and JK.” 
You smiled, a tad shy. In this kind of company, you felt incredibly out of place. “Nice to meet you guys. And nice costumes, I think? They look so good that I can’t tell.” Under the pressure of their collective gazes, you started fidgeting and preoccupying yourself. This would be easier if you were drinking. You suddenly couldn’t blame your roommate for ditching. “Aspa’s got the right idea. I’m gonna get a drink, too,” you said, excusing yourself from the handsome group. Honestly, their entire appearances were overwhelming. 
“I’ll come with you,” one of them claimed, joining you before you could turn away. You took in the swoop of his dark hair, a stray lock hovering over his soft features. “I need to get a refill.” 
You nodded, and you felt a warm hand on your lower back lead you through the crowd. 
It was a short walk to the hallway leading to the kitchen. Once you were in the narrow corridor, it was instantly easier to hear and clearer to walk. Thank goodness; that room was stuffy as hell. Relaxing a tad, you breathed a sigh of relief. 
“You, too, huh?” 
Turning, you tilted your head. “What?” 
“Oh, uhh,” the boy faltered. “I thought I heard you, umm… I can’t do crowds, is all.” 
“Oh, yeah. Same.” He was cute. You didn’t think any guy would readily admit that, yet here you were. 
“Jungkook, by the way. Hobi said JK, but either one works.” 
“Nice to meet you - again,” you said with a chuckle, and he aimed a smile at the ground. 
Definitely cute.
The music from the living room area was dulled by the walls, though still prevalent. Only the thumps of the bass were truly felt. As you got closer to the kitchen, you already started spotting empty bottles of every color. 
Your spirit deflated. Midterms were supposed to be forgotten on Halloween, and for you, that meant drinking those memories away. 
When your shoes clacked on the tiled floors, Aspa turned to see you coming in with Jungkook. You quickly frowned at her smug expression, swatting your hand in front of you as a cue to drop whatever she was thinking. “Is there anything left?” 
“No, girl,” she groaned, “These people are crazy. It isn’t even that late yet.” 
When you turned to your new acquaintance, you found him with furrowed brows, burning holes into the counters. What was he thinking about? 
“Let’s go back and see what they wanna do,” he decided, and you gave a short nod before following him out. 
Weaving through the more crowded hallway, you braved the ocean of sweaty bodies in the living room again to get back to your corner. Along the way, Jungkook started swaying to the music ahead of you. He didn’t like crowds, but he liked music, it seemed. An upbeat tune was enough to make him groove while scrunched between people. Adorable. Laughing, you just accompanied Jungkook as he danced the rest of the way to his friends.    
The tall boy with plenty of chains hanging from his jacket spoke up when you all returned. “You didn’t get any for us?” 
“Nah! They ran outta everything here already,” Jungkook yelled over the music, still letting the song move him.
Right before the guy spoke again, you remembered that his name was Taehyung. “Lame. Let’s go next door.” 
“Yes! Next door!” Jimin was quick to agree, the choker around his neck bobbing with every word. 
Hoseok just kept scanning over the room, undoubtedly looking for his date. Or, whatever she was. With a sigh, you hoped he didn’t take it too hard if she didn’t show up. If anything, she was the one that would lose in that situation. Hoseok was a sweetheart unless you got him upset. 
Seconds crawled along as you stood in waiting, awkwardly looking around the room completely sober. You hated experiencing parties like this. Just standing while everyone else was wild was fine if you had a drink in your hand - awful when you didn’t. You shifted your lips to the side. Maybe this was a trickle of karma for what you did to Yoongi back then. Anything not in your favor was perceived as such. 
No. You weren’t going to think about him tonight. He wanted space. Because of that, you weren’t going to see him any time soon. 
But that didn’t mean he left you alone. Not in the slightest. Dreams, thoughts, and even random ideas involving him invaded your mind in spurts. And all of them were enough to send you spiraling. With your head cloudy, you barely registered the conversation next to you.
“Where is he?” 
“Yeah, isn’t he supposed to come tonight?” 
“Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.”
“He’ll show. Once he shows up, you guys can dip,” Hoseok said, confidence lacing his tone. “Actually, there he is. Yoongi!” 
You froze, running through the probability of there being another Yoongi on campus. Seeing Hoseok and his friends smile and gawk at someone behind you only made things worse. Your body wouldn’t budge. Seriously? Yoongi? You weren’t ready to see him if it was the Yoongi you knew. At a party, no less. Having fun and forgetting midterm season were the only things on the agenda tonight. Not stressing over someone you screwed over and missed so damn much. 
But when Hoseok clasped someone’s pale hand and brought them in for a back pat, you recognized those veins anywhere. You only saw them skating up and down piano keys every night when you closed your eyes. “Hey, man! They don’t have shit left here. Down to go next door?” 
Beside you, Aspa gasped. “That’s the dude from the library that one day. Damn, why do all of them look like models? I’m starting to get upset.” 
Yoongi - the one you most definitely knew - continued the conversation with his back turned. That meant you had time to hide. There were plenty of other rooms in this house; it would be so easy to slip away. You could even drag your roommate to the bathroom. Plenty of options. But why weren’t your legs moving? “Knowing them, they probably ran out before these guys did.” 
“True. We can always try, though.” 
“Aren’t you waiting on some girl?” 
“Dude, she hasn’t shown up yet. I think I got ghosted.” 
“She probably went next door.” 
“Shut up!” 
You snorted, but it was Jimin’s laugh and comment that made your former classmate turn. “You made it! And you dressed up!” 
It was only a matter of time before he saw you, and you weren’t prepared in the slightest. Why didn’t you scurry away? Why were your legs mush and lead at the same time? Maybe if you stood completely still, he wouldn’t notice. Like some weird dinosaur logic. 
Taehyung and Jungkook were quick to dap Yoongi up after Jimin did. When his eyes landed on your form next to Jungkook, he stilled. As you gulped hard under the pressure of your necktie, he questioned, “What are you doing here?” 
The first surprise that night was seeing him at a party, which you could deal with either by excessive drinking or constant avoiding. But the second surprise? That one was loads worse. It kept you from even reacting to his caustic tone. 
Yoongi wasn’t wearing anything like he usually wore. Instead, he was matching the rest of the gang. They were costumes, you concluded, and he was part of the team. You reluctantly took in his tight leather jacket and pants, the shiny black material capturing the bold colors emitting from cheap plug-in disco lights. Under his outer garment, only the thin white material of a tank peeked through far below his collarbone. And that wasn’t all. To make your life worse, the silver jewelry piercing his ears under his slicked black hair seemed to have a companion in the thick chain around his neck. 
Fuck. Against your aching desire to keep your eyes on him, you tore your gaze away. 
You huffed while Aspa scoffed, “The hell? Rude.” 
“Yeah, what the heck? Manners, man.” Hoseok took another sip of his quickly diminishing drink, turning to you before jutting a thumb toward your former classmate, “Don’t worry about him; he’s not a total ass all the time.” 
So neither of them picked up on the fact that you two knew each other. Was that a good thing?
Taehyung broke through the increasing volume of the music, “Okay, he’s here. Let’s bounce.” 
“How about it?” Hobi clasped Yoongi’s shoulder before handing over his cup. “You down?” 
“Prolly not,” the boy replied before chugging down the rest of Hoseok’s liquor. You took in the stray inky strands caressing his forehead, wishing you could sweep them to the side with your fingers. And quickly chastising yourself for even thinking about it afterwards. “I gotta get back to work.” 
Beside you, Jungkook made a face. “Isn’t it like, midnight?” 
You wondered the same thing. Was this just an attempt to avoid you? Taking in his entire getup, you figured it was something along those lines. Yoongi dressed up to hang out with his friends. As the wrench in his plans, you felt awful. 
But if he wanted to leave, then you would stay with Hoseok and the rest of them. If he wanted to hang with his friends, you would give him that space. It was up to him. 
“Yeah, but there’s a lot more to do than I thought,” Yoongi explained before placing the Solo on a random side table. His necklace gleamed with the colors of the lights, a tiny rainbow around his neck. “Go crash it without me.” 
You could barely hear him over the blasting music, but the others understood him enough. Jungkook shocked you by touching the small of your back again. Leaning in, he asked, “What do you think? You coming?” 
Your reaction to Yoongi’s laser focus on you was strong. You had never seen a pair of eyes so intense, so heated. What the hell was that? He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t going to see you. Why did it look like he was waiting on your answer? 
Facing Jungkook, you smiled. “Sure!” You told yourself Yoongi was the deciding factor, and he didn’t want to go next door. This way, you both would be apart and he would get the space he wanted. And you would hopefully drown yourself in alcohol and watch Jungkook make a fool of himself to decompress. “I need a drink.” 
“It’s decided!” Taehyung was already pushing through the crowd to get to the door. You almost chuckled at his impatience if it wasn’t for the strange look Jimin was giving you. When he noticed you catching his gaze, he only crinkled his eyes. 
You almost missed him leaning over to say something to Yoongi, but Hobi’s abrupt “Let’s get it!” tore your attention away before you could analyze them, and he dissolved into the crowd with Aspa next. Jungkook pressed his hand further into your back to lead you along. 
“Do you like dancing,” he asked over your shoulder, and you smiled. 
“A little,” you admitted in a yell, squeezing and weaving through the people with no respect for personal space. “Nothing too crazy, though.” 
A mirthy laugh escaped. “Don’t worry. Leave the crazy to me.” 
Giggling, you felt light as you got to the foyer. It was much less crowded there, and when Jungkook opened the door for you, a small smile slipped into your features. A gentleman, too? How did someone like him mesh with people like Yoongi? 
The late October air was crisp as you stepped foot out of the house. Wind cut through your clothing and slid through the trees, a harbinger of chill. 
Bunching your shoulders together, you shivered. “Holy shit,” you bit out through chattering teeth. “It was not this cold when we got here.” Hobi, Aspa, and Taehyung were already halfway to the next obnoxiously big house. You watched as their breaths left them in puffs of excitement. 
In front of you, Jungkook turned when he picked up on your distress. He was already shrugging off his jacket after one look at your shaking hands. “Here, you can--”
A warm garment was draped over your shoulders so quickly that you flinched. Huh? You watched Jungkook’s confused face while you felt the same way, and you spun your head to see Yoongi right behind you. His thin tank was doing nothing to shield him from the weather. Your eyebrows closed in on each other. Why didn’t he just let his friend lend you his jacket? 
“Let’s go before you freeze your ass outta that skirt,” he whispered at your side. 
You timidly grabbed the sides of his leather coat, pulling it closer around your frame. As you watched Jimin clap Jungkook’s befuddled back to lead him to the next house over, you shivered not because of the cold, but for another reason entirely. 
You didn’t know if you could even attempt to lie.
The surrounding air slumped across your shoulders, heavy with the promise of punishment. White noise from the air conditioner buzzed unendingly in your ears. Other than the teacher that upended the two of you, only the headmistress remained, currently caging Yoongi in her office for interrogation. 
As you awaited your turn for questioning, you simmered in a thick stew of guilt and shame. There wasn’t any getting around it: you messed up.  
Your teacher’s advice from before suckerpunched your conscience, coming up from behind and pushing you down. The very same words you relayed to Yoongi were now snickering at the irony. So much for mounting a high horse. Hidden consequences appeared from behind the curtain, parading around your brain with punchy fanfare and pompous strutting. No acceptance letters, no higher learning, no future. You would have to tell your mother, who worked tirelessly so that your upcoming education would be partially taken care of. Ashamed, you buried your face in your hands. 
You knew you would have to tell the truth. Lying would just make things worse. 
What a mess. Right when you got through to Yoongi, too, who was on his last thread of chance at the academy. If he accrued another demerit or mark on his record, there was no way he would be allowed to return. Your throat burned with regret. With your confession, his only tie to the school would be cut. You were sure of it. Once you came forward and told the truth, that would be the final blow. 
Would you spare Yoongi a lie? You did debate with your conscience. The idea of playing the innocent girl who’d never fib nudged your brain. Yoongi not having anywhere to go created a numbing ache in your soul. 
But you knew they would see through you. A tear slid from your eye and dispersed into the skin of your palm. Hands swept your face, and you knew your eyes would be rimmed with a miserable, rosy tinge.
The headmistress’s door swung open, snapping your focus. Yoongi’s bleached locks made your stomach twist as he closed the entrance with a click. And then his blank expression caused your chest to collapse. 
He already knew you were going to tell the truth. Of course he knew. No matter what you could have said to him in that moment, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Hoisting yourself out of your rigid chair, you took a step forward. “Yoongi… I…” Your courage died on your tongue. 
“Save it.” His words plummeted to the ground, followed shortly by your heart. 
You didn’t watch as he made his way out of the room. All you were left with was your empty chest and the impending consequence of your mistakes. 
The headmistress called you inside, and you obeyed with trembling hands.
When you entered the new house, it was three times more rowdy than where you were before. How did you not hear this riot from inside next door? Not only was the music blaring, but the people inside were shouting and running up and down the stairs and hallways. It was a madhouse.
“I hate this place,” Yoongi droned beside you, briefly checking his phone before stashing it in his back pocket. “It’s always full of assholes.” 
You had no earthly idea why he was there then. Didn’t he say he was going to work? Or at least avoid you at all costs? Sliding his jacket off your sleeves, you handed it back with a muddled mind. “Thank you,” you muttered, wondering if he even heard you above the ruckus. 
“No sweat,” he assured. Expecting more, you were disappointed when that was all he offered. Panning your eyes around the house, you spotted Hobi and Taehyung already talking to some girls in one room, and Jimin and Aspa getting touchy with people in another. Damn, they moved fast. You cheered on your roommate in particular, remembering how she was aching to find someone that night.
Jungkook was a ways down the front hallway when he turned. “Let’s see what they got!” 
“Okay,” you called back. Even though you scanned every inch of the place other than Yoongi, you could still feel the weight of his stare. He refused to let you go, even now. You felt incredibly small.
You could also tell that Jungkook sensed something in the air. His glimmering eyes walked a tightrope between you and Yoongi, watching the way you refused to look at him and the way his stare didn’t leave your face. You figured he would say something, or at least look for some alternative option for your escape. 
In the end, the boy just yelled, “I’ll be back! I’ll bring us stuff if they have anything.” 
You pursed your lips, casting your eyes around the house as something to do in Jungkook’s absence. Since it was Halloween, you took in all the other outfits. Some were creative, some were ridiculous, some were basic. Like yours. Speaking of yours: how awkward was this? For heaven’s sake, you were wearing schoolgirl clothes, needing to be seen by Yoongi at a party. He specifically told you that he needed more time. The image of you wearing something close to what you wore in high school was probably the last thing he wanted to witness. 
Yoongi deserved better. Sure, it took you awhile to get ready and yes, you literally arrived thirty minutes ago. But you weren’t the most avid partier. There were other things you could do to have fun, like read, or watch something you’ve seen before. As boring as your Friday night would be, it would be much better than watching Yoongi suffer in your presence. 
Sighing, you offered, “Hey, I can go. You don’t have to deal with me.” 
The reverberating bass was attacking your brain, pounding into it beat by beat by beat. You didn’t even wait for Yoongi to respond. Already, you were taking out your phone to look for a ride. That night was going to end in pity food and a movie or drama that made you forget about reality. Not how you planned, but you were going to respect your former classmate’s wishes. 
Before you could bow out, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Glancing at Yoongi, you scrunched your brows as he cocked his. His voice almost drowned in the music, “Are you just gonna leave your friend?” 
“Umm,” you responded, stretching out the word in embarrassment. That would look awfully odd. But did he really care about that? You recalled just five minutes ago that nothing but distaste coated his greeting, if you could even call it that. “I can make an excuse or something and then come back to get her. I mean, you said it yourself: what am I even doing here?”
When you weren’t given another word, you continued with a solemn tone, “Look, we both know you don’t want to be around me. Have fun. I can go.”  
Yoongi rubbed the lower half of his face in thought. You flitted your eyes over his outfit again, a poor attempt to remember everything before you had to leave. Was it pitiful if one of your biggest regrets was going to be leaving him while he looked like that? Even more pitiful: were all of your biggest regrets going to involve him? 
He said something else, but you couldn’t hear him over the music. That house really was awfully loud. Yoongi’s low register wouldn’t have a chance unless he was millimeters from your ear or you found a quieter place. The former was not encouraged. You could go back outside, but it was damn near freezing. A quieter spot inside was the best option. Apologizing to him internally, you grabbed one of his wrists and led him to the back of the house. Oddly, he didn’t resist. Not even once.
When you reached the end of the hallway that led into the kitchen, it was at least easier to hear. The music was still incredibly forceful, but you didn’t want complete silence - that would do neither of you any good. Turning to Yoongi, you explained, “Sorry, I could barely hear you in there. What did you say?”
Expecting an answer right away, you were splashed with anxiousness after he just stared at you. His eyes couldn’t stay still, darting up and down your frame. You felt your cheeks warm, slowly blooming from the centers and washing over the rest of your face and down your neck. What was he thinking? Why wasn’t he saying anything? 
With a quick blink, the sternness was back. His eyebrows almost touched with suspicion. “Are you serious?” 
“What?” Your brows mirrored his, your expression caked in confusion. “What do you mean?” 
“You dressed up and came all the way here. You’d leave just because of me?” Yoongi was only on the attack, bombarding you with question after question. You felt strapped to a chair with a blinding light aimed at your face. But you could’ve asked him the same damn thing. Wasn’t he the one on the run earlier? What made him tag along?
“Yoongi, you’ve made it pretty clear that you hate me,” you whispered to the ground, your refusal to look at him persisting. “And you don’t have to deny it. Even I hate me after what I did. I can risk finding another party, or just go home. Really, it’s nothing.” 
Someone yelled an obscene comment down the hall, but the only thing you could focus on was the sudden movement in front of you. 
One of Yoongi’s hands palmed the wall next to your head, an immediate barrier blocking you from the rest of the long hallway. If you weren’t shaken enough, some guys shoved through the corridor, moving Yoongi and causing him to brush your front with a grunt.
Your breath caught in your throat. Having him so close and caging in one of your sides ignited heat between your legs. Sweat leaked all over your skin, coating you in an impressive shine. It was screwed up, but you couldn’t deny your attraction. No matter how disconnected your relationship was. After you spotted him in the cafe a couple months ago, he invaded your mind like a virus. You were sick with guilt and yearning. And now he was inches away and his cologne was assailing your judgment. 
“If you leave, just go home. Don’t go somewhere else,” Yoongi gritted, causing you to falter. Out of all the things he could’ve said, that’s what he went with? An order? 
Though you should’ve been annoyed at his tone, your stomach flipped on itself at the concern in his voice. You were sure it was there, lying under the displeasure in his features. You wondered what thoughts were going through his mind to prompt such a response. Was it actually concern like you assumed? Or was it something else? His close proximity was getting to your head. Be it curiosity, temptation, or a strange mix of the two, you asked innocently, “Why not somewhere else?” 
Yoongi flexed his jaw in annoyance, his glare only lighting up your insides. Was it bad that you were liking how dark his eyes were? His jacket bunched at the shoulder of his propped arm, and you figured it mirrored the state of his mind. “Would you honestly just hop into another place without knowing anyone there?” 
A breath escaped your nose, caution going with it. “I would go with Aspa, I guess. But, what if I’ve done it before?”
Yoongi’s face inched closer to yours as he leaned in, squinting. “Forgive me, doll, but I don’t believe you.” 
“You wouldn’t believe a lot of things about me,” you said, surprising even yourself that it came out so confidently. Were you bluffing? Absolutely. Somewhat. Sure, you’ve partied a lot more than your past self would ever have allowed, but you didn’t do anything egregiously irresponsible. Aspa or Hobi were usually always there when you went. Flickering your eyes down to Yoongi’s lips, you unwittingly licked yours. “I could’ve done it before.” 
He hummed, the sound enough to make you squirm. His hand left the wall so he could instead lean on his elbow, closing the gap between you even more. As he poked the inside of his cheek, the chain adorning his creamy neck swung forward, hovering dangerously close to your chest. 
As he spoke again, you could smell the liquor on his words. Maybe that’s where this sudden break in common sense was coming from. And his presence was enough to strike through yours, his voice music to your ears as he leaned in, “And what else have you done?”  
Breath hitching, you swallowed a soft moan, forcing it past the tight hold of your collar and tie. You knew exactly what he implied. Tension beckoned sweat to pool on your skin as you scrambled to save your fading oxygen supply. 
Were you about to admit other things about your life to him? Things that you knew would shock him? They weren’t instances you were proud of, but were they worth mentioning? This was uncharted territory for the two of you. And you were already one foot over the line. “I’ve… Umm…” The words fizzled on your tongue before you could utter them. 
A deep chuckle rumbled next to your neck, sending shivers skittering down your frame. “Don’t be shy now,” Yoongi murmured, and you could hear the smirk in his voice, “Let me hear it. Surprise me.” 
Instinctively, you reached for the satin material of your necktie. You needed something to hold onto, and if you so much as touched him you knew he would drag you below. Tugging your tie down a fraction, you shuffled through your options. Each scenario you thought about was too embarrassing to admit to him. And even though you’ve done many things, your conscience didn’t let you physically say them out loud. What a dilemma. What could you possibly say?
Without prompt, your words left you in hot tendrils, “Do… Do you want me to tell you? Or show you?” 
“Fuck,” Yoongi grunted before forcing himself away, leaving you with a flushed face and buzzing head. He ran a hand through his dark locks, leaving them frazzled and swooping forward onto his forehead. If you weren’t mistaken, he looked incredibly upset. His next words shot out in a whisper, but they clanged around in your head like alarm bells. “Forget it.” 
What? The sudden turnaround lit a fire under your shoes. Who was he to mess with you like this? “Are you serious? You were the one that started it!”
“I shouldn’t have,” he bit out, “I’m leaving.”
“What the fuck?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. What the hell was this sudden shift in development? One moment he was devouring you with his eyes and the next he couldn’t even look at yours. Why was he suddenly treating you like he would burn if he touched you?
“I can’t be around you. Just seeing you again is… You weren’t… I can’t have you screwing me over a second time.” 
It was like a hammer to your heart. Your presence triggered him. No matter how much time had passed, both of you never moved on from that singular moment. Yoongi would always see you as the girl who betrayed him, and you would always see him as the one you left behind. 
You should have listened to your gut and left earlier. Now it seemed like you blew away the last dandelion wisps of your relationship into the wind, stomping on the empty stem as an afterthought. “Yoongi, don’t be so ridiculous,” you bit out in a rush, but your voice was dashed by Jungkook’s yell.
“Let’s go!” Both of you turned to take in his sweaty form, which he quickly offered an explanation for, “I got forced into a game, but I just took the bottles they had. They’re so wasted.” Giggles served as punctuation to his brag, but Yoongi’s sudden interjection left him quiet.
“Make sure they get home safe. I’m bouncing.” 
You looked away when Jungkook replied, “Wha? But Hobi said--”
“I know what he said and he’s right, but I gotta go. You’re on your own.” Swiping one of the beers from his friend’s hand, Yoongi turned and left, his outfit serving as a dark cloud amongst the rainbow of costumes around him. 
As you watched his shoulders shove through the cramped hallway, you fiddled with your tie with a shuddering breath, wondering with a heavy heart if there was just no way to mend what damage you had done.
“Class, settle down, please.” 
Squeaky shoes and gossip filled the room, the shuffling of papers and backpacks a droning undertone. Everyone seemed to be a little too chatty that day. Already fully seated, you stared at your neatly placed planner and writing utensils on your desk. Each thing was in its rightful spot. Evenly spaced like notes on a staff. 
Normally a person that found comfort in order, your emotions were in complete disarray. 
There was an empty desk in the back row when you came in that day - it was easy enough to do the math at that point. 
He was gone. 
Folding your arms with a sigh, you waited for the rest of your classmates to simmer. You heard bits of conversation before they were called to order. All of them centered around Yoongi in a weird ensemble: what could have happened, things he probably did, if he got kicked out. The last subject grabbed your stomach and stirred its contents, nausea bubbling in your throat. 
When silence seeped throughout the room, your teacher rapped her nails on her desk. “You all may be wondering the same thing, so I’ll just give it to you straight: Min Yoongi is no longer attending this academy.” 
Your breath came out in a shudder as low whispers permeated the air. Guilt and remorse crashed against the pit of your stomach in powerful waves, surging into swells so high they leaked out of your eyes.
“We aren’t at liberty to give details, but if you have any concerns, come see me after class.” 
At this, you lifted your reddened gaze. Didn’t your English teacher despise Yoongi? Maybe it was the school’s policy for the staff to be a resource no matter what. But still. You might take her up on that offer, just to see if there was any information you could gain. What is he going to do now? Where could he go? If you didn’t get these answers, there was going to be a permanent hole in your chest that couldn’t be sewn by time. 
You had no way of contacting Yoongi. Neither of you had each other’s numbers, knew where the other person lived, or even shared social media accounts. If you were to get a speck of intel on him, it would have to be through the sour grapevine. 
The entire period lasted longer than an opera, or at least felt like it did. As you gathered your things, you felt numb, as if your limbs were operating on their own. Your planner went into your bag first, then your notebook, then your pencil case. Then you would get up and sling your backpack over your shoulders. Then you would walk up the row and to the door to go to your next class. Then you would-- 
The sound of your name broke your monotonous reverie. But it didn’t do enough to break your solemn expression. Slowly, you faced your teacher with dulled eyes. 
“Do you have a minute?” After receiving a small nod from you, she spread her lips in pity. “I heard about what happened. I just wanted to speak to you about it.” 
Your body snapped up. This was the other part you were dreading: a mark on your record. Trespassing after school, loitering, whatever they decided to use. You had just been so distraught over Yoongi’s predicament that your own was placed on the backburner. Now that it was presenting itself, you stared at the flames of your mistakes. “Oh, yeah,” you whispered lamely, gripping the straps of your bag, “I’m ready.” A lie.
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, umm…” Faltering at the unexpected question, you grabbed at the first thought that came to mind. “Not so good.”   
Your teacher shuffled through a stack of papers on her desk, and you waited for the document you had to receive with trembling bones.
When students needed corrective action, they were given papers to bring home to their parents and/or guardians to rage over and sign, along with the student’s tearstained signature. How many of those did Yoongi have? 
It didn’t matter anymore. Because you made sure he was gone.
“You’re a lucky girl, missy,” your teacher said with a slow shake of her head. Her cuff-sleeved arm jutted toward you and her rigid fingers flicked the paper with a snap. When your eyes landed on the sheet, they expanded into saucers. 
A warning. 
Warnings were the only documents that didn’t permanently exist on a student’s record. They dropped off after ninety days as long as the kid didn’t rack up any other infractions.
Trespassing was an immediate mark, not a warning. 
How did you manage to get the absolute shortest end of the stick? Yoongi was the one that had nowhere else to go. If you had known this to be the outcome, you definitely could have spared a small lie if it meant that he was saved. 
“A shame, really. That kid was smart when he actually applied himself. I tried to warn him, but guess it’s a lost cause.” 
Taking the document with shaking fingers, you thanked your teacher before leaving the classroom and scampering to the nearest restroom to hide the strangled aria that was your grief.
Around you, the night passed in streaks of color. Slumped in one of the questionable couches upstairs, you became a quiet observer as Aspa and Jungkook roped the rest of his friends into playing various games. The girls that Hobi, Aspa, Taehyung, and Jimin had been talking to at the start of the party were not the same girls that were with them currently, which you didn’t know to laugh or scoff at.
It was during your twelfth sip of bottom shelf vodka that Aspa called your name. “Babe, that’s all the moping I’m allowing. Now play!” 
You snorted, her comforting words disarming you enough to give in. After Yoongi left, she immediately picked up on your distress, providing an entire list of things she would do to him if you so much as snapped your fingers. Jungkook himself was quaking in his combat boots just hearing the threats. 
Not wanting to get her involved - yet again - you waved the proverbial scroll away and urged them to keep the night going. It was Halloween, for crying out loud! The only dreadful thing about that night should be the liquor choices. 
Remembering the look she shot you before playing along, you knew you had to fess up later. But it could wait. You wanted her to enjoy her night. 
And she wanted the same for you after giving you time to mope. “The lady is in! Sit next to Jungkook; there’s space over there.” You glared at her facetious wink as you stepped around bodies to get to him. Everyone was sitting on the carpet around a coffee table; cups, playing cards, and quarters scattered about the surface. 
As you smoothed your skirt down enough of your thighs as you could, Hobi called out, “About time you joined us!”
“Charmed,” you replied, faking excitement. You grabbed a cup from one of the random girls when Jungkook whispered in your ear. 
“Are you sure? You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” 
“If this can make me forget everything, I’ll be crowned champion at every game,” you shot back, your tone grittier than intended. 
He looked at you with concern when Taehyung butted in, “Uhh, if you guys need a room: third door on the left in the long hallway.” 
Jungkook frowned. “Hey, man, she’s just upset, okay?” 
Both Taehyung and Jimin regarded you then, Aspa still talking to Hobi and their newfound dates at the other end of the table.
Shaking your head, you looked into your cup. “It’s whatever. I’m ready to play.” 
Jimin watched your expression when Taehyung asked, “Wait, what’s wrong?” 
Jungkook answered for you, “Yoongi just left outta nowhere. He normally stays and drinks for awhile, too. So weird.” 
Great. Now you knew how screwed up the situation was. Not only did you trigger some frustration in his system, but you also kept him from partying with his friends. From doing something completely normal. Everything was so messy. 
“I fucking--” Jimin scratched the opposite side of his neck before slapping the ground in aggravation. “Please forgive our friend for being an idiot,” he bemoaned, irritation spiraling across his words. 
Your body swayed back in the swells of his anger. What was that about? At the other end of the table, Hobi and Aspa were now paying strict attention to the conversation unfolding. 
“Hey, fellas,” the former interjected, “What’s going on?” 
Taehyung bit out, “Yoongi straight up left and made her upset.”
The pressure broke you. Too much. Your patience snapped in half. “Guys, seriously,” you shot out, “Can we forget about Yoongi, please? He hates me, so I can understand him not wanting to be around me. I should’ve left earlier so he could hang out with you guys, but I didn’t and now I feel terrible. Can we please just play so I can forget my own name?” 
Your words sparked and fizzled out in a flourish, making the booming silence deathly heavy. Both of your shoulders surrendered to the weight of shame you felt, and it felt like you couldn’t hold it any longer. 
Hobi sat up straight before sweeping his eyes around the table. “Ladies, I think we need a bit of privacy right now. If you could please,” he lifted his arm to the wide entrance of the game room you were currently in, and you felt washed in awkwardness as all of the girls got up with pitied expressions. They would be back. As handsome and irresistible this group was, they were more than fine obeying and coming back later. 
When the room was clear and all that was left were leather jackets, a kimono, and your stupid schoolgirl outfit at the table, you covered your forehead with a hand. “How embarrassing,” you whispered. 
“If anyone’s embarrassing, it’s him,” Taehyung countered. “You have every right to be pissed off.” 
Hoseok addressed you from across the surface, “It’s true. He’s going through some shit right now, but that doesn’t give him a right to be rude.” 
“I don’t know.” You tossed out a quick, rueful snort. “I’m the reason he’s going through everything, so maybe he does have that right to be rude to me.” 
Jimin was the first to reprimand you. “First off, stop thinking that way. Second, you’re probably wrong.” 
“It’s true,” you sighed, deciding to finally admit everything. It has been bearing down on you for far too long. “We went to the same academy. I was the reason he got kicked out.” 
Everyone but Jimin reacted. Questions about why you didn’t say anything before spouted from the other end of the table, and comments about what he was like in high school burst from your end. “I didn’t want to say anything because tonight’s supposed to be fun. And to answer the other questions, he was a jerk back then, but he seemed a lot more… I don’t know, free. He’s definitely a lot different now. Honestly, a lot of things have been bugging me about him. Like, how is he here? And how does he know you guys?” 
“I can answer that,” Hoseok replied, dropping truths from the skies like lightning bolts, “My dad runs a record store downtown, and he took him in years ago. It’s how I know him.” 
That explained so many of your questions. “So he did end up at another high school,” you contemplated, the words a nice seasoning on your tongue, “That’s good.” 
“Uhh, no,” Hobi corrected right away, causing your face to crinkle in confusion. “He didn’t. At least, not physically. My dad ended up getting him to enroll in some online thing and he’s finishing up his GED now.” 
“Yoongi all grown up,” Jungkook joked into his Solo, not looking at Hoseok’s dark expression on purpose. 
“If he’s not enrolled here, then how do I keep seeing him on campus?” Everything was unraveling just as much as coming together. 
“My mom works in the fine arts department at the university,” Jimin piped up, tugging your gaze to his. “We met up with Hobi at the shop one day and she heard Yoongi playing the piano in the back. She talked him into checking out the music department and now he works on campus part-time.” 
Taehyung then added with a teasing lilt of his voice, “If you see him anywhere other than the library, it’s because Jungkookie lets him in.” 
Pointing a tattooed hand, the accused called out, “He’s lying! He just steals my ID and uses it.” 
“It’s not stealing if he gives it back,” Jimin countered, earning a tsk. “But seriously, don’t let Yoongi ruin your night. Let’s have fun, yeah?” 
In response, you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. The game room came back to life with jokes and laughter, and you welcomed the buzzing distraction.
You simply couldn’t retain all of this information at once. While Yoongi was not actually attending school, he was still working towards it. That was more than you had ever expected from him, and the image of him trying hard at both his studies and music was enough to fill your emptying heart. 
But, what could you possibly do to screw him over a second time? Was seeing you enough to really affect him so much? You hated that. 
Maybe it was time to distance yourself. If he needed you out of his life to move on, then that’s what you would do. 
Even if that meant leaving your own heart behind.
A year. 
It had been an entire year since you last saw him, since you last heard a piano played the way it was supposed to be played. 
Walking along the beaten hallways of the academy, you watched as freshmen scurried between older students, their bright eyes alight with promise and expectations. Properly tailored and pressed uniforms mingled along the main corridors and filtered in and out of classrooms. Teachers ushered in stragglers once the bells rang. Shiny black shoes filed into classrooms like ants. 
Sighing, you held your notebooks tighter to your chest as you slipped into your first period, the path to your desk one you have traveled many times before. 
As you settled into your seat, you zoned out as the teacher droned on about university applications and gathering references if you haven’t started doing so. This wasn’t a conversation topic you needed to hear. Ever the sharp student, you already asked for yours. Because of course you did. If a certain blond-haired boy still sat at the back of the class, you knew he would snort at your impatience to apply.
Peering out of the windows, you asked the universe the same question you’d been asking for a year: if it had mercy on your soul and would let you know if Yoongi was okay. 
And for three hundred and sixty five days, you were still met with no answer. 
Jungkook [2:13pm]: It’s a date :) 
You smiled at your phone before stuffing it in your bag. Sometime during the Halloween party, the boy slipped his number into your phone. You didn’t even realize until two days later when you were scrolling through your messages and saw that you sent your name to an unknown number. 
Throughout the two months after, you started texting and realized you both had a bunch of similar interests. When you texted him, it always took him awhile to respond, but when he did it would put a grin on your face. Not only was he cute, but incredibly sweet and funny. You wondered how he roped in with Yoongi and them, but you figured Hoseok was the center of everything. As always.
Your history class went by at a snail’s pace - end of semester classes always had that agonizing ability. Staring at the clock only made time move slower, so you also gave up on that endeavor. Writing in the margins of your journal, you thought about what Hoseok said all those weeks ago: where Yoongi ended up, what he ended up doing. It was a huge relief to know your former classmate found his way. Just like he said he would. All that time, you were worried about what you did to someone’s life. It was completely draining your heart drop by drop, and the closure you needed stoppered the holes.
At least, some of them. 
Yoongi still didn’t want to see you despite all the new changes he made. Bottom line: he wanted you out of his life. You were the embodiment of his failures, his turning point. You had the power to screw him over time and time again.
You were so close, yet a vast ocean away from him. How were you going to make this work? Aspa and you were meshing well with his group of friends since that party. Was that a mistake? Eventually, the two of you would see each other during a gathering. And if you needed to make some strange arrangement over which one of you would attend a party, that would mentally drain everyone in the friend circle. 
But you were starting to like Jungkook. So when he invited you to a house party, you happily obliged. You had asked him who else was going, and he said just Jimin and Taehyung since everyone else was busy. The latter was supposed to be busy, as well, but he was shirking responsibilities as usual.
You regained focus at the shuffling of backpacks. The professor finally conceded, cutting the lesson a few minutes short. Your bag was swiftly packed before you headed out. 
As you exited the grand stone building, you turned to descend the steps when you heard your name. A voice you thought you wouldn’t hear for a long time. Spinning, you faced Yoongi waiting just above the stairway. “Hey,” you responded warily.
“Got a sec?” 
“Of course.” You tightened your backpack over your shoulder before approaching him, a million thoughts swishing around in your brain. Weren’t you being avoided with a thirty foot pole? Didn’t you vow to not get in this guy’s way anymore? Why was everything so confusing? A couple steps away, you decided to maintain your distance. “What’s up?”
Taking in his appearance, you immediately noticed that something was off. Yoongi was dressed in his usual dark attire and accessories - it was his face that differed. Deep indents swooped diagonally from between his eyes and nose, carving insomnia in his features. His hair was in slight disarray, and he couldn’t hide the growing bags under his eyes. If you could describe Yoongi in one word, he seemed lost. He looked down before asking, “Are you doing anything this weekend?” 
What? Why was he asking about your plans? And yes, you actually were - the date was that Saturday. “Which day,” you asked, knowing there were two days included in his ask. 
“Uhh, Saturday. Saturday night.” 
Something in you crumbled without your permission. This wasn’t how you were supposed to feel. He was the one that left you behind at that party and the one that claimed he couldn’t be around you. Were you even supposed to be giving him your attention? Why was the truth so hard to admit? “Yeah,” you squeaked out. “I’m, umm. I have a date.” 
Yoongi scratched the back of his neck. “With Jungkook?” 
Stilling, you gaped. How did he know? Did word already spread through that whole group? And why didn’t he look surprised or upset in the slightest? Repeating yourself like a broken record, you responded, “Yeah.” 
“Don’t sound like it’s a bad thing,” Yoongi huffed, his laugh hollow. “He’s a good kid. It’s cool.” 
For reasons unknown, your heart slipped down your ribcage. Why did you feel so distant in that moment? Were you wanting him to, what, be jealous? Compete for you? That logic was so twisted that you raged against yourself for a moment. Regaining your poise, you asked, “What’s going on Saturday night?” 
Yoongi was quiet for a beat before shaking his head. You almost lost yourself in the dark expanse of his clothing, remembering how soft his body was when you ran into him within that same quad. Your attraction to him was ever present, it seemed. It may take a lifetime for that to go away. “Nothing much. I was just gonna give you tickets to this thing.” 
“Yeah, some performance thing on campus,” he muttered. “It’s no big deal if you can’t make it.” 
Blinking, you stared into the dull set of eyes before you. Most of the time, Yoongi was a stellar liar. You had witnessed it in class, in the hallways when he fooled other students, and he got you on multiple occasions. 
His statement seemed the furthest thing from the truth.
But you felt conflicted in that moment. On one hand, you already told Jungkook that you were down to go with him to a party. There was the bias of newness with him: new experiences, a fresh start. With Yoongi, you were only going to face the same emotions you felt before. Feelings of loss, regret, fear. Fear of the unknown and fear of how you would even fit in his future. Fear of being pushed away just like you were, again and again. 
But also with Yoongi came the ultimate closure: a chance to be friends again. You hated seeing him and feeling nothing but sorrow, when before he would be the splash of color in your life. And you hoped that you were the same for him. That those days of existing together in the theatre meant something. Anything.
Clenching your fist, you were hoping you made the right decision. “I probably can’t. I’m sorry.” 
It was for the best. You were choosing to move forward and start your journey away from his life. You foresaw pain, but if you could get through that ache, then you would come out stronger. As it stood, you gave him chances. He was the one that kept pushing you away. 
Yoongi licked his lips. Before he uttered another word, he offered you a thin paper. “I get it. But just take this anyways. It’s yours.” 
Staring at the yellow ticket, you gulped before softly grabbing it with your fingers. It was yours? Why was he being so generous? Pressing it, you asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to give this to someone else? I feel bad if you’re going by yourself.” 
“Don’t worry about me,” he responded instantly, averting his gaze. “I’ll still be there. If I don’t feel like going, either, then that’s a bigger problem.” 
“Okay,” you huffed softly. He loved music and - you assumed - the rest of the arts. Despite his gruff nature, you could see him sitting through a play or musical. If this performance was anything like those, maybe you would go just to see his reactions. 
But you couldn’t regardless. You were set on embarking on this new journey. Jungkook seemed great: going to the same university as you, angelic personality, nice. Attractive. There were plenty of reasons why sticking with him would be the right choice. Forge the new path. You couldn’t screw Yoongi over again this way - he would be free from your clutches.
Would this decision affect anything this time? 
Clutching a stiff sheet of paper in your hands, your eyes ran over the fine print multiple times. Beside you, your mother was posting on every social media site possible whilst opening multiple family text threads to announce the news. 
You had been accepted to the prestigious university that existed next to your hometown. 
This was a huge win for your family. It had been what you were working towards your entire academic life. 
You felt nothing.
You fiddled with your phone’s volume lever for the tenth time that night, watching the beer pong game commence in front of you. Jungkook was an amazing date from the jump: he made sure you were okay, stayed next to you, danced whether you were dancing or not. 
But the whole time, your mind was somewhere else entirely. It existed on a wooden stage, sitting on a piano bench, listening as a boy with bleached hair played the most beautiful music you’d ever heard. 
Reaching into your tiny purse, you felt around for the ticket, acting like you hadn’t done so multiple times already. Like a magical object, it was pulling you in every ten minutes. You knew exactly how it felt, the glossy material probably worn down by your constant caresses. The yellow a constant reminder of how Yoongi looked the first time he dropped out of your life.
You left him again. 
The reminder slammed your conscience into the ground. Your decision to leave him alone mirrored what you did last time. That was your redemption, and you let it pass you by like a missed solo entrance. And now no one was going to hear your piece. 
A cold sweat washed over you, and you started getting jittery. Swiping your forehead, you looked toward Jungkook at his side of the table. 
Immediately, he took in your desperate expression and rushed over. Clutching your coat over your dress, he queried, “What’s wrong?” 
“I’m so sorry.” You were unable to stop the prickling at the corners of your eyes. “But I have to go.” 
“Is everything okay?” His brows furrowed, concern the only emotion floating in his orbs. Behind him, Jimin came up and took in your distress. 
“No. I mean, I’m physically okay, but. I have somewhere else I have to be right now. I’m so sorry.” 
“Wait, what’s today again?” Jimin fished for his phone in his back pocket, and scrolled through some app you couldn’t see. “Oh, shit - yeah. You should go.” 
“Okay, hold on. Let’s go outside,” Jungkook ordered before yelling at Taehyung to take his spot. 
When you burst out into the cold, you were already using a car app to call a ride. Jungkook was a gentleman, waiting with you so you wouldn’t be alone. 
“Is this about Yoongi,” he asked, making you glance his way. Was he just completely guessing and managed to get it right? Or did he pick up on something?
“Yoongi? Umm, yes.” You watched your heels dig into the dirt pathway at the bottom of the porch. There was no reason to hide it now. You were hoping Jungkook would understand this one thing. 
“He’s been really down lately,” he revealed, roping your interest. “You might help.” 
“What do you mean,” you breathed out. He was down? How? 
Jungkook looked like he regretted telling you. He averted his gaze before stuttering out, “Uhh… Well, he just hasn’t been himself lately. Usually, he’s super into whatever he’s working on, but nowadays he’s either taking naps or drinking. We’re all a little worried.” 
A blip of a memory passed over your eyes: back in the middle of the sidewalk that cold day Yoongi chased after you. “Did he ever tell you what he’s working on?” 
The boy shook his head, finding the ground more interesting. “Nah. He hasn’t told any of us except for Hobi. Said we would distract him or something.” 
With a start, you remembered Yoongi saying something similar to you. Back then, you took it personally. He was pushing you away. Now that you knew that wasn’t the case, you felt bad for not being more supportive. You didn’t even ask what it was he needed to do, or offer to help in some way. 
You saw how tired he looked. How restless he seemed. Why weren’t you stubborn enough to help him?
“I feel terrible,” you sighed, “He invited me to go with him to this performance thing and I turned it down. I should’ve asked you if it was cool if we moved our date. Now I’m just half-assing both.” Hindsight is as clear as sunny skies. You pursed your lips in regret. 
“Hey, no sweat. And honestly?” Jungkook shuffled from one foot to the other, like he wasn’t sure of himself. “I’m pretty sure he likes you. And something tells me that you like him, too.” 
You faltered. “What… What about you? I feel bad for just leaving you.” 
The boy smiled, tiny diamonds in his eyes. “Me? Don’t worry about me. I like you, but if I’m keeping you from something then I won’t stop you. No one deserves to be treated like that.” 
In a flash, you launched yourself forward, embracing him in a tight hug. His cologne rushed into your nostrils as the warmth from his heart enveloped you. “Thank you,” you whispered into his chest. 
“I hope it all works out,” he murmured back, his voice as delicate as a lamb. “Now hurry; your ride’s here.” 
You extracted yourself from his arms before turning, and before you ran to the car, you gave him a quick peck on the cheek. 
He called after you as you bounded down the sidewalk, “Text me when you make it!” 
“Okay!” As you got into the vehicle and closed your door, you faced the lone boy on the porch, watching as he touched where you kissed him before heading back inside.
Inspecting the soft yellow paper in your hands, you made sure you were at the right place. Casting an upward glance at the towering fine arts building, you took in the banners flowing between the pillars. “First Love, Last Love,” you read, confirming that it matched the faded black letters on the ticket. Quickly checking the time on your phone, you cursed before sprinting up the stone steps, hating how you chose to wear heels that night. 
Your heart raced as you pleaded for Yoongi to still be watching the performance. Whipping up the ideal scenario in your head, you imagined him still there in the row when you arrived, his glance a mixture of annoyance and relief. Please. You already left him out to dry once. How you were able to do so a second time was beyond belief. 
But was it that far-fetched? As you burst into the initial set of doors, your heart dragged behind you as you wondered if he saw this coming. His standards of you may have been next to nothing. Zero. 
A tear dashed across your cheek as you ran to the second set of entrances leading to the theatre. Yoongi extended an olive branch to you and what did you do? Refused it. Rejected it. Chose selfishly over it. Again. You remembered how defeated he looked, how hollow he sounded. He filled your life with color before, and you may have drained it from his.
When you reached the center of the open lobby, the doors to the theatre hall slowly opened. Wait. People were filing through, a sea of casual clothes and posh garments. Was it over? Judging by the time, it would have been a very short show. There’s no way it was done. 
As bodies crowded around your heaving shoulders, you realized that they were grouping up and mingling around. No one was leaving. You exhaled. It must have been intermission. Scanning the crowd, you hung on a thin thread of hope. 
Yoongi had to be there. Had to be. This was a performance of some sorts, and he offered you to go with him. That had to indicate a high level of interest. Threading your shaking form through the crowd, you swerved your head in multiple directions in a desperate search. Was he wearing a dark outfit? Was he wearing a beanie? Did he suddenly dye his hair blond again? You almost choked at the thought. 
The longer it took to find him, the tighter your chest got. You didn’t see a wink of him in the colorful throng of people. It was only you. Just like what happened before. 
You stood in defeat, surrounded by enthusiastic guests. Conversations popped like fireworks around you. All you heard was a dull throb. 
The doors started opening again, signaling for everyone to file back inside. 
Clutching your bag strap, you waited as the lobby emptied. Were you going inside even if Yoongi wasn’t there? If he really wanted to watch this performance, you figured you owed him that much. Maybe you’d even enjoy it. On your own. Like a slow moving liquid, everyone was eventually back inside the theatre house. Watching the doors steadily close, you blinked back tears until strays fell from your eyes. 
He could still be in the theatre. Not everyone had to walk out for intermission. In fact, that made even more sense for him to just sit there.
You rushed to one of the middle doors before gripping the handle, forcing it open. Thankfully, people were still finding their seats. Already knowing your row and seat by heart from scanning the ticket multiple times, you pushed your way to the front. You craned your neck above the multitude of people while propelling yourself forward. Was he there? 
Approaching the front row, your whole body sagged when your seats were both empty. 
Another thought lit your brain up from the inside. Maybe he was in the bathroom? You were grasping for positivity. Scooting to your seat towards the middle, you made sure you were in the right one before plopping onto the plush cushion. 
Minutes ticked by. Everyone was filtering into their seats like dust. 
Still no sign of Yoongi. 
Guilt bogged your shoulders down and pushed your head forward. How could you let this happen again? Coming to this performance was probably going to be the highlight of his week, and you managed to cloud it with your rejection. 
It seemed like you couldn’t get anything right.
The theatre lights dimmed, signaling the start of the second half of the show. Biting your lip, you let consequence keep you in your seat. There wasn’t anywhere else you could go anyways. 
It seemed like the show was a featuring of different types of musical acts. There would be a solo instrument in one act, then an entire orchestra on for another. You sat through all of the performances with an increasingly fallen face. 
All of the songs showcased so far reminded you of Yoongi. You recognized the violin solo to be a sonorous rendition of one of the sonatas he played for you, and the orchestra dazzled the audience with a powerful Beethoven concerto. With a rueful smile on your lips, you clapped after each one with the rest of the theatregoers. 
You never quite looked at music the same after Yoongi left. More accurately, whenever you heard a classical piano song, you always imagined him behind the keys. From etudes, to pianofortes, to sonatas - you felt much better when you closed your eyes and saw Yoongi playing them for you after school. They held more weight, more meaning. Countless playlists full of the soft instrument carried you through long study sessions and sleepless nights. Yoongi was always there in every major and minor event in your quiet, boring life, even if you didn’t physically see his face. 
The next act was completely different than the others. Contemporary dancers took over the stage, and they danced in a frighteningly beautiful and maddeningly familiar number. 
Enraptured by the furious orchestral piece, you held your breath as you realized where you had heard this piece before. Goosebumps began to dot your skin. 
It sounded eerily like the song you heard the first day you walked in on Yoongi. The song that understood you before any living being could. How could you ever forget that otherworldly tune? The experience terrified you. And you never heard it again. You had been searching for it for months and years afterwards, never being able to find something quite like it. And here it was, grabbing you by the throat and wrapping its unrelenting talons around your waist. Your toes curled at the way the dancers swept across the stage in jilted movements, the dark sapphire lights drowning you in sorrowful waters. Further and further. Deeper you dove. The screeching of the highest notes tore at your soul, wailing into the far reaches of the theatre and tugging its collective beating heart. 
Your chest pounded with the cacophonic resonance, stammering long after the performance was done and followed by a roaring, standing ovation. 
A smattering of whispers rumbled across the audience. You could only sit stonily in your front seat, contemplating why you felt like you could burst into miniscule pieces at any moment. 
The lights on stage brightened again, and the people behind you quieted. Several chairs were placed on the wooden platform between acts, and you watched as orchestra musicians filed in and took their respective seats. As they began to tune their instruments at their leisure, a gigantic grand piano was carefully rolled onto the stage, the sight triggering your hands to clench.
There was one other option you needed to consider. 
But you held your breath, preparing yourself if it was completely and utterly wrong, and even more so if it was correct. 
The orchestra settled as the conductor strode across the front to small applause. And your heart ceased its thumping when another man appeared from behind the curtains. 
You couldn’t even blink as you took in his outfit. Another far cry from his usual dress, he was swathed in a suit that reminded you of a deep river bed, specks of glimmering sequins cascading down his shoulders and into the rest of the coat. A solid shirt and tie shone underneath, black and shiny silk hugging his frame. 
He shook his cuffed hands as he walked towards the piano, not giving his applause any reciprocation. You could tell he was still off, still detached. From your seat, there was no mistaking the gloomy bags under his eyes, and his inky tresses couldn’t hide the heavy lids bogged down by multiple stressors and expectations. 
Did he play other acts? Did he look into the audience and hoped to see you there? 
Yoongi didn’t give a single look to the crowd that time. Did that mean he gave up and stopped looking, or just never tried in the first place? 
Sadness overtook you and wrestled with the surge of happiness you felt from seeing him again. On stage. You were going to hear him play.
Adrenaline coursed through your veins as the orchestra straightened and readied their instruments. 
And silence followed. 
It went on for so long that people in the audience got restless, and in a bout of fear, you glanced at the conductor’s confused expression. Flickering your gaze back to Yoongi, all you saw was the shell of the boy you knew. He didn’t even raise his hands to the keys. A mere statue astriding the bench, his limbs locked and not a single muscle budged. 
What was he doing? Why wasn’t he playing? 
Right as you thought to say something, anything to get his attention, Yoongi shook his head and nodded to the conductor. After a few rests, he glided into a song that coaxed fresh, hot tears to your eyes from the very first note.
Your most hated piece. Your absolute favorite piece. The last piece you ever heard him play.
Clair de lune.
In front of you, the entire world melded into another time and place. Each note served as a piece to an otherworldly puzzle, reconstructing your vision into the theatre you spent weeks in, carried away by the flowing river of his expertise. The same alignment of planets and stars and meteor showers projected around your peripheral. Colors burst and tumbled across your eyes. 
Right as you found your breath again, Yoongi’s fingers slowed on the porcelain, the music petering out into the void. 
Following his lead, the musicians behind him halted at various times, different notes falling off their strings. 
Why did Yoongi stop?
What was happening? 
Furrowing your brows, you watched in increasing agony as Yoongi folded his body in a state of defeat. You sent yourself in a panic trying to grasp what you were seeing. Was he giving up? There’s no way he would just stop unless something was terribly wrong. Music was the one thing he said he had. 
Suddenly, you recalled his words from the day he offered you the ticket. He said if he didn’t show up, that would be a bigger problem. Another memory sprouted from the depths of your mind: when Jimin mentioned his mom working in the fine arts department. Is this the big thing that Yoongi had been working on? How were you so blind to it before?
And if it was, and if this was his ticket into the university... 
No. No, no, no. 
Yoongi had to keep going. Music was all he had, he said - time and time again. The brunt of his passion resided in his art form. If that ever fizzled out, he would truly be wandering the world an empty man. 
Around you, the crowd began to shift in a hissing monster of its own. You were about to cut through the fray with a desperate cry. But another boisterous sound came from your bag, snatching several peoples’ attention. 
Your phone. 
When you fiddled with the volume earlier, you must have kept it on Ring. A default, shrill tone rambled on until you dug into your purse and rapidly pressed the down button in a jilted decrescendo. Who the hell was calling you? And why now?
Cursing with brows scrunched in agony, you checked your Home screen and gasped. Jungkook had texted you twice asking if you made it. He must have called because you were radio silent since running into the theatre. But you couldn’t respond - not now. You were too distracting as is. You were situated in the front row. Even the people on stage must have-- 
Wait. Tearing your gaze from your device, your eyes went straight to Yoongi, only to find recognition on his features as he spotted you in your seat. 
Time stopped. 
Space shifted.
No one else existed in that moment. Finally, you found the universe you were yearning for all those years. A universe for two. 
No longer were you in your university theatre settled in a plush cushioned seat. You felt the hard surface of the rickety high school theatre chairs, you smelled the humidity of the enclosed stage, you felt the love you harbored for the boy behind the piano.
A deep pang resonated in your heart at the revelation, and it rang true. 
Clutching your phone, you mirrored exactly what you did back then, wiggling it with teary eyes before stuffing it back in your bag.
And when a small smile cut through Yoongi’s disbelief, growing and growing and growing, your body ached with a thousand feelings you couldn’t describe. Your friend gazed lovingly at the piano in relief before biting his lip to quell his emotions. In response, your heart expanded so far out of your chest that you clutched your front to keep it from fluttering away.
Yoongi gave the conductor a small bow in apology, and turned to the audience to do the same thing. The rest of the song continued in a fluid melody, the whole of the theatre being brought in again by its moonlit charm. 
When it finished, everyone around you stood in raucous praise. 
And Yoongi only had eyes for your proud, shaking grin and wondrous, endless endearment.  
You waited until everyone cleared out of the theatre before sneaking through one of the doors leading backstage. And you didn’t miss the irony, a snort leaving you as you did so. 
Searching the open space littered with different sound equipment, instrument cases, and various stage props, you almost missed Yoongi’s suited form checking things off a clipboard. Approaching him, you slowed in your anxiousness. 
Yes, he seemed more than happy to see you during the performance. But did he still want to see you afterwards? You were steps away when he turned, and you sucked in a breath at his indiscernible expression. Thinking you would just say your piece and dip, your words popped from your lips like a broken vinyl, “Yoongi, you were amazing. I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner. I messed up again - I left you a second time. Fuck, I - I left you once and I regretted it my entire life after that, and I almost screwed you again just like you said I would, and--” 
In a rush, he dropped what he was holding and crushed you in a hug as they clattered to the ground, the mere action making you choke on every other regret and apology and praise you had for him. Your hands gripped the front of his dark shirt as you buried your tears in his shoulder. The scent of his cologne tried to soothe your shaking form, and when that didn’t work, Yoongi pulled you in tighter. 
“I keep making you cry, but I don’t deserve any of these tears,” he murmured in your ear, and you felt the thrumming beats of his heart underneath your palms. “I’ve treated you like shit this entire time and I hate myself for it. There’s no reason for you to feel this way. I’m the one that should be apologizing, so I’m sorry.” 
You calmed in his embrace, the warmth from his body and soul keeping you in a comforting lull. A sniffle was your only response.
“You deserve an explanation,” Yoongi said before his body shifted, his hands leaving your back and softly running over your coated shoulders. “But I just need to get everything taken care of back here. If you, umm, need to get back to your date, it’s cool.” 
“I’m not going anywhere else,” you affirmed, your voice confident. “I’ll wait for you.” 
Yoongi’s eyes searched yours for any doubts. When they found none, he nodded. “There’s some couches out in the lobby. This shouldn’t take much longer.” 
“No,” you shot back, stunning both of you. Sputtering to cover up your nervousness and back up what your heart blurted out before you could stop it, you explained, “Sorry. I just meant, I don’t mind just standing here.” 
The look Yoongi gave you included both a smile and confused brows, and your cheeks flushed red. He probably thought you were so weird. Still weird. “Cute,” he said, “Suit yourself, heels.” Before leaving your side, he smoothed a hand over your hair that caused mini bursts of flames along your limbs. 
Settling for a random wall, you observed quietly as Yoongi directed various people on where to put things, broke down music stands, and spoke to suited patrons about topics unknown to you. Throughout everything, he would spare you random glances, eyes creasing when he noticed you looking back each time. 
It was a beautifully strange sight to see him shining and walking around with authority. Of course, the slight slouch made a return, but you liked to see him in this new, confident light. He still had the suit completely on, and your gaze drifted down to his swinging black tie more times than you could count. 
Time flew by, and the wide hall was finally cleared of miscellaneous musical instruments and stands. You pushed yourself off the wall as Yoongi thanked the last groups of people out the back doors. 
He paused with his body turned before wheeling around to see you a ways down the corridor. You wondered if he thought anything of your simple white dress under your winter coat, looked over your black heels, judged your various jewelry choices. As he strode up to you, a certain feeling came over you and warmed your insides under his gaze. It was the first time you two were completely alone.
Standing in front of you, he was void of any words. You already missed the smile on his face and the twinkles in his eyes. He wasn’t completely back to what you hated to see, but he looked much better, his cheeks more flush with color. There was something else in his look - something trying to get through to you.
“What,” you whispered curiously, even though there was no one else around. 
“Nothing.” His low voice mirrored yours. “I just didn’t think you’d show up.” 
You felt washed with sorrow again. “I’m really glad I did. You were incredible.” 
His body shifted in his nervousness. Confused, you wondered why he was still being so quiet. Maybe he changed a lot more than you thought. Back then, he was always the one talking to fill the void - if it pertained to music. It was then that you realized that you complimented him, and he didn’t do so well when it came to those, either.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” you apologized, “I really am. Did you play other songs?”
He hummed before nodding, and you visibly sighed. “Damn it,” you ran a hand through your hair, but you felt fingers close over yours. 
“Stop,” he demanded. “I already told you: you don’t need to apologize. I’ve kept you in the dark this whole time, so there’s no way you could’ve known.” 
“Why didn’t you tell me,” you sighed, downcast. 
Yoongi breathed in and slowly exhaled before bringing both of your hands down to your sides. You swallowed when he didn’t let your fingers go. “I thought I had a lot of reasons, but when I think about them now, they’re all stupid.” 
“Like what?” 
He averted his gaze. “At first, just seeing you threw me off. I thought I was imagining things.” He casted his eyes down at your joined hands. “Then when I kept seeing you, I was sure you were going to talk to me. But I didn’t want to tell you anything. I, umm… I don’t actually go here.” 
Something bloomed in your chest at his honesty. He didn’t know you already knew everything he went through. You just hoped he wouldn’t shut down when you revealed, “I know.” When he flickered his eyes to yours, you explained, “After you left the Halloween party, Hobi and them told me everything.”
“Oh, shit. Really?” Yoongi huffed in disbelief. 
“Yeah,” you muttered, “I’m really proud of you.” 
You felt his fingers flinch before he pulled his hand away. “Don’t say things like that,” he grunted, and even though his eyes were averted, the fires in them were still visible. 
Hurt, you questioned, “What? Why?”
“Because they make me seem like a good person,” he remarked while putting his hands in his pockets. “But I’m not. Even just that night, I was an ass. You shouldn’t even want to be around me.” 
Why was he shutting down again? You were there, and it was your own guilt that threw you into the theatre. Why were both of you so hard on yourselves? 
“Yoongi, stop,” you pushed, your tone pleading. “Yes, you were an ass, but I understood why you left. I can’t blame you for something like that.” 
Instead of answering you, Yoongi leaned on the wall next to you and asked a question, “And what reason was that?” 
Pausing, you roamed your eyes over his features. Wasn’t it obvious? “Like you said,” you repeated cautiously, “Just seeing me throws you off. And if I remember correctly, you said you couldn’t have me screwing you over again.” Your words dropped out of your mouth like heavy rain - remorseful. No matter how much you understood, it still hurt that he saw you as a negative constant. “You can’t stand seeing me.”
Yoongi could only stare, from your eyes, to your nose, to your tongue wetting your lips. You couldn’t look at him in shame, second-guessing staying and being here with him. Your mind was twisting in on itself with overthinking and worry. Imploding was a more accurate term. Were you two ever going to have a normal conversation that wasn’t full of staggered responses and apologies? 
“Follow me,” he whispered, pushing himself off the wall and strolling to a door across the polished floors.
Wondering if he was just avoiding the conversation or not, you trailed after him in silence. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was. But if this was the big thing he was working on, he said you could say everything that you wanted to after it was done. You were owed that much.
When you stepped into the room, all the walls and floor were pitch black. In front of you, dark satin curtains swooped down from the ceiling. 
You were backstage. 
Before you could ask what you were doing there and if it was appropriate, the piano you saw Yoongi play on stage came into view. It almost camouflaged like an animal in waiting, blending into the darkened surroundings - only the faint streaks of light from the hall gave its powerful curves away. 
As the door closed behind you, the slim windows offered little light into the room. In the dark, you felt a strange mix of anxiousness and comfort. But just having Yoongi there with you was enough to quell your humming fears. 
You heard him right beside you when he questioned, “Is this okay?” 
“It’s okay,” you whispered in response, appreciating that he even asked, “It’s much less thrilling when I know you work here.” 
A huff of a laugh disappeared into the dark. “You sound disappointed.” 
“I’m not.” Your eyes started to adjust. “This reminds me of back then. I feel… I don’t know. Content.” 
“You would use a word like that.” You felt Yoongi grab your hand, leading you toward the sleeping black dragon in the back corner of the room. 
When you got to the bench, the cushion wasn’t too plush or too hard. You placed your bag on the ground and crossed your ankles in an attempt to warm your chilled legs. “I’m just glad you found your way, Yoongi,” you sighed, delicately touching one of the keys. 
“You led me there,” he admitted while absentmindedly playing a tune. The melody was beautiful in darkness. “And you kept me going. Did Hobi tell you? I had to wait months to play the piano that his dad has in the shop. I thought about just breaking into the room, but your damn face always came to mind, so I never did.” 
“What an honor,” you droned, eliciting a laugh that warmed your insides. 
“I kept trying to get into different schools, but none of them even considered me once they saw my record. If Hobi’s dad didn’t find that online school, I would still be at square one.” 
“Just the fact that you tried says a lot,” you assured him. 
“When I saw you again, I didn’t know what to do. But all I knew was that you were going to distract me from what I needed to work on.” 
“I was going to ask,” you interjected. “Is this what you were working on? This show?” 
“Yeah.” Yoongi stopped playing, removing his fingers from the keys in a dying ring. “I produced and composed all the numbers. I’m trying to get a scholarship, and Jimin’s mom told me that this show would be entered in some competition for a full ride.” 
Your jaw plummeted to the ground. How was he able to say all of that so nonchalantly? Producing and composing were monstrous projects as singular entities. But he did them both? For an entire show? Not to mention everything else he dropped. So not only was he completing his GED, but he was also gunning for university? Your body physically reacted to his confessions, turned on by his ambition. “You’re joking.”
When turned, you could barely make out the blank features on his face. “If you don’t believe me,” he countered, “Ask Hobi. But yeah, I didn’t want anyone else to know. I dunno why, looking back. A lot of the decisions I made are pretty shit. Like what I did at the cafe.” 
You sighed, your body still not recovered from his confessions. “I will admit I felt awful after that. For days.” 
Yoongi took your hand in his, and you grounded yourself in the way soft light traveled along his veins. “I won’t do that to you again - and if you never forgive me, I get it.” 
“I just thought you were mad at me.” 
“I was never mad,” he said, his fingers trembling. “I’m just, umm… I’m scared of you.” 
“Of me?” 
“Yes,” he whispered, watching your conjoined hands like you were, “You’re too good for me. I see the way you look at me sometimes - I can tell what you want. But, I don’t want you to be with someone you regret. There’s other people out there that can do better.” 
Shaking your head, you countered, “I’ve tried, Yoongi, but no matter what, I feel like something is missing.” All the smarts in the world, but no passion. He was right: what was the point? “I… When I saw you on stage tonight, it was the first time I was genuinely happy in years. And I want to keep feeling that way… I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I think I would rather be with someone that makes me feel that way than someone that’s just a better fit.” 
Yoongi’s grip on you was strong. “I keep hurting you. You should forget about me.” 
You couldn’t take it anymore. He was being stubborn because he thought that’s what was best for you. But you tried moving on from him. You tried other people before, and they all couldn’t compare to the mere thought of Yoongi. How would they ever be good enough for you if that was the case? A flash of Jungkook’s smiling face entered your mind, but he gave you the proper send off. He was letting you choose even though he knew he had lost. 
“I never forgot you back then,” you whispered. “And I’m not doing it now.” 
“I’m not even close to where I need to be in life.” He smoothed one of his thumbs over the ridges of your fingers. “You don’t need someone like that.” 
If you thought your insecurities needed fixing, his were exceedingly worse. And you understood. He fell into society’s trap, just like you did when you ignored him. But he was at least working toward something and was doing a fantastic job. That show was one of the best performances you had ever seen - it was sure to be talked about around campus and beyond its outskirts. Yoongi just seemed so inside his head that he couldn’t see the brillance of what it produced. 
“It’s not what I need,” you said strongly. “It’s what I want. And I want you.” 
Your boldness was enough to shock Yoongi out of his stupor. Even the hairs on your neck stood in fascination. Swallowing under his heavy gaze, you squeezed his fingers and looked straight at him. “Do you… Do you want me, too?” 
Kicking his head back, Yoongi let out a deep chuckle that rumbled through the dark. “There you go again… Without even knowing it.” 
“Knowing what?” 
He huffed another disbelieving laugh. “What you do to me.” 
Your insides curled at how low his voice got when he said that, and your heart stammered. Words slammed into each other on your tongue, blocking anything from leaving your mouth. You affected him? Wasn’t it the other way around? “I… I don’t…” 
“You have no fucking clue, don’t you?” He shook his head, frustration evident in his shadowed smirk. “Still so innocent… This is exactly why I’m scared of you. And why Hobi texted us to look after you at the party.” 
You stilled. Is that what Jungkook meant when he called after Yoongi on Halloween? When did Hobi even text them that? And why did you feel embarrassed and like you had to prove yourself in some way? “I’m not innocent,” you bit out, hating how he was treating you like you were the same girl from back then. But you still had to clarify, “Well, I mean, not… completely anymore. I’m not the same as I was, at least, so you can stop thinking that.” 
“Oh, I know, doll. You were more than willing to admit that at the party,” he crooned, “But I bet that you can’t even say the word ‘sex’ without blushing.” 
Fuck. He got you. The curse left you frequently, but in a context that had nothing to do with the word. When it came to legitimately lewd terms, you still couldn’t openly say anything out loud without feeling tingly. Dirty? Is that what you would call it? You looked away only for Yoongi to grab your chin, forcing your flushed face to behold him in the dark. 
A cunning smirk flickered before he dropped it. “Exactly,” he taunted with a wink, “Still a good girl.” 
You wrestled your head from his grip, but he didn’t let you go. Fire skittered down your arms. “If you think I’m such a good girl, why are you scared of me,” you spat, confused beyond belief. Did he want you or was he just teasing? The games he was playing were doing cartwheels on your brain and spinning it into a wall. 
“It’s not just you I’m scared of,” Yoongi muttered, his eyes alight with a swirl of what you identified as lust. His thumb brushed the side of your cheek. “It’s what I’d do if I ever got my hands on you.” 
Shivers ran down your spine at his words, gathering in your core and simmering into a low heat. “You already have one hand on me,” you whispered, “Are you still scared?”
“I don’t need both to destroy you, baby girl,” Yoongi uttered with complete confidence, sending you careening down a pit of desire. “But you don’t want that.” 
“You can’t tell me what I don’t want,” you bit out, your eyes widening when his hand shifted from your chin to softly press your throat, his mouth suddenly dangerously close to your ear.
The pure arrogance in his gravelly voice pulled a light moan from your mouth. “I’ll say it again: you don’t want this.” 
“I do,” you breathed out, your plea immediate. You wanted nothing else in that moment. All you could think of was everything that he could possibly do to you. You could feel your arousal starting to coat your underwear just thinking about it. 
Yoongi’s breath traveled down your neck before he hummed, sending a wave of goosebumps down your arms. “If I give it to you, are you gonna be a good girl? Because if you aren’t, I may have to punish you.”  
His domineering words were causing your brain to fry. You never knew how aroused you could get just by hearing something so commanding. Did he know you would feel that way? Breath hitching, you nodded as much as you could before his fingers tightened around your airway. “Uh uh,” he corrected, “Let me hear you.” 
“Yes,” you rasped, your pupils expanding in want, “I’ll be good.” 
“If you insist,” he whispered before nipping your ear. The whimper you let out was so high that it pierced the top of the ceiling. His hand loosened around your throat as he asked, “Are you clean, doll? I am, but I don’t have a condom on me.” 
“I am,” you replied, maybe too quickly, “And I’ve been on the pill so...” You almost forgot about considering these things, so you were incredibly grateful that he asked. 
Yoongi was silent for a moment, seemingly in the middle of a debate in his mind. Unwittingly, his thumb caressed the side of your neck. After seconds, he asked, “You sure you wanna do this?” 
You quickly wondered whether or not you should lie. “Yes,” you admitted, knowing honesty was the only way to go here.
His hand left your throat before he gently patted one of your cheeks. “That’s my girl. Now take this jacket off and turn around,” he ordered before leaving the piano bench. 
One of your hands darted out to grab Yoongi’s sleeve, and he turned around in concern.
“Before we do anything,” you stammered, “Can I… Will you…”
You couldn’t even ask for the simplest thing. He was right. But Yoongi smiled and sat back down on the bench, seemingly knowing exactly what you wanted. “Cute,” he whispered before taking your head in his hand for a kiss. 
His lips were so soft. That was the first thing you noticed before feeling how warm they were on yours. Yoongi kissed you so tenderly that you felt like you would melt onto the bench to exist on it forever. When he pulled away, he took in your lidded eyes and moistened lips before swooping in and kissing you with fervor. 
You let out a moan at his force before slipping your eyes shut. Pushing back with the same vigor, you met him halfway until you felt a hot tongue run along your lower lips. You gasped at the heat, groaning when it explored your mouth like he wanted to go in and take your heart. And you would let him. You probably already had. 
When you timidly licked his tongue with your own, Yoongi let out a grunt that rocked your body down to the tips of your toes. He squeezed the back of your neck before pulling away. 
Standing from the bench, his fingers grazed your cheek one more time before he tapped it. “I’m gonna have fun with you,” he announced proudly, his smirk being accompanied by a wink. 
Deadly. Should you be scared? Because you were. Which made heat pool between your shivering thighs - a conundrum to you. Blushing, you sat still for a beat before turning away from the piano keys, wondering what Yoongi was planning.
When he towered over your sitting form in waiting, you finally shrugged your coat, the air coalescing around your almost-bare shoulders and collarbone - the thin straps doing nothing to protect from the chill. In the dim light of the room, your white dress was prominent. Yoongi’s eyes devoured your form before he cursed, “Fuck. Spread your legs, beautiful.” 
Your cheeks warmed at the name and eagerness swirled between your thighs. Was he going straight into it? You were wet, but probably not wet enough. When you were about to voice your concerns, he dropped to his knees in a determined heap. 
“Wider,” he commanded before shoving one of your thighs to the side. 
You gasped at the sudden movement, the rough motion causing your alabaster dress to slide almost all the way up your legs. When Yoongi’s eyes unabashedly roamed between them, you instinctively tried to hide your drenched, cotton-covered core in embarrassment.
“Close them again and my tongue isn’t getting anywhere near that pussy.” He darted his lidded gaze up to your frantic one, an acute warning for you to get yourself together. 
But you had never had this happen to you before. No one has seen you down there except for your mother and professional doctors. The thought of him hating how you looked or smelled and tasted down there was absolutely destroying you. Clamping your mouth shut, you braced for a slew of strange looks and disgusted comments from him. 
So when he inhaled and rumbled out a deep laugh, you shut your eyes. Embarrassing. You were ready for him to bolt. 
“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” 
Shooting him a look of shock, you stilled. Your ask came out more like a puff of air, “What?” 
And it seemed that your question fell on aroused, deaf ears. Yoongi didn’t even break in stride as he kept speaking to your nether lips. “So wet for me… I wonder if you taste just as sweet as I imagined.” 
“Yoongi, I’ve never--”
“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll go easy on you,” he cooed. After nipping one of your thighs, you almost leaped off the bench entirely. “This time, anyway.” 
This time? You couldn’t even register that question fully before a finger nudged your pathetic string of underwear to the side, running down your slit right after. One groan overlaid another as he used another finger to part your pussy, and your conflicting thoughts raged against each other. Mortification was almost winning against desire before you heard him speak. 
“Goddamn.” Yoongi’s sleeve rubbed against your thigh, the sequins leaving tiny scratches along your skin. The slight itch wasn’t nearly as important as what came out of his mouth. “How are you this wet already, princess?” 
“You,” you sighed, your eyes squeezing shut again. “Only you.” 
A growl ripped from his throat before he dove between your legs, his mouth pressing into you like liquid in a mold. He planted a rough kiss before flattening his tongue, licking one long swipe between your folds - chuckling when a string of whining curses tumbled down his neck. 
“I love your dirty mouth,” he purred before descending back onto your gushing center. “Just hearing you curse makes me hard.” 
You realized that in your limited vision, hearing Yoongi’s gravelly speech and filthy slurps affected you tenfold, and the sounds leaving your lips would outright embarrass you later. When your body bucked too hard at his lascivious sucks, he had to push you back down onto the bench. With no purchase for your hands, you fell back onto the piano keys, your arms slamming down in mismatched octaves. 
The chaotic sounds intertwining with your dulcet moans only spurned Yoongi to devour you harder. He sucked and laved, and when he swiped your clit with his warm tongue before penetrating your sex, you swore you could see past the ceiling and were gazing at stars. 
Yoongi took one of your legs and slung it over his shoulder, forcing your hips closer to him. It was the same hand he’d been using that whole time. Through the haze of desire and heady scent filling the room, you wondered if he was only using one hand to prove his earlier point. 
“Your other hand,” you whimpered, and you only elaborated once his feline eyes leered up at you from your lower lips - after moaning at the sight, “You’re only using one hand.” 
His eyes crinkled mischievously before he winked, sucking one long taste of your arousal. Kicking your head back, you groaned before lolling it forward. 
“Sharp. Do you want the other one, baby girl?” 
“Yes.” Multiple nods followed your beg. “I want it all.” 
“My my,” Yoongi tsked before shrugging your leg off his shoulder, only to use both of his hands to tug your thighs forward. Your dress bunched even higher around your hips, legs completely uncovered. “My girl is so greedy.” 
You groaned at his possessiveness. When he swooped in the second time, he went straight for your clit to suck and lave it, pulling an accompanying whine. What you didn’t expect - and what you should’ve expected - was the feel of a long finger caressing your entrance. You moaned his name so loud that it reverberated into the theatre hall, and when he thrusted his digit into your folds you may as well have performed on stage with how long your mewls lasted. Warmth gushed from your center as you felt something tighten beneath your stomach. You were going to come just from his tongue and fingers. Was that normal? 
But as soon as the feeling reached a breaking point, Yoongi slowed his ministrations. The high you almost grasped was quickly becoming out of reach as you fell back down to earth. Confused and frustrated, you watched with a heaving chest as he began planting soft kisses up and down your thighs. It was so tender that you weren’t ready for him to attack your folds again, with even more ferocity than before. 
You squirmed so much that you kept hitting random keys in melodic thrashes: a couple of low notes, a triplet of high notes, a few stray middle octaves courtesy of your elbows. But Yoongi was relentless, and the coil in your lower region wound tighter and tighter with each passing second. You wanted nothing more than to grab his dark locks in your sweaty fingers, but you couldn’t - you were so stretched and laid out that you had no choice but to cling to the front of the grand piano. It was almost like he planned it that way.    
And then you felt it again: the impending explosion of your core. It felt like an enormous swell just waiting to crash in powerful waves, and you chased it like your life depended on it. “Yoongi,” you moaned, feeling your pussy clench around his expert fingers and tongue. “I’m--” 
Suddenly, he was pulling away. What? No, no, no. Why was he pulling away? A whimper left your throat before you could second-guess it. You were about to question him when he taunted, “What’s wrong, princess?” 
“Please,” you outright begged with shaking arms and trembling legs. Your sex burned with the absence of release. “I’m so close.” 
“You’re also greedy,” he quipped. “And greedy girls need to be taught a certain lesson.” 
Sobbing, you cried out, “A lesson in what?” 
“Patience.” Yoongi then stood, his fully clothed form raking over your disheveled, ruined state on the curved instrument. “On your knees, love.”
Stunned into obedience at the new name he uttered, you forced yourself up, your limbs tired from locking in place constantly. Yoongi stepped back to give you space, and you burned under his lustful gaze - a fire that couldn’t be seen. Sliding down to the ground, your knees made hollow thuds on the stage flooring. It was still so dark back there, with the light choosing to only glint off the belt buckle and coat sequins of Yoongi’s outfit. You wondered if it would catch the slick all over his face if you could see it in the light. 
The ache from your denied orgasms still throbbed above your ankles, but you were determined to give him anything he wanted. Like you had something to prove.
“How many times have you sucked dick, baby girl,” Yoongi asked, peering down at your lidded, fucked out face while removing his dress coat. Between his legs under his black pants, his bulge was incredibly prominent.  
Biting your lip, you hated how you couldn’t admit the number right away. The jacket hit the ground behind him, and you could barely register the long black sleeves of his undershirt. “Umm,” was all you got out before Yoongi swooped in and snagged your chin in his strong hand. 
“None of that,” he tutted, “You’re gonna answer me straight.” 
“T-,” you stuttered, enraptured by his complete and utter control, “Two.” 
And just for a moment, you saw an emotion run across his face that was out of place. The moment had passed when he flicked his hand away and leaned back. Folding his sleeves up his forearms, Yoongi grunted, “Show me what you learned then, princess.”
When you saw that he wasn’t making any move to undo his pants, you straightened and made to do it yourself. But just observing the tight tent pleading to be unleashed, you decided to veer off course and see what other rules Yoongi had in mind. Pushing the boundaries was something he always tended to do - you wanted to see how he liked that being turned on him. You ignored any undressing and simply kissed his clothed erection, starting from the tip and to the warm base.
Yoongi’s low hums were enough encouragement, emboldening you to stick out your tongue and lick him through his pants. Your hands lightly grabbed the backs of his thighs, and your sex twinged at the sweet moan above your head. When cold fingers skated through your hair, you swirled your wet muscle around the tip, closing your lips around as much of his tent as you could. 
“That’s enough,” Yoongi commanded, pulling your head off of his erection. “I know you’re stalling.” 
Your skin surrounding your hair strained under his rough grip, but he let you go as a cue to start unbuckling. Head falling forward, you rushed to obey and gripped his belt with shaky fingers. Once it was slipped out of the loops, you tossed it to the ground and started undressing his pants. Your movements were so hurried that you coaxed a deep chuckle out of Yoongi, and you bit your lip when you tugged his dress pants down enough to allow his cock to be taken out. 
When you stilled, waiting to finally see what he was hiding, a whisper flowed from above your head. “We can stop whenever you want to, doll,” Yoongi assured you. “If you’re not comfortable with it, you have to tell me.” 
“It’s not that,” you quickly said to assure him, “I just… I don’t want to disappoint you.” The gap between your experience was frustratingly obvious. Yoongi’s composure being so dominant just proved how comfortable he was. Your two measly experiences were nothing compared to all of his - you assumed - and you felt like you weren’t going to be good enough. But you really wanted to be.
Yoongi straightened hearing your insecurities. Lovingly running a hand over your hair, he gave you one of the softest smiles you’d ever seen grace his face. “I’m already more than impressed,” he said, “Don’t ever feel that way around me.” 
“Okay,” you muttered, confidence beginning to swell in your chest. When you slipped your hand under the band of his boxers, you marveled at the feel of his cock before you even brought it out. Yoongi’s deep moan echoed throughout the stage as you wrapped your fingers around the base, and when you finally pulled it from the confines of his underwear, you gaped at how long and pretty it was. A soft pink tip coated in juice glimmered in the light spilling from the small windows, and you could see the dark silhouette’s length from your spot on the floor. 
The dominant personality was back with a vengeance, “Spit on it before you take it, baby girl.” 
You obliged, gathering what you could in your mouth before hovering your head over his cock. If his vision adjusted in the dark, he should have an amazing view of your cleavage, but you didn’t think much of it as your spit traveled like warm honey to the tip of his sex. After it coated the top, you grabbed the base and mustered enough courage to capture as much of him as you could on the first go.
Yoongi bucked forward with a heavy grunt and one hand shot into your soft locks, the forward motion slamming more of him into you than you intended to get. Shocked, you felt his tip hit the back of your throat before you gagged, completely new to the feeling. The slight burn coaxed a tiny bout of tears to your eyes, but Yoongi’s groaning kept you going. Remembering what you learned before, you slid your wet lips up and down his shaft, making sure to come back up and lick around the spit-mottled frenulum. Taking only the puffy tip in your mouth, you sucked until your cheeks hollowed out, and instinct caused your fingers to pump him from his unbelievably thick base. 
“Holy fuck,” Yoongi moaned, “Breathe through your nose.” 
That was the only warning you got before his hand pushed your head further down his shaft. As you took more of him in, you concentrated on his instruction, and it made the further intrusion easier to handle. Only the meaty nature of his sex was proving overwhelming, and your windpipe was effectively filled with your mouth only on him halfway. Mercifully, Yoongi didn’t keep you down long. As he released you, your entire head left his cock with a wet pop, soft tear streaks running down your cheeks as you found oxygen. 
A thumb swiped away one of the tiny falls, and as you gazed up at Yoongi, he praised you, “You’re doing so well for me, princess.” After you nodded, your throat burning with the newness of being so full, he ordered, “Take as much as you can. Surprise me.” 
You reached for his length again, watching as your spit reflected streams of light. Biting your lip, you leaned forward on your aching knees and took him in again, getting familiar with the shape of him. You stopped to grab the top of his dick with your hand, coating your palm with your spit and his essence before gliding it back down and using the slick to pump him smoothly. Your mouth widened to take his angry girth inch by savory inch, and you had to admit that the sounds you invoked from his mouth made you swell with pride. Experimentally, you raised a hand and rolled one of his balls in your fingers, marveling at how plush and sagged they felt. Your curiosity came out in a hum, and you didn’t expect Yoongi to react the way he did. 
A bunch of your hair was snatched as you were ripped from his throbbing cock, and you thought you did something wrong. 
“There’s no way you’ve only done this twice,” Yoongi grunted in disbelief, and you felt another layer of heat douse your body. “Liar.” 
Swelling with confidence, you shook your head, watching as he suddenly dove into deep thoughts. You were wondering if he thought about Halloween, about the suggestive question he asked you while pinning you against a wall. You certainly thought about that incident far more times than you could count. 
“Well keep going, filthy girl.” Grabbing your head again, he pushed you back to business, and you instinctively opened your mouth to take him in again. Every time you did so, it was easier to take more, training your throat to take his length. When Yoongi encouraged you further down with another push, you almost hit his pelvic area and gagged around him again. Tears were leaking from both eyes, and you could feel your arousal gushing between your legs. 
Mercifully letting you catch another breath, Yoongi pulled you away but kept a hard fist in your hair. 
“Get back on the fucking seat.” Yoongi grabbed you by the elbows and hoisted your aching form from the ground. “On your knees; face that way.” 
He spun you before lightly shoving you onto the bench, your upper body falling forward. Your knees were on more cushioned padding, but they still burned. Instead of pressing your hands onto the porcelain, you grabbed the smooth black top above them instead. 
Behind you, Yoongi was already smoothing a hand over the curve of your cheeks, pushing the soft material of your dress over it to gather at your waist. “Love this ass,” he praised, juggling it with a smack before pushing your legs further apart. “Almost as much as that sweet pussy of yours.” 
Furious desire ran across your face and scoured the expanse of your neck. No one had been so outright vulgar with you before. You flushed even more with how turned on you were. Primal desire coursed through your pumping veins and pulsed in your loins. Is this what you had been missing? Is this what it was supposed to feel like? Or were you just feeling this way because you were doing it with Yoongi?
Just when you were about to chastise yourself for still not saying the word “sex” even in your thoughts, your panties were being lowered down your thighs. A shaky breath expelled from your lips, quickly followed by a moan as Yoongi dipped one of his fingers into your dripping, overstimulated folds. From his position behind you, it was almost no effort to find the soft spot that made you buck forward with a scream, and you could hear the smirk in his chuckles. 
“You’re still so wet, love,” he whispered, his voice dragging along the wooden floors. “I can split you open right now. Do you want that?” 
“Yes,” you piped up right away, remembering the rules. 
“You gotta tell me.” Yoongi entered your wet folds again, hitting that spot like second nature. You cried out in desperate sobs as he thrust in just the right spot with each word, “Exactly. What. You. Want.” 
You still couldn’t say it. No matter how hard you tried, your brain wouldn’t let you say the word. “I,” you started, hoping that it would just flow out in your pleasure. But it didn’t. “I want…” 
A hard smack on your ass pushed you forward, your breasts hitting the glossy partition above the piano keys. “Say it. Lemme hear you.” 
Frustration leaked out of your eyes as you still found yourself having trouble. When Yoongi brought another hand down to spank you, the sting was enough to get you to cry out, “Your cock!” When the initial hurt melded into pleasure, you inhaled again before repeating in a shuddering breath, “I want your cock, Yoongi.” 
A low hum slipped over your back before he purred, “Good girl.” 
You hadn’t done it in this position: with you on your knees and someone behind you. Because of this, you didn’t know what to expect. But you trusted Yoongi more than enough to be okay with it - especially since he gave you comfort in knowing you could stop at any moment. 
But once you felt his tip press into your heat, you weren’t sure if you would ever want him to stop. It already burned so good, and you bit down hard on your lip, lowering your head between your arms on the ebony surface of the piano. 
“What the fuck,” Yoongi groaned, “On second thought: you’re so tight.” He slowly slipped back out, and you felt a sudden trail of saliva fall between your folds. Using a finger, Yoongi spread his wetness along your pussy before leading his dick back inside, and it slid in a little easier. 
The whole time, your mewls were constant, your core aching with barred release. Just the feel of his length inside of you stung with both pain and pleasure, and you waited until he was fully sheathed inside of you to start moving. Your pussy eventually adjusted to his girth, quickly awash with fire again. “Yoongi, yes,” you gasped, already feeling your lips clamping around his throbbing member.
He ceased being gentle as soon as he felt you moving again, and he gripped your hips to slam into you repeatedly, your name falling from his lips alongside all of the nicknames he held just for you. 
“Yoongi!” Your yells ricocheted throughout the dark stage as he pummeled into you, and when your sweaty arms slipped, you had to find purchase on the porcelain teeth beneath your drooping dress. The ping caught Yoongi’s attention, and he planted one of his shoes on the bench to penetrate you deeper. 
The harmonic sounds of your mewls and his grunts danced together in a furious tango, enveloping the stage in a sensual symphony of wanton lust. Your entire body bounced with his thrusts, your back threatening to snap. Not giving you time to cope, Yoongi used one hand to seize your hair and another to grab at one of your breasts. Your mewls left you in high notes as rough fingers grazed over your pert nipple, and you gasped as he tugged the material down. Your poor, tiny strings didn’t stand a chance, and they gave way to the force and lengthened enough for your dress front to hang below your chest. 
The man thrusting into you groaned as he seized your hair so forcefully that your entire body bumped into his front. “These tits,” he rasped in your ear, bringing both hands to your front to squeeze them upward. Tugging the nipples in his fingers, he pulled a sinful moan from your mouth before worshipping, “You’re so beautiful.” 
“Please, please,” you begged and begged, “I need to come.” 
The condescending laugh you got in return shot a lightning bolt into your soul. A hand came up to wrap around your throat and lightly squeeze. “You don’t get to decide that this time, princess,” Yoongi reprimanded in your ear before nipping it roughly.  
Crying out, you fell forward and gasped for air as he released you. His thrusts were wilder then, his grip on your plush hips sure to leave bruises come morning. Wrapping an arm around your front, Yoongi glided his hand down your neck, then your chest, then down your wrecked stomach. “But since you’re being such a good girl,” he conceded mercifully, “I’ll be nice.” 
He dipped a finger into the front of your sex, toying with your bundle of nerves. The pleasurable intrusion from both ends sent your vision into stark white, and it didn’t take long for you to reach the fiery summit you’ve been yearning to reach. 
“Yoongi,” you gasped, “Yoongi, please.” 
“Come for me, baby girl,” is all you needed to hear before the wave of ecstasy finally crashed onto shore. But it was even more forceful than you remembered, and you spiraled out of any control you had. Your head and elbows banged onto the piano keys, only your fingers holding onto the small partition in front of them. Wave upon wave swallowed you and covered you in a bright starlit buzz. And then it ebbed away, leaving only a lulling hum.
Though thoroughly spent, you knew Yoongi hadn’t come yet, so you shakily propped yourself back up as high as you could. 
“Damn,” he said, almost mirthy behind you, “You good?” 
“I’ll survive,” you replied, your voice unrecognizable to your ears, “But that was… Wow.” 
“Here,” Yoongi said, softly pulling your arms back so you could straighten. Settling onto the bench next to you, he grabbed the junctures under your shoulders to lift you. “Do you wanna sit on my lap, or my dick?” 
Wait. Didn’t he still need to come? Why was he giving you another option? 
As he took in your confused expression, Yoongi laughed. “If you can’t take anymore, I can still jerk off, love.” 
Shaking your head, you offered him a lazy smile as you hovered over his thighs. “Maybe next time,” you whispered, melting at the lopsided grin in return. Your breasts were clearly visible above your sabotaged dress, so as you slowly sank on his cock, Yoongi captured one in his mouth. You squealed as he swirled his tongue around, lapping at your nipple before relieving it with a pop. As he went to do the same thing to your other one, you slowly swirled your hips, and his hands immediately went to cradle your ass. 
“Fuck,” he sighed into your sweat-drenched chest. “What are you doing to me…” 
There was a teasing tone to your voice when you responded, “I don’t know, remember?” 
“I think you know damn well, actually,” Yoongi tutted, frustration in his words.
You felt bold. Really bold. In a short burst of energy, you grabbed his tie and yanked it forward, thrusting your hips further onto his cock with a smirk on your face. “Maybe I do.” You don’t know what had come over you then, but wanting to prove you were more than a good girl to Yoongi was too intriguing to pass up. And he still needed release. You wondered if it would do the trick. 
It did. 
“Oh, fuck that,” he gritted out, gathering your hands and pinning them to your sides. Swiftly undoing his tie - and receiving a pout from you - he commanded you to open your mouth before shoving it inside. “Brat.” 
Forcing your arms still, Yoongi leaned back onto the piano and pierced you repeatedly, not letting you do anything but take it. Your core stung with the stimulation, but the inability to speak and force on your wrists were starting to turn you on enough for a second wave. 
Yoongi’s name garbled in your throat over and over and over again as he chased his own high. When his thrusts started to become erratic, you felt him pulsing inside of you, threatening to release. 
“I’m close, love,” Yoongi warned, freeing your hands. He looked fucked out beyond belief - his black locks sticking to his forehead and his pupils completely blown out - you could only imagine how you were faring.
You nodded, and he pulled the shadowy tie from your mouth, a trail of hot saliva curving down after it. “I know,” you rasped, your phrases leaving in different breaths as you rode his swells, “You can. You can come inside. Inside me.” 
“Shit,” he gritted out before wrapping his arms around you and holding down your shoulders. His next thrusts lodged his cock so deep inside that you were sure they rearranged your organs, but they didn’t last long because you already felt his come spill out in long spurts. Your name was the only thing out of his mouth when he came, and you felt incredibly strong emotions when it sang in your ears. 
Multiple beats passed in silence as you fought to catch your breath. Then another. Then another. Beneath you, Yoongi lazily undid the top buttons of his dress shirt to combat the surrounding heat you fostered. You sagged into him in a heap when your limbs unlocked, your forehead finding the slick junction between his neck and shoulder. “Oh, my god,” you whispered into his sweaty skin, feeling like a thrumming stone. “I can’t move.” 
Yoongi’s soft laugh resonated throughout his whole body. “Neither can I.” 
“I’ve done some things… But I’ve never done anything like that.” 
“Mm. Could’ve fooled me.” 
“I am curious, though,” you said, placing a hand on his chest to feel his rapid heartbeat. “What would you have done if you stayed? On Halloween?” 
Yoongi huffed, and you could hear the smile in his scraping voice as he massaged your knees, “For one, I probably would have eaten you out in one of the rooms upstairs.” When you buried your head into his neck in embarrassment, he continued. “And two, I would’ve definitely fucked you right after, if you let me.” 
“I didn’t think you felt that way about me at all. And I thought my costume upset you.” 
“Are you serious? That ruined me the second I saw you. I had to think of anything to not walk around with a tent in my pants.” He slowly grasped your biceps. “Now let’s clean this shit up before I get hard again just thinking about it.” 
“Okay,” you giggled, prying yourself from his softening member and smoothing out your dress as best as you could. 
“Actually,” Yoongi said as an afterthought, “Do you still have your uniform?” 
Warily, you answered, “Yeah, why?” 
“Thank fuck.” 
It was an hour later, when you stood on the doormat of your apartment, that you told him everything that you wanted him to hear. Like a light snowfall, you told him about how you regretted not helping him that day. How you thought about him every day since he left, and where he ended up. You also told him how you felt about him, and told him that it was okay if he didn’t feel the same way. But you finished everything off with a smile, and reiterated how proud you were - and he couldn’t tell you otherwise. 
Yoongi cradled your cheek, observing the lights swimming in your eyes before murmuring, “Wanna know a secret?” 
Darting your eyes from his lips to his shining orbs, your breath left you in a white wisp. “What?” 
“I knew you couldn’t lie.”  
Your brows immediately scrunched. “That’s not a secret.”
“That’s not the whole thing. The headmistress? I lied. I told her I threatened you into getting me out of it. I convinced her to not give you shit if you still told the truth after all that.”  
Shock fizzled across your skin as you searched his eyes for false claims. “You did?” 
“You cared ten times more about school than I did,” Yoongi explained. “I saw how freaked out you were. I figured it would be better to try and save what I could before I got kicked.” 
A million emotions burst out of your chest. What you had been regretting that entire time ended up being what Yoongi figured all along. It was such a blinding truth that you didn’t know how to voice your thoughts. They twisted and danced and rang out into the chamber of your mind in a resounding, clamoring composition. The only word that pierced through your lips was, “Why?” 
Digging into his pockets, Yoongi produced a soft yellow ticket in his hand. Looking down at the frayed edges, his voice shook tenderly when he answered, “I’d play you the other songs that you didn’t get to hear.” When you held your breath, he continued, “But you’ve heard them all before.”  
You were right. All of the songs performed were ones that you had heard him play before. And you completely forgot to connect the pieces when he said he produced the whole thing. 
But that had to mean something. When you casted your gaze down to the bold title on the paper, your heart hammered against your ribcage. “Yoongi,” you whispered, your voice and mind getting lost in the winter wind.
“My first love was the piano. And… umm,” he murmured. With the heaviest sigh you’d ever seen him take, he confessed, “And you were my last.” 
Years of pain and sorrow drifted away right in front of your eyes. You struggled to recall the lonely nights, the empty years of yearning, the monotony of your daily life up until that point. Everything was suddenly blinded by the technicolor lights of what lied ahead. You didn’t know what awaited you in that starlit path, but you knew you would be ready for it if this extraordinary, incredible man was walking by your side.
It was your turn to nurture one of his freezing cheeks in your palm, and the notion had his eyes roped to yours. Throat constricted with adoration, you whispered, 
“And you were mine.”
Two years passed in a blur, and one day, you found yourself under enormous pressure. 
But the pressure was just heavy weight. 
“Holy shit,” you wheezed, trying to lift a package you just received at your doorstep. Hollering into the flat, you asked, “Babe, can you come and get your new toy?” 
When you got no response, you kicked your head back in mock-annoyance, getting up to jog down the hall. The thumping of music was suppressed, but you could still faintly make out the drums and hi-hats through the door you approached. You burst in when a knock didn’t work. “Love!”
Yoongi brushed his headphones down to his neck while spinning in his chair. “Sorry, what?” 
“Help. The new one your company sent is here, but she’s way too heavy for me,” you huffed, pushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. When your boyfriend ejected out of his seat, a giggle left your lips. He had been waiting for that package for days. You bounded into the hall before he exited the room full of speakers and various production equipment.
“You left the front door open,” he muttered.
Roaming your guilty eyes over your diploma and his framed records on the hallway walls, you sniffed, “I knew you wouldn’t be long. Let’s bring it in before everyone comes over!” 
Only seconds passed before the pair of you lumbered the long package inside, delicately placing it on the ground of the entryway. You watched with endearment as Yoongi excitedly unboxed it in a squat, and when the slick keyboard came into view, even you let out a moan. 
“Damn,” Yoongi admired, running his hands along the substantial keys and matte black controls. “She’s hot.” 
“Let’s not get too rowdy and have Jungkook or Aspa break something again.” 
“You’re the one that keeps wanting to host. This is technically your fault.” 
Ignoring his incorrect and foolish claims, you whispered in awe, “I still can’t believe you just get these for free.” Face beaming with mirth, you fondly recalled the day he got offered a music production job just months after his showcase. You remembered the email, the way he sat in speechless wonder, and the hug that lasted until you both couldn’t cry any longer.
The full-ride scholarship was just an insane bonus on top. 
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Because you made a point to keep telling him that. Day after day after day. 
Yoongi slowly got up from his spot on the floor, ignoring the shiny new package entirely. After he caged you against the wall, he cradled your neck - his fingers full of nothing but warmth. Kissing your forehead with a soft peck, he proudly and confidently affirmed with sunshine and starlight in his eyes,
“I do.” 
a/n: if you reached the end, thank you for reading! i had so much fun writing this, and it's definitely the longest one-shot i've ever written! okay, i've only written one other - but! nuances. as always, if you have any comments, constructive feedback, or anything else, i would love to know what you think! lastly, here are my to-write list & m.list links if you want to browse! 🎹🎹🎹 
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untaemedqueen · 4 months ago
Third Wheeling
CEO!Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Chapter 32 (Final Chapter).
Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love
Warnings For This Chapter: Daddy Kink, Degradation, Hand Job, Lactation Kink, Milk Drinking, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Pregnant Sex, Unprotected Sex, Riding, Begging, Praise, Spanking
A/N: This is the FINAL, FINAL chapter.... Wah, can you believe it? This is so crazy! I'm so so happy that everyone has enjoyed Third Wheeling so much! Thank you to my forevers @xjoonchildx​, @ladyartemesia​ and @ppersonna​ for being behind me on everything about this series
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The sharp whistle that Yoongi chirps, bleeds through the living room of the mansion.
His two year old son turns to him with round, curious eyes. His small hand is outstretched trying to pick up the million dollar vase you have on display on the coffee table.
"What're you doing, my little troublemaker?"  Yoongi murmurs, wrapping his arms around his son and throwing him up in the air.
Honggi squeals loudly, curling his arms around his father's neck like needy vines.
"Maya, please move that vase before Y/N has a fit." Yoongi whispers to the woman he's always admired.
"Yes, Sir." she giggles.
"Dada," Honggi squeals into his neck and Yoongi's heart clenches at the sound.
"Yes, bud?" he inquires, tilting his head to look down at his son.
"Hungry." his son breathes.
"Mommy's making food, let's go see." Yoongi chirps, running his large hand over his son's small back.
Taking in the new mansion, Yoongi is really happy with it.
He didn't bring over a special architect from Greece, he didn't fawn over the marble this time around. He let you pick the house.
And like always, you're incredible.
The house isn't particularly gaudy like the last one which he shared with his ex-wife. It's warm wooden interior and gray and white furnishings scream home. And that's what Yoongi always needed -- a home.
Although, anywhere with you is home, he's noticed.
The wings that spread out far and wide throughout the house have pieces of art that make Yoongi feel comforted and he's astounded everyday by how thoughtful you are.
"Mama!" Honggi screams and it rips your husband out of his daydream.
"Uh oh, here comes trouble." you sing, slinging your towel over your shoulder.
You extend your arms over the quartz island for your son and Yoongi is incredibly cautious.
"Be careful, please," he begs.
You give him a sweet nod, accepting your son into your arms and Honggi leans over the pot curiously.
"Cow?" he asks and you snort loudly.
"Yes, beef." you reply, wiping his chin with your thumb.
"B-Beef," he repeats and Yoongi beams.
Honggi isn't one to stay in anyone's arms for long, despite how much he adored being held as a newborn. He wriggles almost immediately to get down and Yoongi takes a sharp breath between his teeth cautiously.
"Watch mommy's belly, please." he yelps, setting your son on the floor.
"Jesus," he bleats, kissing your cheek.
"It's okay," you promise him, bending down to fix your son's black hair.
Honggi hugs your neck tightly, kissing your cheek so sweetly that it turns you into a puddle of love.
"What should we name your brother and sister?" Yoongi inquires of your son as he leans both elbows down on the island.
He pops a grape in his mouth, looking at his kid expectantly.
"Pororo... Poby!" Honggi giggles, swaying back and forth.
"Oh yeah, good idea! We can name them after penguins!" Yoongi teases, giving his son a grape.
"Poby is a polar bear." you inform him, stirring the stew.
"Yeah daddy! Bear!" Honggi scoffs, tugging on Yoongi's pants playfully.
"Oh, I'm sorry daddy doesn't know what anthropomorphic animals his son watches while he's at work." your husband murmurs.
"An-Anth-Anthr… Animals!" Honggi gasps and you laugh gently.
Yoongi takes a deep breath through his nose, allowing the comfort of being surrounded by his family to enrapture him.
He steps behind you, wrapping his arms around you and your growing stomach.
"I missed you today, little dove." he breathes, kissing your temple.
"You miss me everyday," you state, turning around in his grasp.
"That's true. Because I love you." he coos, pushing some hair back behind your ear.
"I love you too," you giggle, accepting the kiss he gives you.
Since Yoongi became a father he's learned so many things like patience and showing love to his child, the likes of which his younger self never got to see. He wants to give his family the entire world if he can, he wants to give all of you everything you could possibly desire because it was so terribly lacking when he was a kid.
"Dinner isn't going to be ready for a bit." you tell your family.
"But I'm hungry now!" Honggi cries, throwing his head back in a dramatic two year old fashion that both of his parent's laugh at.
"Okay. We'll have yogurt and go play with the Gaesu until Mommy is done cooking." Yoongi announces, picking up his son and slinging him over his shoulder.
"I love you mommy!" Honggi squeals.
"I love you too, bub." you reply, kissing his forehead.
"Give mommy's belly a kiss before we go." your husband instructs, patting his son's backside.
Honggi kisses your growing stomach and you can only snort at your husband's silliness.
"Okay. Now dada!" your son says, clapping.
The CEO kisses your stomach and then your forehead.
"You're gonna wrinkle your suit." you chide him, leaning back against the counter.
"So worth it." he retorts, giving you a gummy smile.
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Two years have flown by in the blink of an eye.
There has, of course, been hard work that's been poured into your marriage whether it be for Honggi or just to be able to spend time together but the honeymoon phase has never truly died down.
You bask in each other's company like lizards under the hot sun.
You thrive when you're both together.
It's fate, really.
"He's asleep," Yoongi announces, stepping into your bedroom.
"Oh, nice. It only took two hours instead of three like yesterday." you know you sound sarcastic but it's really true. Honggi never seems to be able to sleep when he needs to, he's hyperactive in waves and thoroughly enjoys spending time with his father.
"Well tonight we read the big bad wolf and then he got scared so I had to calm him down and stay with him until he finally fell asleep." your husband rambles, peeling off his clothes.
You hum in agreement, sitting up gently.
Yoongi's tattoo of the large family tree on his bicep seems to shine in the dull lights of the room and it makes a smile spread over your face.
"How are my other babies?" he inquires, laying down beside you on the bed.
It's no secret that you adored your son and it's no secret that Yoongi wanted you pregnant almost immediately after Honggi was born. He missed your big belly and the closeness it brought the both of you when you were pregnant. But after Honggi was born, your paintings were flying off the art exhibit walls like hot cakes and you needed time to create new works of art.
While your husband had his tantrums and gripes about it, he understood. Being pregnant is difficult and he knows that, so when you told him he had to wait, he begrudgingly accepted it.
Your art was on hold now, with over two hundred pieces out in the world at any given second, you decided to focus on family.
"They're okay," you promise, running your fingers through your hair.
You can remember when you found out you were pregnant again for the second time. All of your symptoms hit so much harder than the first pregnancy.
"Baby? We gotta go. We're gonna be late." Yoongi calls, peeking into the bathroom.
He didn't expect to find you heaving over the toilet but when he does, two things happen simultaneously. There's a sharp bout of worry and a thinner vein of excitement that spread through his bones.
"What's the matter, my dove? You feel sick?" he pouts, entering the bathroom to rub at your back.
You shiver gently, waving your hand to the large gray cabinets beneath your sinks.
"I'm not a mime, I'm sorry." your husband whispers, raising an eyebrow.
"Pr-Pregnancy test," you plead.
He could just about pass out and die from happiness from those two words.
"Really?! You think so?!" he beams, ripping open the doors and tearing open the cardboard box like some sort of rabid animal.
His hands are shaky when he gives you the test and he helps you off of your knees immediately.
His thumbs rub at the tile indentations on your kneecaps and like always he stares up at you like you hang the moon on a string for him each and every night.
"I'm sorry we're late." you whisper, blotting your mouth with toilet paper.
"This is way more important. Fuck that. Jeongguk can wait." Yoongi avows, watching you cap the pregnancy test.
"We probably aren't even going to make it there anyway," your husband breathes.
"Why not?" you inquire, standing up and smoothing out the skirt of your dress.
The CEO wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your neck. "Because if you are pregnant, I'm gonna have to do some celebratory stuff."
You laugh aloud, running your fingers over his arms. "Stuff like what?"
"Like eating your pretty pregnant pussy and fucking your pregnant cunt." he murmurs against your skin.
You shiver at his words, glancing down at the test.
You hope you are pregnant. There's something insane in women's brains which makes them forget just how painful childbirth is so they can always look forward to more.
But the euphoric feeling of having a baby is well worth the pain, that's something you'll always remember.
"God, I think you are pregnant." he hisses, running his hands over your sides.
"Why do you say that?" you ask, tilting your head to look at him.
"You just feel different in my hands."
"I think you're crazy," you retort with a laugh.
"Why?!" he gasps.
"Because you didn't say anything yesterday when we… y'know."
"When we fucked?" he goads, kissing you softly.
You hum in agreement against his lips and he snorts softly.
"You did feel warmer around me." he announces, hooking his chin over your shoulder.
"It should be ready." you inform him, both of your eyes glued to the face down stick.
"Go on, show me that my baby is in you." he urges, kissing your temple.
Your heart races and your fingers begin to shake as you flip over the stick.
Yoongi holds his breath and you find yourself doing the same.
When you flip it over, the plus sign screams at you and Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief.
Your husband groans happily, picking you up off the ground and spinning you around.
"Thank you baby, thank you!" he cheers.
When he sets you down on the ground, you can't help the thrilled giggle that seeps from you.
"Should we head out?" you ask your husband softly.
The scoff he gives only seems right. "Yeah, right. I have more important things to celebrate than a boxing match."
You can only squeal when he scoops you up bridal style.
Putting his head on your shoulder, your husband takes a deep, calming breath.
His fingertips dance over your distended skin and his lips traipse over your exposed collarbone.
"You're so gorgeous," he breathes, letting his eyes flutter shut.
The smirk that spreads over your face is goofy and flushed, sometimes you find it astounding that he can even be so sweet with you.
There's a tiny kick beneath his fingertips that makes his head lift off of your body.
"What are you up to in there, guys? Fighting or something?" he gawks, feeling another flurry of taps below his hand.
"They don't have enough room," you announce, lolling your head back to the pillow.
"Well, just four more months and you won't have to be cramped anymore." Yoongi promises, sliding down the bed to kiss your belly.
"We should sleep, we have plans for tomorrow."
"Caleb's first birthday party." Yoongi remembers, drifting his lips over your skin.
You nod in agreement, tucking your hand beneath your head to get comfy.
Your husband knows just how difficult it is for a woman with a set of twins inside of her to fall asleep and he's nothing if not doting.
"Lemme put my babies to sleep," he murmurs, sliding his fingers over the soft skin of your inner thighs.
It's fascinating how the Kisung CEO can make you feel as if black coffee pumps through your veins even when you're completely exhausted.
He watches you avidly, making sure this is something you're up for. When your nipples begin to pebble and strain under the flimsy nightgown that can barely contain your swollen flesh, Yoongi knows he's got the green light.
His eyelids lower with lustful intentions and the tip of his tongue glides slowly over his plump bottom lip.
He knows you're excited for anything and everything when your hips lift expectantly.
Clicking his teeth, he pushes your body back down to the bed. "Easy now, little dove. You should know who's in charge here, baby."
Your whimper sounds like the most earnest plea as it passes through your parted lips and Yoongi can feel his cock straining against his briefs for some semblance of relief.
He kisses at your clothed pussy, already feeling how sodden the material is getting in a matter of seconds.
It continues to astound him, two years in, how willing your body is for him.
"Daddy," you breathe softly, carding your fingers through his hair.
His hands caress whatever he can find whether it be your thighs, your belly, your breasts.
"Wet little slut for me." he murmurs, tugging your panties off with his teeth.
You're quick to discard your nightgown, wanting nothing more to be touched anywhere you can get it.
Your husband hums at the sight of your core, pussy lips puffy and swollen with greedy intentions and slick with arousal.
"There she is," he breathes, kissing over your belly.
Palming your breasts in hand, you understand why he's taking so long -- to drive you insane.
He wants euphoria and adrenaline to course through you like wildfire so when it ebbs away, you'll be completely exhausted.
"My beautiful dove." Yoongi professes, spreading your legs wider.
Your eyes are glued to his abs, the way the muscles contort and constrict with each shallow breath he breathes.
You can thank each and every god everyday for the man you're married to.
You know the hierarchy in this bedroom, it rarely ends up with you on top, but the temptation of his thick, hard cock straining against his Balenciaga briefs has you throwing all cares to the wind.
He hisses gently against your distended skin when you cup his long length with your hand.
Yoongi will be the first to admit that he's missed this. He's been sweet and caring, not wanting to trouble you for sex with you being as huge as you are. He knows two babies are way more difficult than just Honggi. But, he needs you. In every single way.
"Play nice, my dove." he chides you softly, kissing up your belly to your swollen breasts.
You don't heed his words, tugging down the band of his briefs and swallowing thickly when his large cock bobs in the air before smacking up to his toned honey stomach.
His eyes flutter shut at the feeling and you know you've neglected him for too long. His cock is throbbing and needy as sin, beads of precum endlessly spurting from the top and slowly traipsing down the head.
"Baby girl," he gasps when you pump his cock in hand.
Yoongi kisses over your puffy nipples, scoffing at the pleasure that vibrates through him with each jerk.
He coos softly when you bead milk for him and his eyes snap to yours. "You didn't tell me your milk came in."
"I-I didn't know," you chirp, pumping his cock harder.
He shivers then, wrapping his lips around your peaked nub and tugging softly. He groans happily at the distantly familiar taste of your milk and his needy hands grip and massage your thighs as he situates himself further between them.
"Daddy, fuck!" you cry out gently, arching your back.
The tip of your husband's tongue is quick against your sensitive skin and you can only whimper for more.
Your shaking thumb runs circles over the swollen, red mushroom head of his cock and he gasps above you, pressing his forehead into your breast.
"Ba-Baby, this is about you. Please," he begs, wrapping his hand around your wrist.
You give a smirk, feeling high and mighty at how quickly you can break him down to a mere lustful animal.
Your free hand rubs circles to your stomach and he can just about cum at the sight of you.
His cock throbs wildly and he forces your hand off of him with narrowed eyes. "Behave, little dove. I won't say it again."
You hide your smirk, laying back down for him.
He eyes you wearily for a second before continuing his dissent on your body. His fingers caress over your sodden lower lips and his name tumbles from your mouth with a quickness.
"You're messy." he prods, spreading your lips with his fingers and tapping your throbbing bundle of nerves with the pads of his fingers.
Your body jolts, bottom lip tucking between your teeth.
God, you've missed this.
You've missed him doting on you so eagerly.
Yoongi continues to take his time, enjoying how your entrance clenches around nothing.
You're a needy little thing and you're all his. The way it should be.
"Daddy, please!" you beg, rubbing circles over your distended skin.
"What's wrong, beautiful? You're too much of a slut to enjoy this? You want gratification now?" he quips, lowering his head to your core.
You can't even see him over your belly and it drives you absolutely mad. You can feel the puffs of hot, needy breath that pass his lips but it does nothing but earn more dripping arousal from your center.
"Such a pretty pussy you have," he purrs, suckling your swollen lips.
You gasp loudly, screwing your eyes shut.
He plays with your entrance, swirling the tip of his index finger around it until your racking with sobs above him.
Yoongi presses the tip of his tongue to your throbbing clit and he groans gently at the feeling.
"Shhh, my dove. Daddy is going to take care of you, I promise." he avows, lapping at your nub with slow strokes.
It's so pleasurable, but it's not enough. You're on the precipice and he keeps you there for what feels like eternity.
"God! Daddy, please!" you beg, bunching your hands up in his hair and tugging.
He hums in fake confusion, adoring how your body shakes before him.
He's good at the long game.
He thrives in it.
When he slips two fingers inside of your slick cunt, you're about ready to burst but he pulls away from your core with a devilish smirk.
"My pregnant wife is so needy," he jeers, curling his fingers with ease to the soft patch of nerves within you.
Your chest constricts, heaving for breath. Your skin develops a thin sheen of sweat and you feel yourself possibly going insane within his grasp.
Picking his face up between the apex of your thighs, the sight of his soaked chin and cheeks hurdles you to the precipice.
"Wanna cum, need to cum!" you chant, cupping your belly while you grind yourself down onto his fingers.
"You hold it," he orders sweetly.
You can only scoff and the animalistic pride within you snaps.
You sit up, as quickly as you can, before pushing him down on the bed.
"Baby," he warns you, pulling his fingers from your heat and entering them into his mouth.
"I need it!" you whine, straddling him.
His hands immediately hold your hips to protect you from any imminent danger you might face. He goes to chide you but when your soaked cunt glides against his hard, thick length, he can only take a sharp breath between his teeth.
"I missed your cock Daddy, I missed it so much," you whine, rocking your hips.
"Oh Christ," he murmurs, gliding his hands from your hips to the globes of your ass.
With every rock of your hips, your clit thrums pleasantly at the feeling of the head of his cock prodding against the bundle of nerves.
Your shaky hands grip at your breasts, swiping your thumbs against your leaking nipples until your sobbing with pleasure.
"You're so gorgeous, fuck," Yoongi curses, enraptured with the sight above him.
Your eyebrows furrow and you're losing yourself in the pleasure as your mouth drops open.
His hands knead at the supple flesh of your backside before rearing back and spanking you with a fierceness that you adore.
"Yes, more!" you gasp, sitting up and positioning his cock at your entrance.
"You're a little cock slut, you know that?" he seethes, leaning up on his elbows to kiss at your belly.
"Your cock slut, Daddy. I'm yours," you whimper, slowly sitting down on his length.
His mouth opens at the euphoric feeling of your warm, wet cunt sliding down on him and he can only fall back to the bed with a heady thump.
"Shit," he breathes out, looking up at you like you give him the universe.
You do.
You give him everything and anything that exceeds his expectations.
You take a second to adjust to his length, preening as the head of his cock prods against your soft cervix.
"Good girl, little dove." he bleats, running his fingertips over your outer thighs.
Yoongi can see the way you swallow thickly and he can tell how fucked out you already are with your eyelids being as heavy as they are and pride blooms in his chest.
"Want you to suckle," you beg, palming your breasts.
He can only scoff at the arousing thought, he's up in a flash, minding your stomach. His lips pluck and suckle at your sensitive skin until you're shaking like a leaf under his ministrations.
"Your cock feels so big in my pussy, feels so good," you purr, rocking your hips.
He moans against your breast, gripping your hips with needy hands.
The rhythm you set as he suckles from you is slow but the impending orgasm you've been denied comes back in waves. The head of his cock taps against the sweet spot inside of you with each jolt of your hips and you're losing your grasp on reality.
"D-Daddy!" you gasp, letting your brain free of any thoughts besides just how pleasurable he feels inside of you.
"That's it, baby girl. Take it. Take what you need from me." he announces, laying back down.
Your hands push down on his chest as you begin to pick up speed and he can only cry out your name like a man possessed.
"Jesus, just like that, little dove. Fuck!" he curses, spanking the globes of your ass until your skin is smarting.
Then you feel the precipice again, you feel yourself teetering.
Your mouth opens to give a silent scream and your eyes well up with tears.
He coos softly, running his fingers through his hair as if the pleasure he's receiving is truly unbelievable.
You groan loudly, pressing your hands beneath your stomach. "I'm-I'm-"
"Cum for me, little dove. I can feel how badly your cunt wants to milk my cock. Cum." he orders and your gasp echoes throughout the room.
Your hands rub comforting circles to your stomach while your hips rock at an unfound speed.
"Yoongi!" you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.
Then -- euphoria.
Your orgasm explodes within you like a million shards of glass. With deafened ears and tear streaked cheeks, you don't even feel your husband lay you down on your back.
He fucks his cock so deeply inside of you that it brings you back to reality in waves.
"God, you look so beautiful taking what's yours, baby." he coos, sitting up.
You can only cry out gently when his strokes become erratic and deeper.
"You want me to cum inside you? You want to drip with me?" he inquires, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth.
You nod incessantly, spreading your legs wider when you feel his cock throb within you.
"Yeah? You want to be my little cum slut? Get so full of my cum when you're already pregnant with my babies?" he seethes through his teeth.
"Y-Yes, want to feel your cum so badly," you hiccup, running your hands over his chest.
His eyes screw shut when your hips meet his every stroke.
"Oh fuck, I'm cumming. God, your cunt is incredible!" he whines.
His hips give one last thrust, burying himself as deeply as possible before the warmth of his cum floods through your battered core.
You hum happily, rubbing your belly.
"I love you," he whispers, bending down and planting a passionate kiss to your lips.
"I love you, too." you reply, hooking your hand around the back of his neck.
After cleaning you up and situating yourselves back to normal, Yoongi pulls your body to cuddle against his. His fingers drift over your bare back and he sighs happily.
You're out like a light in mere seconds when you finally get comfy and he can only chuckle at your shallow breaths.
His hand comes to rest beneath his head and he can't begin to express how lucky he feels.
His attention falters to your stomach when he feels a gentle prodding against his hip. He smirks, kissing the top of your forehead and closing his eyes.
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"Mama!" Honggi screams and you know better now than to rush to him whenever he shouts for you.
"Yes, baby?" you call to him, fixing your earrings.
"Want to play with Yumi!" he calls, peeking into your bedroom.
"We're going to see Yumi now." you reply, turning to him.
Your eyebrow raises as you look at your husband's spitting image. "Where are your shoes?" you ask your two year old.
"Dada said I don't have to wear them!" he beams, rolling on the floor with your corgi.
"Oh yes you do, you're not going over to Aunt Leena's house with no shoes on." you reply.
When your husband steps into the doorway, he knows he's made a mistake. Just the look you give him makes him want to run and hide.
"What?" he bleats.
Min Yoongi is obsessed with giving his son whatever he wants. He's obsessed with spoiling him and sometimes you have to look like the bad guy.
"He needs to put on shoes." you tell your husband.
Both of your boys frown at you and it's almost so ridiculous that you can barely contain the eye roll.
"Why?" Honggi chirps.
When you place your hand on your stomach, Yoongi nods. "Mommy's right, you need to wear shoes."
He's quick to avoid chastisement today.
"But why, dada?" your son inquires.
You love the 'why' phase… when it's directed at your husband.
"Because your little feet are gonna be cold and because mommy said so. And what did I tell you about when mommy says something?" your husband whispers conspiratorially to your son.
"That you do it! Mama has two babies a-and mad isn't good for babies!" Honggi says, sticking up two small fingers.
You can only snort, shutting the bathroom light off and leaning against the door frame.
"That's right, bud. So let's get you some shoes."
When your husband goes to leave the room, he widens his eyes apologetically at you and you can't help but giggle.
"Silly," you mumble, grabbing your purse.
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Caleb's first birthday is a huge deal.
You know how much work his mother put into it and you know that it needs to be over the top and perfect for her to be thriving and happy with the day's events.
"Miss Thing!" Leena gasps, throwing herself out of the door to hug you.
"Hi Beena," you giggle, wrapping your arms around her.
Taehyung is right behind her with a smile plastered on his face.
"Happy birthday Caleb!" you gasp, taking him from Taehyung's arms.
Yoongi kisses your best friend on the cheek before looking over at her one year old son.
"Hey buddy! Happy birthday!" your husband cheers, watching as Caleb tucks his face into your neck.
It's always astounding to see how much of a one eighty Leena has done when it comes to Taehyung and her family.
You remember how adamant she was on not getting pregnant and not getting married but then when you gave birth to Honggi -- she wanted that.
And you completely understood it.
Now that your best friend is married and having a family, you can see how content and happy she is. It's something you're really proud of.
"Everyone is in the backyard." Leena announces, fixing Caleb's small suit.
"Yumi?!" Honggi screeches, looking past Taehyung.
"Yeah, Yumi too." Leena's husband quips with a laugh.
Yoongi snorts, following after his son.
"Miss Thing, I have to tell you, I would have never in a million years thought we'd see him today." your best friend blurts, guiding you into her mansion.
"Who?" you inquire, handing Caleb back to his father.
Leena's hands clamp down on your shoulders and her eyes widen. "Jin."
"Shut the fuck up," you gasp, pulling her towards the backyard.
There are a multitude of people in the backyard but your eyes find his tall, handsome stature easily.
He's standing by the fountain with his wife by his side and he looks in his element.
It's been months since you've seen your other best friend.
You aren't really sure why he dropped off the face of the Earth. You know he's probably been busy, you all have been.
But you know Leena has taken it the hardest. Jin has always meant something deeply to her so when he didn't return phone calls or texts… you know it burned her.
It's almost as if he feels your eyes on him the way he turns to look at you.
He gives you a warm smile, immediately leaving his wife to make his way across the large backyard.
Yoongi notices how your eyes get glassy when he looks away from Honggi and Jimin's daughter, Yumi. "Jimin, watch him." he orders, leaving to comfort you.
Now, Yoongi doesn't hate Jin, by any means. He respects him and in all honesty, appreciates him for helping him in his dire time of need.
But the CEO will be damned if he doesn't coddle you, his pregnant wife, to his side when you're emotionally distraught.
Seokjin is wary when he sees your husband loop his hand around your hip protectively.
"Shhh," Yoongi coos, hearing your gentle sniffles.
Leena on the other hand, just folds her arms, widening her eyes expectantly at your best friend.
"Hey guys," he bleats, running his hand over the back of his neck.
"That's it? All we get is a 'hey guys' from you?" Leena scoffs.
Jin blushes furiously, cupping his whisky tighter in his hand. "What do you want me to say, Beena?"
"How about a sorry, Kim Seokjin? That'll be the start. Then you can veer off into how apologetic you are for pushing us into the background for her." Leena sneers, nodding her head to Sera.
You take in how nervous Jin is and you absolutely hate it. You hate how small he's making himself look.
"I am sorry." he agrees, grabbing for your hands.
"Maybe you guys should take this inside," Taehyung whispers, looking over the party guests who have stopped their conversations to look over at all of you.
Leena doesn't even give an answer, only trudging back into her mansion with narrowed eyes.
Taehyung clears his throat awkwardly, walking with his son towards Jimin and Anna.
"Do you want me to stay?" Yoongi inquires, brushing some hair back behind your ear.
You nod immediately, wanting the comfort of your husband with you.
"Alright, my love." he promises, kissing your temple.
Seokjin chases after Leena and you can only sigh at the impending yelling you're about to hear.
"Miss Thing, please sit." Leena gushes, pointing to the couch inside the library.
You take a seat, watching Jin wade back in forth nervously like he's waiting for a scolding.
"Did you know that Y/N is pregnant again? That she's having twins?" Leena spits.
"Yes, I did. I'm very happy for her and her husband." Seokjin replies, helping you sit down.
Yoongi pours himself a small glass of scotch, draping his arm over your shoulders.
"Do you fucking understand how sorely you've been missed?" Leena inquires to the handsome man as she sits down across from you.
Seokjin clears his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, I-I do."
"Then where have you been?" you prod, folding your arms.
Your best friend leans back against the large wooden desk. "Listen guys, I've missed you guys so deeply. I need you to know this, okay? I'm sorry that I've been absent from your kids and your lives. I've been dying to spend time with you all."
"Okay. Then where have you been?!" Leena yelps, repeating your question.
Jin takes a deep breath, letting his eyes flutter shut. "I've been trying to start my own family. It's not easy! I've been taking Sera all over the world to different doctors and hospitals to try and see why she can't get pregnant! I've been depressed and down on myself until recently. I'm fucking sorry I abandoned you guys but I needed time to heal my heart."
The news resounds in your ears and you cuddle closer to your husband who rubs your shoulder with his thumb soothingly.
The smugness is wiped off of Leena's face within a second.
"Why didn't you tell us?" she whispers softly.
Jin's fingers card through his hair and with a frustrated huff, he lolls his head back.
"Because it's…it's heartbreaking and not what I want to bring to the table when you guys have families and lives already. I don't want to burden you guys with my troubles." he mumbles, spinning his wedding band with his thumb.
You take a sharp breath between your teeth, standing with the help of your husband who urges you to be careful.
"Jin," you whisper, hugging him tightly.
He stiffens at your touch before wrapping his arms around you. He sobs gently, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
"I did miss you guys, so much. I'm sorry," he cries loudly.
"You don't have to hide your feelings from us. You should feel comfortable to tell us anything and everything. I'm sorry if you didn't trust us enough with your worries." you murmur into his ear.
"No! I just… I was scared, I didn't want to trouble you both." he breathes, pulling away and cupping your face.
"Jinnie," Leena pouts, standing up and hugging the both of you.
"You're never a bother to us, don't ever think that." you coo, fixing his hair.
He takes a deep, calming breath, running his hands over your belly. "One of your kids is kicking me in the ribs." he mumbles.
You can only giggle, patting your eyes with a tissue.
"That's the least you deserve for not trusting us with your fears," Leena scolds him gently.
He nods, exhaling sharply until his cheeks are puffing out.
"So is she?" your best friend asks him.
"What?" he mumbles.
"Is she pregnant?" Leena inquires.
He takes a sharp breath between his teeth, tilting his head. "Something like that."
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Your eyes drift slowly over the perfectly manicured lawn watching Honggi offer to share a toy truck with Yumi. His smile is the spitting image of Yoongi’s and it makes you sigh happily. You lean against the arm of the lawn chair, resting your hand against your cheek.
You can barely believe how happy you’ve become over the past two years.
Everything just falls into the right place, everything just fits like a perfect complete puzzle.
Honggi turns to you, flailing his hand wildly and you can only giggle. Waving back, your heart expands to the size of the universe.
Yoongi laughs at something loudly, drawing your attention. You watch him sling his arm over Taehyung’s shoulder and you can only snort at the sight.
You can remember when you never heard his laugh, you didn’t know what it sounded like for quite a while and then… once he began to laugh, it never seemed to end.
That’s something you revel in, your husband’s happiness is yours well.
It gives you great pride to see him beaming from ear to ear. And you don’t think it often but --  you got him here. You got him to this state of happiness.
It’s your best artwork, yet.
“Hey Y/N.”
You look away from your husband to the one person you’d never thought you’d speak to.
“Sera… hey,” you breathe, looking up at her flawless form.
“H-How are you?” she inquires, sipping her water nervously.
You haven’t seen here in two years. She looks good, that isn’t hard for her. Something about her seems calmer and more poised then when you knew her.
“Can I sit?” she asks gently, running her hand over the back of her neck.
“Please,” you insist, sitting up straighter.
You can feel eyes on you and you can only imagine who it is but you don’t dare look away from the actress before you.
While you weren’t her biggest fan, she’s made Jin happy over the past two years and you can’t fault her for that. He hasn’t loved anyone since Leena and you can see that his heart has bloomed since being with this woman.
“No drink?” you quip, pointing at her water.
“I thought, y’know, since my surrogate can’t drink then I shouldn’t either.” she shrugs.
You don’t know what to say if you’re being honest. It must be a sore subject…
“Yeah-” you breathe awkwardly.
“I’m not upset about it, we can talk about it.” she announces, putting her hand to your shoulder.
Sera in all the time you’ve known her has never touched you and you’re surprised at how normal it is, honestly.
“I’m sorry that you… y’know… you’ve had a difficult time.” you say honestly.
You can’t imagine how hard Sera and Jin have been trying, how many hospitals and specialists they’ve gone to, how much heartbreak they’ve gone through.
“At least I’m getting a baby at all, right? I always used to be so angry about the whole situation… Maybe that’s why I was so mean to you.” she admits, carding her fingers through her long, now blonde hair.
You hum thoughtfully, looking up at the dusky sky. “I mean it mustn't have been easy for you either. I came into Yoongi’s life and flipped it upside down. You were comfortable with the situation and I just spun things around like a top.”
“Well… yeah, true. But if you didn’t come into Yoongi’s life then I wouldn’t have been able to become a better person and find the person that’s right for me.” she avows, looking over at you.
Her words resound through you and your eyes widen just the slightest bit. She’s really different these days, huh?
“Well, I came over to say I’m sorry for treating you terribly the whole first time you were pregnant, it was in bad taste and I was so selfish back then that I couldn’t begin to understand how horrible that could be for you.”
“I accept your apology.” you reply, giving her a small smile.
She breathes a sigh of relief, letting her body go lax in the chair beside you. “Oh good, I was so nervous to talk to you. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack or something.” she gasps.
You find yourself giggling and she snorts softly.
“You’re kid is cute,” she comments, watching him run over to you.
“Thanks,” you whisper, widening your eyes at Honggi curiously as he stops in front of you.
“Mama!” he cheers, holding up his paint covered fingers.
“Yes, baby?” you murmur, pushing his hair back.
“I’m painter like you! Look!” he squeals, tugging your hand.
You look over at Sera apologetically, standing up to follow your son.
“It was nice to see you Sera, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” you call back to her.
She smiles warmly, giving you a gentle wave goodbye.
Jin could have done worse.
Lowering your head, you look at the picture that your son has painted. The fingerpaint is thick and blobbish but you can see a few distinct shapes that stick out to you.
You don’t say anything at first, letting him finish a few small details that he thinks are important. He gives you his gummy smile, seemingly proud of himself and it makes you smile too.
“It’s very nice, baby. I can see how much work you put into it.” you coo.
“It’s mama and dad, Honggi and baby!” he beams, picking up the picture which is almost too heavy for him with all the paint on it.
Your husband sweeps in beside you, planting a wet kiss to your cheek and taking the painting out of your hands.
“Mommy is having two babies, not just one.” Yoongi reminds him, pointing at your stomach.
Honggi nods fervently, opening and closing his small hands demanding the picture back from his father.
Your husband snorts gently, lowering the picture for his son. You can barely contain the ridiculous giggle that tries to escape you as he draws a black circle next the one already painted.
"Two!” he cheers, sticking up two of his paint covered fingers.
“Good job, bud.” Yoongi chuckles, kissing the top of his head.
“I saw that interaction. You okay?” your husband inquires softly into your ear.
You hum in agreement, wrapping your arm around his waist and laying your head down on his shoulder. “Better than okay,” you murmur, feeling his lips caress over the top of your head.
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“Do you think he’s okay?” Yoongi inquires, pulling over the car.
You can’t help but laugh at his worried expression. “He’s fine,” you promise, putting your hand on his knee, “we can go out on a date without him around us all the time. Maya’s got it. Honggi loves her.”
He shuts off the engine, turning to you with a pout spread over his face. “I just miss him, I didn’t get to read him a bedtime story.”
Your heart is warm and you can’t help the giggle you give. “It’s our anniversary, besides it’s just for a few hours.”
He picks up your hand, placing a soft kiss to the back of it. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Happy anniversary, little dove.”
“Happy anniversary, babe.” you reply, with a smile.
The inside of Magic Shop is pristine like always, you’re so surprised that Jin has kept it exactly the same as two years ago. He always loved to change things up but you realize that he probably got so busy since you’ve last been here, he probably hasn’t had time for anything.
The music is quieter than normal and there isn’t a soul in the club. Which makes you understand immediately that Yoongi rented the whole place out.
“You shouldn’t have,” you hiss, giving Hyun a small wave.
“Of course I should have, you deserve the world, baby. Plus, loud music isn’t good for the babies,” he whispers, kissing your cheek.
Your eyes immediately land on the black velvet curtain and the memories of first meeting Yoongi flood through you like water.
“Thanks,” your husband murmurs, grabbing a whisky from Hyun.
When you pull back the curtain, you can only smile at the same leather booth from that fated day.
“Jesus, it even smells the same in here.” Yoongi breathes, running his fingers over the top of the couch.
This room holds so many memories for you but nothing beats the one with your husband.
“God, it’s like it was yesterday. I can still remember that black dress you were wearing,” your husband chirps, sitting down in the same spot he did two years ago.
He pats his lap, setting down his whisky onto the floor and you’re absolutely gobsmacked by how much this feels like dejavu.
“I’m a little big,” you murmur, sitting down slowly.
“Never, you’re gorgeous, little dove.” Yoongi coos, wrapping his arms around you.
His warm hands caress your practically bare thighs and when he looks at you, you can see the sheer love and devotion in his eyes.
“My little dove,” he breathes, drifting his thumb over the apple of your cheek.
You can remember just how smoking hot you thought this man was, how intrigued you were by him in an instant. You remember every single second of your time in this back room. You remember every minute of your days when you found out you were pregnant and how absolutely scared you were.
You can remember his good times and his bad when he was working out his feelings about you.
Nothing has left your mind and you treasure each and every memory -- because they make up who you are. They make up your life.
And it’s perfect. Because you have him.
“You were a good girl that I wanted to break so badly,” your husband announces, breaking you out of your thoughts.
“Well… you did that,” you quip, humming when he presses his face to the crook of your neck.
“Thank you, little dove, really. Thank you so much for loving me and giving me such a wonderful family,” Yoongi gasps.
“Thank you for opening up to me and showing me that our love could blossom into something as perfect as this.” you reply, running your fingertips over his arms.
When he lifts his head, you can see how glassy his eyes are with tears.
“God, I love you, little dove.” he whimpers.
“I love you too.” you reply, kissing him softly.
His lips are plush and soft against yours and you can feel the tears that careen down his cheeks until they’re soaking into your skin. He’s so gentle with you, drifting his hands from your back to your distended stomach.
“My wife,” he chuckles, capturing your chin between his thumb and index finger, “my beautiful, gorgeous, powerful wife who has given me enough love to last eons. I love you so much, little dove, it hurts me.”
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There are one hundred and fifty eight ways to say ‘I love you.’ And, they all pertain to Min Yoongi.
He’s a gentle soul and a loving husband that holds high standing with billions of people worldwide. He is sweet, wonderful and a perfect man at the end of the day. And now, everyone sees this side to him.
In the media he is praised and renowned for being a fantastic father and an equally fantastic husband. And to you, nothing could ever be more true,
It was March 23rd, when you saw him and met him. You tasted the finest of liquors and smelt the smoke of the richest Cuban cigars.
It was March 23rd when your life had truly begun.
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minyfic · 28 days ago
mortalised - MYG | M
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↣ after a year of being away from your best friend, he finally takes some time off to pay you a visit and he has something important to ask you, but something else gets in the way.
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pairing: dilf!yoongi x reader
genre: fluff, smut, slight angst, bff2l
word count: 5.5K
warnings/tags: strong language, soft yoongs, oof rich producer Yoongi, Dom!yoongi, a lot of talk about nipples, explicit smut- breast play, breast kink, hickeys, oral (f), dirty talk, fingering, pussy slapping, choking, praise kink, edging, reverse cowgirl, protected sex
a/n: yoongi as a dad just *sobs*
Smiling to yourself at the pretty display of fruits you’ve arranged yourself on the dining table, you signal for Mrs. Choi to bring in the rest of the dishes and pull out your phone from your pocket, dialling Yoongi’s number to ask how much longer he’ll be until he reaches your house.
He answers on the second ring, and you can’t hide the excitement in your voice, knowing that you’ll be seeing your best friend after a year of hour-long phone calls and half-hearted texts. Due your busy schedules, you couldn’t make it to visit him, and he couldn’t leave his work for longer than a day. So, he took his much-needed break to spend time with you.
“Hey! Uhm, where are you right now?”
He takes a while to answer, “I’m five minutes away.”
“Okay. See you in a bit. Bye~”
You hang up and head to the kitchen to help Mrs. Choi with heating up the food and setting it on the table, the aromas make your jowls tingle, and you can’t wait to see the look on Yoongi’s face, having prepared his favorite food and dessert.
Hearing the buzzer, you walk to the lounge and press the button that opens your front gates, skipping to the window and seeing Yoongi’s white car park off in the spot that used to be his. Now occupied by his new Mercedes.
Before he can ring the doorbell, you’re yanking the door open, surging forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders.
You shut your eyes, fighting off the urge to start sobbing in his shoulder. You only realize how much you missed him when you hear his voice, hands coming up to rest on your waist, hugging you just as tight.
“Hey,” he laughs as he speaks, trying to push you away from him, dipping his head to look at your face, “are you gonna cry?”
You shove his shoulder, “shut up. You know we haven’t seen each other for almost a year.”
Helping him with the bags in his hands, you close the door behind him and follow him up the stairs, shuffling to your guest room.
“Over a year,” he corrects, you nod when he points to the guest room door, “good to see you didn’t get rid of that.”
You roll your eyes, knowing what he’s referring to and set the shopping bags on the bed, seeing him take off his blazer and roll up his sleeves.
Curling your fingers around his arm, your eyes widen in awe, “have you been working out?”
He chuckles, sorting through the shopping bags, “yes. I work out. Here.”
Thrusting a large shopping bag in your direction, he gestures for you to take it, grinning at you.
“Is this,” you peek into the saffron-colored bag, having already seen the black writing on the front, “for me?”
He nods, scratching behind his ear, “Yura picked it.”
“I’ll see it later.”
“No,” he takes it from you and sets it on the bed, “I want to see your reaction.”
Lip tucked between your teeth, you pull out the box and tug on the blue ribbon. You know for a fact that this was expensive, it’s Louis Vuitton, and you forget that Yoongi is a successful producer now, it isn’t like your college days, having to choose diapers over pizza and going to bed hungry.
“Oh my God, Yoongi.”
You hold the black and white silk dress up to your face, eyes bulging out.
Chuckling, he takes it from your hands and folds it up, placing it neatly into the box, “Yura had the same reaction when she saw it.”
“She has good taste.”
“Yeah. I’m starving.”
“Oh,” you hurry out of the room, hand sliding down the balustrade as you walk down the stairs, “I asked Mrs. Choi to prepare whatever you like and I made this homemade ice-cream thing that I think you might like.”
He sits down in his usual seat at your table, and you take the seat next to him, making sure he gets a little of everything on his plate.
He hums, “so good.”
Giggling, you take a bite of the kebab, taste buds tingling with the flavor.
You’re eating in silence, knowing that Yoongi likes to enjoy his food now and talk later. You’re like that yourself, but you catch him looking at you every so often.
You hold your palm over your mouth, “what?”
“Nothing,” he speaks around a mouthful, “you just look different.”
You cock an eyebrow in confusion, “different?”
He nods, “yeah. I don’t know. You just look different.”
“I…haven’t done anything different. Maybe my hair is longer.”
Shrugging, he goes back to the attacking the meat, “maybe it’s because I haven’t seen you for so long.”
“Maybe. I think it’s the longest we’ve been apart.”
He laughs, holding his fist to his mouth.
He waves a hand dismissively, “nothing.”
Shooting him a puzzled look, you toss a cucumber slice in your mouth, forgetting how weird your best friend can be. That’s how you became best friends anyway, mutual weirdness.
When your tummies are full, you relax in your lounge, watching the rain splash against the window, holding a tray of churros in your lap.
“Yura is with her-“
“Yeah, she took her while I’m away.”
You nod, passing the tray to him and licking the cinnamon off your lips, “and is she taking her regularly or…?”
He shakes his head, pinching a churro between his fingers, “Rika gets busy. She takes her once every three months and even then, it’s just for a day. Sometimes two.”
“Better than before.”
He dusts his palms and sets the tray on the coffee table, folding his legs on the couch, “it’s like nothing. It’s not that I don’t love spending time with my daughter. I just…get busy sometimes and I feel guilty. She needs to spend time with her mother too.”
“No. I get it.”
“And then,” he adjusts the blanket on his lap, “if I get a nanny, she doesn’t stay longer than a month. I thought that Rika might want to make up for lost time with Yura but I guess I was wrong.”
You place a hand on his knee, “she was absent for the first two years of Yura’s life. She missed out on a lot.”
He sighs, “yeah. But you were there. You know she still keeps that pink star cushion you gave her, and I have to tell her that dumb story you made up about some fairy every single night. And if I miss the smallest detail, she just knows.”
You laugh, tugging the blanket closer to your chest, “I miss her.”
“She misses you too.”
You stare out the window, thinking of the little princess that is Yoongi’s daughter. How suddenly, she entered your lives, her tiny footsteps made an imprint in both yours and Yoongi’s hearts.
“So,” he punches your thigh lightly, “how’s things with you?”
You shrug, “same old. I got used to working from home. It’s nice.”
“It’s good to do things at your own pace.”
You hum, broken out of your thoughts when he punches you a second time, you stare at him, mouth parted in a silent ‘ow.’
“And what about your love life?”
Scoffing, you think about the last guy you hooked up with, “non-existent. I guess.”
“Non-existent? What happened to-“ his eyebrows pinch together “-that guy. The one you told me about two weeks ago. Kijung, was his name. I think.”
Rolling your eyes, you try to keep the image of his judgmental look out of your mind, grimacing at the memory.
“What’s with that?”
Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, narrowed in your direction.
“What’s with what?”
He gestures to your face, “that face you made just now.”
“Nothing,” you try to change the subject, but you know Yoongi doesn’t let things go so easily.
“Come on. We used to tell each other everything before. I literally told you the exact position we were in when I thought I knocked u-“
You raise both your palms up to his face, “okay okay. I get it.”
Gummy smile in place, his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, urging you to continue.
You clear your throat, wondering how you’re going to tell your best friend that the guy you were hooking up with said you’re weird because your nipples aren’t sensitive.
“So…He uhm, we were in his car and…”
You wring your hands, knowing you can’t back out now with the way Yoongi is listening so attentively, fist pressed to his cheek.
“He was trying to-“
“Trying to?”
Your eyes widen, lips in a pout, “would you let me finish?”
“Okay,” he sucks his lips in, trying not to laugh, “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“He was like, all up in my space-“
“As he should be.”
He fiddles with his earrings, “I’m sorry! You’re just taking so long to-“
“I think his fingers were trying to pluck my nipples out and when he asked if it felt good and I said no, he said I’m weird because it should feel good and then I said my nipples aren’t that sensitive, so it doesn’t feel good for me!”
You hear Yoongi suck a breath in, “wait. Your nipples aren’t sensitive?”
Glaring at your friend in annoyance, you fold your arms and lean against the backrest, “anyway. You asked about my love life so-“
“Wait wait wait. What do you mean your nipples aren’t sensitive?”
You shut your eyes, regret for ever bringing this up with Yoongi makes you want to run upstairs and hide under your blanket, knowing he isn’t going to ever let this go.
“I’m not judging you or anything…I’m just curious.”
Taking a deep breath in, you avoid looking at his face, not wanting to see the very judgmental look on his face.
“I guess for some woman it isn’t.”
“You learn something every day.”
Silence thickens in the air, and you think about something else to discuss, suddenly feeling out of place in Yoongi’s presence.
“So…How’s work?”
“It’s good. So, wait. If someone accidentally touches your nipples. It-“
He straightens his posture, pouting as he speaks, “I’m sorry! I just, refuse to believe it!”
“Well, believe it! Because I am one of the women with non-sensitive nipples!”
His eyebrow jumps, fingers going up to rub his chin, “maybe they weren’t doing it right.”
“Doing what right? Yoongi?”
“You know. Playing with your nipples.”
Groaning, you shove your face into the cushion, “why did I ever tell you this?”
You lift your head to look at him, speaking plainly, “Yoongi. Even when I play with my nipples. I feel nothing.”
“Wait but like, maybe it’s because you’re doing it wrong.”
“What are you-“
He springs up from the couch, kneeling in front of you, “it’s like tickling yourself. You don’t feel anything, but if I were too-“ his fingers attack your sides, moving up to your armpits, while you kick and try to squirm away from him “-see.”
“Yoongi,” you breathe, “okay okay! Stop! What are you saying?”
“What if I-“
“What if you…what?”
His eyes flicker from your face to your chest, and you jump up from the couch, crossing your arms over your chest and backing away from him.
“No no no. Whatever it is, you can’t-“
He charges toward you, laughing like a mad man as he chases you up the stairs and into your room, wondering why you’re behaving like a bunch of idiots. But when your stomach starts to hurt with the laughter, and you slip on the tile to land face first on your fluffy rug, you realize just how much you missed Yoongi and his antics.
“Yura runs faster than you.”
You jump in fright when you see him hovering over you, hair falling into his face.
He helps you up and you sit at the edge of the bed, almost forgetting how you landed up here in the first place.
“I could help you.”
Chest still heaving, you turn to Yoongi, wondering why he’s being so adamant on doing whatever it is he wants to do.
“With what?”
“You know, your whole nipple situation. Because I know you,” he wags his index finger in front of your face, “you’ll probably dodge any and every other hook-up because of this one incident.”
He might have a point, but it still doesn’t make sense to you.
“I’m your best friend and I will help you. With whatever you want. Because you helped me…You help me.”
“Yoongi,” you chuckle, “this isn’t a big deal. This is nothing compared to the help you’re referring to.”
He nods, frowning as he walks toward the door, “I’m just tryna help. I know you don’t need my help, okay,” he fake cries and you jump up and yank him back down on your bed.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
He wipes a “tear,” and you roll your eyes, “okay, you big baby. What do you suggest?”
You move away from him, face scrunching up, “why are you so excited?”
“I’m not. I just didn’t expect you to agree.”
You open your mouth to argue with him, but he cuts you off, moving up on the bed and settling under the blanket.
“Uh…What are you doing?”
“You said I can help you…”
He flips the other side of the blanket over, patting the space next to him. You take the space tentatively, staring at him in confusion.
“I could help by you know…-“ his eyes dart your chest “-but I don’t need to look, you can keep them covered while I work my magic under the blanket.”
“Your magic?”
He cracks his knuckles, “yes. My magic,” he waves his fingers in front of your face, but you swat them away, thinking if this crosses the boundaries between two best friends.
“I’m just helping you out. This will stay between us. Obviously.”
You peek under the blanket, staring at your clothed breasts.
“Just think of it as a massage.”
You move closer to him, and he does the same, preparing yourself for his massage.
“Lie down.”
He fluffs up the pillow behind you, “lie down and relax.”
You swallow, trying not to think about how weird this is and follow his orders, listening to his steady breaths and appreciating the smell of his cologne.
When you lie down flat on the bed, him watching you so intently has you feeling embarrassed all over again, cheeks heating.
“Close your eyes if you’re feeling awkward. And think of me as…a hook-up. Someone you find attractive. I don’t really know.”
Your eyes fly open, “then why are you doing this?”
He places his palm over your eyes, “just shush. And feel good.”
“I can’t if you-“
His hand moves down to cover your mouth, you can taste cinnamon.
Slowly, he removes his hand, and you can feel it travel down your neck, slotting between the blanket and your body, resting at the top of your right breast that peeks out from your dress.
“Your hand is warm.”
Grumbling a bit, you can hear him shuffle next to you, probably lying down to get comfortable too.
His hand moves lower, fingers splayed over the middle of your breast, on your nipple.
“Your nipples are hard.”
You shake your head, “why do you sound so shocked? It’s cold.”
“Get warm then.”
“I’m under a blanket.”
He moves closer to you, you can feel his chest touch your side, heat radiating off his body. The side of your pillow dips down, and he starts to caress your breast.
“Can I pull your dress down?”
“I can’t see anything.”
You nod, pulling the strap of your dress down while he pulls the other, your eyes remain closed.
You’re wearing a white, lacy bra. Suddenly you remember that white is his favorite color. You laugh to yourself.
His movements on your breast come to a stop, breath wafting over your face.
“What’s so funny?”
Shaking your head, you try to stop the giggle that threatens to leave your lips, the offended tone in his voice evident.
You feel him pull down the lace of your bra, calloused fingers making contact with your skin, breath hitching when he twists your nipple between his thumb and index finger.
Choosing to ignore him, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, feeling him pinch your areola and rub his middle finger on your nipple, heart starting to beat erratically in your chest. When he starts to flick your hardened bud with his index finger, you grip his thigh, heart leaping to your throat.
You hear him laugh, deep and throaty, “relax.”
“What are you doing…to me?”
You realize that you’re whispering, panting as your fingers dig into the material of his pants while his fingers tug and swirl around your nipple, sending shockwaves all over your body.
“Told you. I have magic hands,” you feel his warm forehead touch your cheek, “let’s give the other one some love, hmm?”
His fingers dance across your chest, pulling the lace over your left breast and working on your nipple, twisting and pinching, his arm rests over your other breast. His ministrations cause you to clench your thighs together and when you realize why, your eyes fly open, seeing Yoongi, face extremely close to yours, pupils blown, breath kissing your lips. Maybe you didn’t think this through.
“I guess I’m not weird,” you mumble, unable to tear your gaze away from his face, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
“How could you think that you’re weird?”
With a final tug to your nipple that has your breath stuttering, he rests his hand on your stomach and you wonder why he isn’t moving away.
“I can make it feel better.”
The throb between your legs gets worse with each moment that passes, with each flutter of his lashes, with each sniff of his minty breath and cologne that surrounds you.
Voice above a whisper, faces inches way and it’s almost like you’re speaking into each other’s mouths. He’s so close, too close, but you aren’t uncomfortable. The person that you were thinking about, the attractive person, was Yoongi. Because he is, in fact, very attractive.
“But it involves me…seeing your,” his eyes are half-lidded, and you realize that you’re still holding his thigh, still holding him close to you.
You could shove him away and say that he’s weird, but he caused it. He caused the wetness between your legs that only grows as you hear his deep, raspy voice, vascular hand caressing the skin below your breasts.
“I don’t mind. We’re best friends, right?”
Immediately, he slithers down the bed, face disappearing under your blanket, “are we?”
Your chest is heaving, a million questions muddling your thoughts but before you can comment, you feel his pouty lips drag between your breasts, hands squeezing both your mounds, crying out when he begins to suckle on your nipple, massaging the other while he flicks his tongue, pulling it between his teeth, earning whimpers from you.
His actions fog your mind, but you don’t see why his hands, his mouth has this effect on you, because you’ve had your tits sucked before, but it never felt like this.
Your back arches off the bed when he purses his lips around your nipple and pulls, hand creeping up your neck. He taps your bottom lip with his fingers, and you startle, wondering what he wants you to do, you still can’t see his face, but he runs his index and middle finger along the seam of your lips and you slowly open your mouth, feeling him push them in to rest on your tongue, pressing down a bit.
He swirls his digits around your tongue, suckling on your breast noisily, spit dripping down your flushed skin. He pushes them to the back of your throat, and you gag, closing your mouth around his fingers and sucking with the same speed that he uses on your sore nipple.
You let go of his saliva-slick fingers and feel him drag it down your chin, all the way down to your other nipple, smearing your spit all over, nail digging into the skin lightly.
He rolls your nipple between his fingers, sucking your nipple into his mouth, tongue abusing the flesh, you brace yourself on the mattress, so consumed by the feel of his mouth.
When his teeth pierce into the skin near your nipple, you moan, hand going down to tug at his hair.
He sits up, taking the blanket with him, exposing your nipples that are now a bright red to his hungry gaze.
His raven strands stick to his forehead, face as rosy as your chest, still wearing his white button up shirt and black pants.
“You should take off your clothes,” you breathe, only realizing what you said after he presses you into the mattress, face a breath away from yours, you try not to look at him but he pinches your cheek, demanding your attention.
“Why should I take off my clothes? Hmm?”
He has a smirk on his face, it sends a shiver down the length of your spine, lips glossy and pink.
“I was just-“ you shake your head, hands going up to cover your face but he grabs them, pinning them to your sides, gasping a bit when you feel his bulge against your thigh “-Yoongi.”
“You want me. I know you do.”
His eyes search yours, smirk replaced with a much more serious expression.
“Yoongi. We’re best friends.”
“So,” he presses his forehead to yours, “we aren’t in college anymore. We’re adults. We have been for a while, but I only have the balls to tell you how I really feel now.”
You’re shocked. Is this his way of confessing? You had a crush on Yoongi during your first year of college, but it faded away when you became close friends. And he had girls lining up for him, until he found out about Yura. He changed, and he needed a friend. Someone to be there for him, to remind that he needs to be strong for his baby.
“You are the only reason why I came back to this town, you know that?”
You blink at him, shaking your head, realizing that he had let go of your hands but you’re still holding them there, you place them on his waist.
“I came for you. I want you to come live with me. And Yura. I know, it’s a lot to ask with your house, your work and everything that you’d be leaving behind. But I need you,” his lip trembles and you can feel a lump build in your throat, reminiscent of the last time you heard him say those words, “I missed you.”
You cup his cheeks, “Yoongi.”
“I’m sorry I told you like this. It was wrong of me.”
Shaking your head, you place a kiss to his cheek, eyes warming, “it’s okay. I just…I need some time.”
He nods, “of course. But I want you to know that your company has offices there by-“
“Yoongi,” you giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist, struggling as you flip him over, “don’t worry about that right now. For now,” you kiss his jaw, fingers working on unbuttoning his shirt, “worry about the mess you made.”
“What mess?” He bucks his hips, erection pressing into your core, expression on his face changing in a matter of seconds.
You push the thin material off his shoulders while he pulls down the zipper on your dress, letting it fall from your body.
“I think you know.”
You fumble with his belt, pulling it out of the loops and unzipping his pants, hastily working on removing his boxer briefs.
In one swift movement, he has you under him, cocking his head to the side as his eyes rake down your figure.
“What are you doing, kitten?”
You gulp, “I was just-“
He tsks, leaning down to nip at your earlobe, “so desperate for my cock. You want me, hmm kitten?”
The look in his eyes matches yours, hunger and lust.
Nodding, you trace a finger down his muscular arm, he grips your chin, harshly.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” you clear your throat, “yes.”
He leans down and grips your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling at the flesh then soothing the burn with his soft pout, kissing you tenderly, delicately, a juxtaposition of the tight grip he has on your jaw. You moan into the kiss, hooking your legs around his waist.
“Not yet,” he pecks your lips with a feather-light touch and begins to kiss down your neck, leaving wet patches all over your stomach.
You spread your legs when he kisses your pubic mound over your panties, yelping when he tears at the flimsy material, tossing it across the room.
Staring up at you, he spreads your folds with his fingers and places a soft kiss on your clit, your pussy clenches. Body buzzing with desire, feeling every inch of your skin prickle with goosebumps. He flattens out his tongue and licks a broad stripe from your slit to your throbbing bud, your eyes close with the feeling.
“Eyes on me.”
You watch him work his tongue on your clit, flicking and curling the wet muscle around it, saliva mixing with your arousal. He tilts his head and kisses your thigh, circling your entrance with his index and ring finger. He sucks your clit into his mouth as he adds his middle and ring finger into your hole, walls squeezing around them, sucking him in, back arching when he massages your walls.
He sets a pace, tongue pressing against your clit with each drag of his fingers into your pussy, hooking his fingers into you, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the spot deep inside of you, whines of his name breaking into the warm air.
When he starts to move his fingers faster, tongue working rapidly against your clit, sucking noisily, humming with each shake of his head, the knot in your abdomen tightens.
“Yoongi,” you rock your hips against his face, feeling him circle your clit with the tip of his tongue, fingers slipping into his hair, tugging at his strands when you feel the pressure build, so close.
But, he pulls away, removing his fingers from inside of you, licking his lips as he stares down at your pussy, clenching in need.
“Yoongi,” you shut your eyes, jolting from the high that was ripped away from you.
Your thighs tremble when he slaps your sopping pussy, “bad girl.”
Tears prickle your eyes when he does it again, nails digging into the sheets. You watch him bend over and pick up his pants, admiring the way his muscles flex with his movement.
“Get up.”
He tears open the condom packaging and gestures for you to sit up on the bed with a wave of his fingers. You’re quick to obey, sitting up against the headboard, he settles next you, kicking of his underwear and rolling on the latex while you ogle his pretty cock, thick vein on the side, salivating when you see the precum smeared across the red tip.
“Sit on my cock.”
You’re too busy staring at his thick cock for his words to register in your brain. It isn’t until he grabs you by your waist and positions you on his lap that you realize what he said. You rest your back against his sinewy chest, holding your weight up as he grips the base of his cock, keeping the head near your slit while you sink down and take in the tip, eyes rolling to the back of your head with the stretch.
“Fuck,” he holds your hips when his cock is fully sheathed by your velvety walls, pussy stretching to accommodate his girthy length.
You rest your head back on his shoulders, grinding your hips forward, moaning when the tip finds the sensitive spot with the first thrust. He gives you time to adjust before he lifts your hips up and pushes you back down.
“Come on,” his fingers curl around your throat, lifting his hips off the bed.
You start to move with his thrusts, fists pressing into the mattress, mouth covered with his as you fuck yourself on his cock, feeling it twitch inside of you, almost paralyzed with the pleasure.
His other hand moves down to tweak your nipple, tugging at the sore flesh while you start to move faster, mewling, arms straining with each bounce. His fingers and thumb pulse around your neck, pussy clenching uncontrollably around his cock.
“Fuck,” both his hands grab your boobs, kneading them as he pistons his hips against yours, “look at you. Bouncing on my cock. Fuck.”
You moan, tongue darting out to lick into his mouth, gripping his hair as you use your other hand to help you move on his cock, feeling your high approach, knowing it wouldn’t be long until you fall apart on his cock.
“So fucking pretty,” his teeth pierce into the skin below your ear, tongue soothing the ache as he twists your nipples.
“You gonna cum? Hmm? I can feel you- fuck. So fucking tight.”
He speaks through gritted teeth, cock tugging at your walls, and when his hand moves down, fingers rubbing your clit vigorously, you cum around his cock, falling forward, hips moving in a circle motion as you ride out your high.
He follows soon after, fingers pressing into your hips, groaning as he empties into the condom, cock falling out of your pussy when you topple over on your side.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he laughs breathlessly, placing a kiss to the small of your back while you catch your breath, throat feeling dry.
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It’s only when you wake up, surveying your surroundings, mind in a haze, when you realize that you’ve fallen into a deep sleep, blanket draped over your figure, wearing a familiar white shirt.
You freshen up, seeing the bright red and purple marks across your chest and neck, hips dotted with a few too. The dull ache between your legs is a reminder of what happened with Yoongi earlier today.
As you walk down the stairs, you can hear the clanking of cutlery, seeing Yoongi sit at your dining room table, glasses perched on his nose, engrossed in something he’s reading on his laptop. Trying not to be awkward, you drag a chair across the floor to announce your presence, seeing his face light up when his head turns in your direction.
“Hey,” he pushes a plate toward you, “I hope you don’t mind, I was feeling for waffles.”
You sit down next to him, gaze travelling to the perfect stack of waffles, impressed by their color.
“They look good. I’ll get my coffee then join you. But, uhm-“ his eyes widen, cutely “-we need to talk about this morning. Yoongi.”
He dusts his hands, and you take notice of the marks on the side of his neck too.
“Oh. I meant everything I said.”
You blush, thinking about everything he said.
“I want to be with you, Y/N. Because I always did. This isn’t out of convenience. And I didn’t come all the way here to take you with me, I missed you, genuinely. But I thought what better time than now, when we’re both doing well for ourselves.”
The flash of gums as he smiles makes your heart soar out of your chest, knowing your best friend was always this sweet.
“I want to be with you too…”
“It’s fine,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand in his, thumb rubbing over your knuckles in a comforting way, “take your time. Nothing changed between us. We can still be best friends.”
“Yeah,” you smile, staring into his soft eyes, twinkling with love.
He turns to his laptop screen, typing as he speaks, “but you’re mine.”
Your heart clenches at his statement, feasting on his handsome side profile without feeling guilty. Perhaps this is the reason why none of your past relationships worked out, you were meant to be with Yoongi, someone you thought was your platonic soulmate.
“I’m gonna call Yura now. You wanna speak to her?”
“Yes,” you nod excitedly, springing up from the chair to stand at his side.
“Hey. Can you get Yura for me?”
His head tilts up, you adjust his glasses on his face, feeling his hand tickle the skin of your thigh, erupting in a wave of goosebumps. When he hands you the phone, you fiddle with the hem of your (his) shirt, spinning around as you wait to hear the honeyed voice. You feel him place his hands on your hips, pulling you down to sit on his lap.
“Hey, princess!”
Yoongi smiles at you, eyes disappearing into slits as he holds you close, and when he catches your gaze, you know, that much has changed between the two of you.
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a/n: feedback is appreciated.
talk to my characters
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taglist: @ggukkieland @moonchild1​ @mwitsmejk​ @fancycollectormoon​ @nglmrk @bex-92br​ @taeslarityy​ @roundbuttonsuga​ 
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purplehearts1996 · 4 days ago
Entering & Contracting
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Summary: Yoongi is a busy diplomat with you as his extremely meticulous assistant, however, he finds you at times a little bit too wound up for your own so he proposes a new deal, one where he can enter (you), and you write a up a contract of what exactly the deal entails.
🔞 (Minors DNI) | 😈 Smut |💘 Fluff |
Word Count: 4492
Age: 18+
Pairings: Diplomat!Yoongi x Assistant OC
Warnings: PWP? I know everyone is going through it because of BTS’s new photoshoots where they are now officially diplomats 😮‍💨 so what else will my self-indulgent ass do? Write something about it, and since Cheryl was so kind to send me this ask, why don’t I make it Yoongi centric. So, here’s a little something smutty, about what it is like being the right hand of a diplomat might look like. Oh, and let’s imagine covid doesn’t exist and travelling is a thing. Unprotected sex, fingering, oral (male and female receiving), idk depravity at its finest. Yoongi is cocky and it’s because I’m very indulgent. Use of toys, a lot of orgasms, blindfolds, idk PWP. Tongue technology ayeeeee, mentions of Yoongi’s new blonde hair, YES THAT’S A WARNING. I may have used the concept of a diplomat and rich boy interchangeably but oh well. Praise kink, idk a lot of smutty moments ensue, but it's all fun and light (I think).
Taglist: @bonvoyagenoona @mochilatae @tangledsparkles @bringmetheksj @thehorizon19 @skyys-universe @namjooningelsewhere @gukkmoans @moonchild1
© purplehearts1996 2021. All rights reserved.
“Are you’re sure you have everything?” You nagged Yoongi as he scrolled through his phone. His calmness before a trip not only annoyed you, but it was the complete opposite of what you were like. Yoongi was calm and cruised through the airport, with minutes before his flight left, while you were at the airport three hours before boarding, double-checking everything.
“Yes, mother, I have everything,” Yoongi sassed, laughing at your frantic state, “don’t call me that. I’m not your mother. I’m your assistant who is getting tired of your frantic phone calls from the airport, telling me you forgot something,” you countered, and Yoongi shrugged.
“It was a charger,” Yoongi replied coolly, and you glared at him, “yes, my point exactly who forgets a charger when they travel?” You asked, checking Yoongi’s carry on ensuring he didn’t forget his charger again.
“Someone who can afford to buy a charger?” Yoongi offered, making you narrow your eyes at him as you glared at him.
“You know what, you’d be hopeless at this without me,” you said, exasperated at his composure. “I know. Why do you think I have this,” Yoongi said, waving a piece of paper in your face.
“What the hell is this?” You asked, snatching the paper out of his hand, “Yoongi, no,” you refused. “Y/N, yes, this trip is for two weeks, and I can’t not have you,” Yoongi said.
“Plus, you get to travel with a diplomat. Doesn’t that check off some kinky bucket list shit for you?” Yoongi teased.
“I haven’t packed!” You exclaimed, and Yoongi shrugged, “you’re Marie Kondo’s mini-me. You could do it in an hour, I’m sure you know where everything is, labelled and all,” Yoongi joked, earning a glare from you.
“Come on. It’s all paid for. All you have to do is ensure I get from point A to B without wearing the wrong thing,” Yoongi reasoned, and you sighed. “Wait here, don’t touch anything in your luggage. It took me ages to organise everything,” you warned, and Yoongi beamed at you.
Currently, you are helping Yoongi pack in your apartment. It had become a routine for you two, he’d do a terrible job or forget half the things he needed, and you made it a rule that before he flew anywhere, he would stop by yours. You’d assess if he had everything with him, and then and only then would you let him fly.
“Score!” Yoongi jumped, and you glared at him before heading into your bedroom. You’d never tell him, but Yoongi was effortlessly endearing. Yoongi could be easily mistaken for a cold and quiet guy. Truthfully, you thought the same thing, but Yoongi was like a Crème Brûlée.
At first, he’d seem hard and rough around the edges. Still, when you dug deep and tapped into what made the dessert so exquisite, you’d finally understand the warmth, the sweetness and the intrigue behind such a fine piece of dessert, Yoongi was that Crème Brûlée. Also, he was very appealing to look at. Always smelt like a hint of vanilla.
You smiled to yourself, very proud of the metaphor in your mind as you packed and as Yoongi guessed everything was labelled and set perfectly. You didn’t care if others were messy, but if you were, it’d drive you mad, and Yoongi was the perfect anomaly.
Usually, you wouldn’t care for his ‘organised mess’, but your job was to ensure that he wasn’t hiding official papers under pages of lyrics and books and notebooks that he’d never let you touch.
“Done?” Yoongi asked when you emerged in the living room 45 minutes later, “yep! It wasn’t an issue. I have a checklist for when I travel,” you boasted, earning an eye roll from Yoongi. “I don’t know if that’s worth boasting about,” Yoongi murmured, and you sighed.
“Can we go?” You asked, and Yoongi nodded, “yep, Limo has been waiting for a while,” Yoongi said, grabbing his suitcase and carry on as you followed him to the car.
The entire car ride was filled with Yoongi either playing soft jazz or muting the music when he got a business call, and you were pleading that these next two weeks would not be the reason you needed a prescription for migraines.
“Drink?” Yoongi asked you halfway through the flight, you would never admit it to him, but you liked travelling with him. The luxury was a privilege to experience private jets, suites, all the finer things in life. You shook your head.
“Yoongi, no, you have a meeting once we land, literally, why are you drinking, oh,” you stopped rambling once you saw what he was drinking.
“Yeah, it’s orange juice. Jeez, I’m not a stereotypical rich businessman with no morals,” Yoongi said, winking at you. “I know, I’m just overly cautious,” you admitted, and Yoongi nodded.
“Or you’re too tightly wound?” Yoongi suggested earning a suspicious look from you.
“What the hell does that mean?” You asked, and Yoongi shrugged, “when was the last time you got laid?” Yoongi asked, and you glared at him, “how does that concern you?” You asked.
“Oh, it doesn’t, but I’m just saying it might help ease the nerves,” Yoongi said, and you glared at him.
“Shut up Min, and be quiet until we land,” you said, ignoring the comment and shutting your eyes and plugging in your headphones.
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“Okay, so you have a meeting with the CEO of Shin Corporations, followed by a cocktail party,” you were rattling off Yoongi’s agenda the minute you two checked into the suite.
For the most part, the flight was quiet, and the entire process of getting from the airport to the hotel was seamless, but what else could a diplomat expect.
The hotel was grand, and you were staying in the Presidential Suite with Yoongi, a room that came equipped with two master bedrooms, and two master bathrooms, a kitchen, a pool, and you’re sure if you looked hard enough, you’d find the vault where Ebenezer Scrooge McDuck hid his gold.
“I don’t want to a gala and pretend to socialise. Why don’t we just hit a pub or chill?” Yoongi suggested, and you sighed.
“Yoongi, they’ve requested your presence. Just make an appearance. It’ll be painless, I promise!” You chirped, earning a scowl from him.
“Why don’t you come with me?” Yoongi suggested, and you shook your head, “nope, I don’t have anything to wear to a rich people’s party,” you said, shooting down the offer, and Yoongi smirked.
“Oh? Miss I’m-always over prepared-and ready to rub it in your face, isn’t prepared?” Yoongi sassed, earning a slight chuckle from you.
“Fine, be that way, see you later? I’m only staying at the party for like thirty minutes,” Yoongi said, grabbing his phone as he headed out of the hotel suite, not letting you argue with him.
“Miss, this is for you,” the receptionist said as they handed you a garment bag later during the day, “I didn’t ask for this?” You said, and the receptionist shrugged.
“Mr Min insisted,” the receptionist reason, and you nodded, taking the garment bag wondering what the hell Yoongi sent you.
“Holy shit,” you said once you pulled out the dress from the garment bag, the dress was a beautiful ice blue, sleeveless and with a deep plunge that you knew once you put on would come down to your sternum.
You looked around the room cautiously. You knew Yoongi wasn’t around, but he was like a cat. He’d just sneak up on you.
You stripped immediately, discarding everything but your panties and slipped the dress on. You sighed.
The fabric felt so heavenly against your skin, you didn’t even want to imagine the cost of this dress, but you were sure you could have paid for a small car with the price.
The blue colour made your eyes pop and your skin glow. You twirled around in the dress, feeling like a princess, only to stop and shriek once you saw Yoongi smirking at you.
“Fuck, how long have you been here!” You squeaked, and Yoongi chuckled, “chill, I just saw you prancing from your room into the living room. I didn’t see anything,” Yoongi said, sitting down.
Yoongi stopped his teasing to take you in, he always thought you were beautiful, but this wasn’t the dress, Yoongi concluded. It was the smile on your face, the glow that the dress gave you. It was all within you. The dress simply let it shine and come forward.
“Stop staring,” you said, feeling shy under his gaze, “sorry, you look beautiful,” Yoongi said, making you smile softly. “Ah, hush,” you said, waving him off, and Yoongi shook his head.
“I’m serious. You look amazing,” Yoongi said, making you smile.
“How was the meeting?” You asked, attempting to shift the attention away from you, “boring, but I’ll live, so the cocktail party is in an hour. Will you be ready by then?” Yoongi asked, and you sighed.
“It’d be a shame to let this dress go to waste,” you said, and Yoongi grinned, “that’s the spirit!” Yoongi cheered before heading to take a shower.
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“Holy shit, you look gorgeous,” Yoongi said when he emerged from his bedroom an hour later, and your breath hitched. If you looked good, then Yoongi didn’t bother looking at the mirror before leaving his room.
Yoongi always looked good to you, but right now, he looked like a three-course meal, one you wanted to devour. His body which was getting buffer by the day was struggling against the buttons of his white shirt and black coat. His now blonde hair was styled to show his forehead, his eyes piercing more so than usual.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you said, smiling and nodding at him, “no but seriously, here link your arm with mine; otherwise, someone will think it’s okay to flirt with you,” Yoongi said, and you laughed.
“What if they want to?” You asked, teasing, and Yoongi glared at you, “you’re mine,” Yoongi said, ushering out of the suite, not giving you much time to mull over the meaning of his words.
“Jeez, this party just looks snobby, can we go, I’ve been here five minutes, and I want it to end,” Yoongi groaned, making you chuckle, “oh come on, surely something here should be enough to interest you for another ten,” you pleaded.
“Oh, there is. I’m looking at him, trying to be respectful, but that deep plunge is not helping my love,” Yoongi said, the words rolling off his tongue so effortlessly.
Yoongi was no doubt undressing you with his eyes, and you’d be lying if you weren’t doing the same.
“What were you saying about me being wound up earlier?” You asked the champagne giving you the liquid courage. “Ah, sex,” Yoongi said casually, making you scoff.
“I’m serious, you’re hot, and I’m pretty decent, but come on, wouldn’t it be nice to fuck the man who’s been the reason you’ve been so wound out?” Yoongi asked, and you thought about it.
“So what if I agree?” You asked, making Yoongi’s eyes widen, “then we can fucking leave,” Yoongi said.
“No, Yoongi, if we do it, we do this right. I’m writing up a contract and rules, and then we stick by them,” you said as Yoongi nodded, already starting to head out the ballroom.
“You know,” Yoongi said as he approached you later in the suite, “you’re not backing down from the proposition,” Yoongi said, and you nodded.
“Why would I do something like that?” You questioned, and Yoongi nodded, inching closer to you until your back hit the wall.
“Can I?” Yoongi asked as he placed his hands against your waist, pushing you into the wall, pulling you into the softest kiss imaginable.
One so soft you almost didn’t think it was real, but you could taste the vanilla and scotch on his lips, and you knew it wasn’t a mirage.
“I’ll draw up a contract, and we can get started tomorrow,” you said, and Yoongi nodded.
“Oh, also, if this all goes well, you’re going to wear this dress again, just so I can rip it off you,” Yoongi said, placing another kiss on your forehead and walking out the room.
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“It’s done!” You yelled triumphantly, entering the living room of the suit with a document in your hand outlining your rules with casual sex with Yoongi. He looked incredible in grey sweats and a shirt, hair wet from the shower, and you were in a shirt and shorts, freshly washed and ready to fuck.
“So, let’s see the damage,” Yoongi said, sitting down as you slid him a bunch of papers. If you were going to have a sexual relationship with Yoongi, you needed to detail it, no contract, no sex. Yoongi scanned the document before narrowing his eyes at you.
“Why the fuck is penguin your safe word?” Yoongi asked, and you laughed.
“No one normally yells out penguin during sex. I thought it was enough to get your attention,” you explained, and Yoongi nodded.
“Yep, yell out the stupid bird’s name, and I’ll stop. God, this is so much work. Do I have to do this?” Yoongi said, flipping through the pages of the contract.
“Are you this lazy, and will this spill into the bedroom, like you have no stamina to read a document?” You sassed, and your words snapped something in Yoongi.
“What the fuck did you say about my stamina?” His words were teasing and his voice low, and it shot straight to your cunt.
Yoongi smirked before hastily signing the contract and throwing the document on the table, “come on,” Yoongi said, grabbing you and effortlessly throwing you over his shoulders, carrying you to his bedroom.
You groaned as you felt his built form. Yoongi had been hitting the gym a lot more frequently, and you could feel it with how effortlessly he picked you up.
Yoongi carelessly dropped you on the bed before smirking at you, “I’ll see what you have to say about my stamina after I’m done with you,” Yoongi teased as he pulled out something from his trousers.
“I was looking for my extra charger in your luggage, and I found a vibrator, figured I’d put it to good use,” Yoongi smirked, and you glared at him.
“Yoongi, you can’t go through my things!” You exclaimed, and Yoongi scoffed, “I don’t think you’ll be too mad once I’m done,” Yoongi said as they crawled onto the bed, sitting across you, pulling you into a soft kiss.
Yoongi moved his lips away from yours and moved them down your neck, gently sucking and biting the smooth skin.
“Yoongi, I have work; you can’t be marking me up,” you whined, and Yoongi ignored you.
Instead, you heard him mutter, “please, you work for me, and I have no issues with you coming into work with hickeys all over you,” Yoongi sassed as his mouth to your collar bones, gently biting them.
Yoongi’s hands reached for your shirt, and he moved his mouth away from your body momentarily to undress you. Yoongi pulled off your shirt and discarded your bra along with it.
Yoongi’s hands were wrapped around your breasts, squeezing them gently, while his fingers started to twist and tweak your hardening nipples, making you moan softly.
“Good girl,” Yoongi praised, and you whined. “I need more,” you begged, and Yoongi smirked, “yeah, shit, stamina. I barely started, and you’re a mess,” Yoongi boasted, making you groan, only making Yoongi smirk even more.
“Alright, pretty girl, I’ll put you out of your misery. Lie down for me,” Yoongi said, and you nodded, rushing as you pulled your shorts down and panties in the process, lying down for him.
“So keen? I don’t think I told you to undress?” Yoongi joked, and you groaned at him, reaching up and yanking Yoongi down by the collar of his shirt.
“Please, for the love of God. Do something else other than talking,” you begged making Yoongi laugh as he got off the bed.
“What are you doing?” You questioned exasperated, “I’m doing something,” Yoongi sassed back, making you glare at him.
“Asshole,” you muttered, and Yoongi stripped, and you immediately shut up, making Yoongi grin, “seriously, if that’s all it takes to shut you up, then I’m getting naked way more often when we fight,” he said confidently.
You waited impatiently as Yoongi fiddled around in the bedside drawer, “Lay down, keep quiet and close your eyes,” Yoongi instructed and while you wanted to protest.
Still, you were so desperate for him you decided to listen to him. You felt a silk blindfold cover your eyes, “oh, come on,” you whined, and Yoongi gently flicked your swollen clit, making you writhe.
“Behave,” Yoongi warned, making you pout, and Yoongi smiled fondly at you.
“Safeword?” Yoongi asked, “penguin,” you replied as Yoongi leaned down to place a kiss on your lips.
“Good girl,” Yoongi said, making you whimper at the praise.
You felt Yoongi move his lips away from yours and down your neck, gently biting and sucking the soft skin, making you moan.
Yoongi moved down your body until he reached your breasts. Yoongi ran his tongue over your breast while he massaged the other.
Yoongi flicked and sucked your nipple until it was hard and moved over to your other breast. Moans and whimpers filled the room as Yoongi moved his tongue along your body.
Yoongi moved to place a soft kiss down your stomach until he reached your cunt. You could feel his hot breath on your wet pussy, and you bucked your hips, trying to get some relief.
“Easy, baby. I got you,” Yoongi said as he spread your thighs apart, and you assumed he laid down between your legs, with the way his hands gripped your thighs.
“Pretty,” Yoongi noted before slowly trailing kisses along your thighs until he reached your cunt.
“Wet, so fucking wet,” Yoongi commented, and you whimpered against his touch.
“Yoongi, please do something,” you pleaded, and Yoongi simply hummed, slipping a finger into you.
“Like that?” Yoongi asked, and you nodded.
“Yoongi, please, I want to see you,” you begged, and Yoongi pulled his finger out of you, “you’ll see me when I want you to see me, understood?” Yoongi barked, and you nodded.
“Good girl, now, where was I? Right, I was here,” Yoongi said, pushing his finger back into your soaking cunt.
“Is that good?” Yoongi asked, and you nodded. Yoongi said as he pushed in another finger, “better?” Yoongi asked again, and you groaned “fuck, yes,” you choked out.
Yoongi smirked and slid another finger into you. “Well, aren’t you a good girl, taking three fingers,” Yoongi teased as you squirmed around in his grip or at least tried to. Yoongi’s grip on your thighs kept you still.
“Fuck me, please,” you begged, and Yoongi chuckled “oh, I will, just not yet”, Yoongi promised, pulling his fingers out of you.
Yoongi moved up your body. He was on his knees, next to your head, while his hand was holding a vibrator and pressing it to your clit. You felt Yoongi press something cold to your clit, “fuck,” you moaned in pleasure as you felt him use the vibrator on your clit.
“Open your mouth,” Yoongi instructed, and you did so, and you felt Yoongi push his thick length inside your mouth.
“Suck me, baby, and no matter how many times you cum, you don’t stop unless I tell you. Understood?” Yoongi commanded as you whimpered around his cock. You whined, making Yoongi groan in approval.
“Good girl,” Yoongi praised. You turned your body slightly to suck him, wrapping your lips around his cock, and running your tongue along his length. You moved your hands to gently massage his balls as you kept taking him in further and further into your mouth.
“Fucking hell,” Yoongi groaned and moved the vibrator away from your clit and pushed it into you. Your legs started to shake. You moaned and groaned around his cock as you came. You moved your lips away from his cock.
“Yoongi, please, too much,” you whined at the overstimulation, and Yoongi smirked, “stamina, baby, looks like you need to improve yours.” You whimpered as the vibrator kept moving inside you. Yoongi smirked, pulling the blindfold off you.
“God look at you, so fucked out,” Yoongi commented, smiling at you, and you grinned at him slightly before taking him into your mouth again. Yoongi leaned down and pulled the vibrator out of you. “Keep sucking,” Yoongi instructed, and you groaned, nodding.
“Touch yourself, rub your clit.” Yoongi instructed, and you moved your hand down to your swollen nub, jerking slightly at how sensitive it was. You slowly rubbed your clit, two fingers going in a clockwise direction.
“Harder,” Yoongi said, and you groaned, your mouth still full of his cock, as you started to pick up the pace. “Come on, harder; I know you can,” Yoongi encouraged as he gently pulled his cock out of your mouth and adjusted himself, so he was sat behind you, and you were between his legs. You felt his hardness against your back,
“Don’t you dare try anything! Make yourself cum first,” Yoongi warned. You moved slowly, and Yoongi was not impressed. Yoongi wrapped his legs around your thighs, spreading them open, “don’t test me.” Yoongi warned again.
Yoongi moved his lips to your neck and started sucking the skin, “rub your clit for me. Cum for me.” You nodded and leaned into his touch. You rubbed your clit, hard and furiously this time.
“Good girl. Keep going. Don’t you dare stop until you cum,” Yoongi said, and you nodded and kept moving your fingers against your clit. Yoongi moved his hands to your chest and started playing with your breasts, squeezing them, tugging at your nipples.
“Fuck,” you groaned as your back started to arch. “Good girl, cum,” Yoongi praised as you kept rubbing your clit until you came and quickly moved your hand away as your clit started to ache with overstimulation.
Yoongi reached down and pinched your throbbing clit, “Yoongi. Fuck,” you whimpered as your back arched. You could only whimper, Yoongi kept pinching your clit, and giving it the occasional flick, and you thrashed about in his grip cumming again.
“So baby, I’ve been hard all this time, and you have fallen apart three times, and I have only touched you once, so who has the shitty stamina?” Yoongi teased, and you groaned, “Yoongi, please,” you begged, and Yoongi softened, “too much?” Yoongi asked, concerned.
“Just fuck me, please,” you begged, and Yoongi smiled, nodding, “lie on your back,” you nodded and shakily moved to the other side of the bed. Yoongi wasted no time diving between your thighs.
Yoongi threw your legs over his shoulders and started running his tongue, your swollen and soaked cunt. You bucked your hips, making you grind your cunt into his face, and Yoongi moaned in approval.
Yoongi moved his mouth down and pushed his tongue inside you, making you practically squeal in ecstasy. Yoongi moved his hand up to your clit and rubbed hard, he was fucking you with his tongue, and his fingers were relentless on your clit.
Your hands moved down to his hair and tugged on it. Yoongi gently pulled his tongue out of you and moved his mouth back to your clit, and gently grazed his teeth along your clit. It was enough to send you into your fourth orgasm.
“Fucking hell,” you yelled, and you were probably wailing at this point, but Yoongi didn’t stop; instead, he wrapped his lips around your clit and ran his tongue along with it. You whimpered.
“Yoongi, fucking hell,” you screamed, your hands threading into his blonde hair, as your back arched as you came again, Yoongi moved his tongue away from your mouth, “God, you taste so fucking sweet.” Yoongi groaned and pushing two fingers into you.
“Yoongi fuck, please fuck me.” Yoongi nodded. “I will, but I want the seventh one to be around my cock.” You shook, and Yoongi pumped his fingers in and out of you. Yoongi moved his thumb to your clit, which at this point was beyond sensitive.
You wailed out in pain and pleasure. Yoongi fingered you harder, and you grabbed his forearm for support as you came. Yoongi gently pulled his fingers out of you and pulled them to his lips.
“Fucking delicious,” Yoongi moaned in approval, you reached out for him, and Yoongi smiled at you, “You good?” Yoongi asked, and you nodded, “please just fuck me,” you said softly, and Yoongi smiled fondly at you as he lined his cock with your pussy.
“Fucking your cunt is swollen,” Yoongi commented, and you glared at him, “And who’s fault is that?” You asked, and Yoongi smirked, “you liked it, though,” Yoongi said, and you nodded, “just fuck me,” you said, making Yoongi laugh, as he started to pound into you.
“I won’t last long. I’ve been hard for too long,” Yoongi choked out, making you smirk, “stamina?” You quipped, and Yoongi glared at you as he thrust into your harder. Yoongi kept pounding into you until you fell apart, clenching around his cock.
“Fucking hell,” Yoongi groaned as he pounded into your sensitive cunt until he came and slowly pulled out of you and laid down next to you.
However, once the moment passed, you were scared. Would this ruin the friendship you and Yoongi had? You always tiptoed around what you felt for him, fearing that he’d deem you unprofessional, and you just took unprofessional to another level by sleeping with him.
“What’s going on in your head?” Yoongi mumbled as he pulled you into his arms, “because if I may hazard a guess, then please don’t. I liked this. I wouldn’t have done this if I wanted just to fuck you and leave,” Yoongi said, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder, making you turn around in his embrace.
“Then, where does that leave us?” You asked, tracing circles into Yoongi’s chest, “how about I take you out on a date? Let me do the planning for once?” Yoongi said, making you look up at him as he pulled you into a soft kiss.
“Rest up, sweetheart, your pretty little pussy went through a lot today, and I still have ten days, and I plan to use them very effectively,” Yoongi said, pulling you into his arms as you swooned at his words.
“I guess falling for a diplomat has its perks? Fucking me in the finest hotels in the world?” You joked, and Yoongi nodded, “oh, and the private jet too,” Yoongi joked, making you smile as you laid in his arms as he held you tightly as you both dozed off into a blissful slumber.
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btsarmy9593 · 2 months ago
Birthday Girl - MYG - 11
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Part 11 - The Night Before
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: one night stand, early relationship, noona, smut, angst
rating: M
word count: 7k
warnings: smut in the forms of fingering, penetrative sex (no condom), new position (I said it), so much OC introspection, a/n: can we just thank@xjoonchildx for like, coaxing me through this. I struggled with the final main scene. I appreciate her help.@hobi-gif is the beta of champions. and a thank you to@deoxyribonucleicacidworld &@sasseone for the validation
my dear sweet sweet readers: can I just hug each of you? for your thoughtful words, and keyboard smashes? I heart is very full.
if you like my writings, consider Patreon. supporters there get an early look at my stuff. :D
series list
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10
You are still debating on how many pairs of pants you need to pack when his text comes through.
:: about fifteen minutes away. i can uber?
Your heart speeds up (although when doesn’t it when he’s involved), but you text back.
:: That's silly. I’ll be there to pick you up.
:: thx, jagi.
When you toss your phone back on your bed, your eyes drift toward the rather small pale pink and white shopping bag sitting in the corner near your dresser. You’d acquired it only a few days ago, and you still hadn’t taken it out of the bag.
The whole thing felt presumptuous (even more so if tonight went badly).
You grab your favorite sweatshirt and slip it over your head, too focused about packing to worry about what you might look like today.
It wasn’t like you didn’t have a million reasons to be nervous this evening or anything.
Things had seemed okay at the bookstore (which is now one of your favorite places in the city) between you and Yoongi, but the talk had yet to happen and this would be the last time you both had a chance to hash things out before you left tomorrow. For a month.
It could be a month with constant communication or a month of silence.
You weren’t even sure which one was the best choice.
When you pull up to the curb in front of the station, he’s just got a backpack over his shoulder, baseball cap on backwards. He half-smiles when he sees your car and jogs over, opening the passenger door and tossing his bag into the backseat.
His voice is happy and you hope you sound as light-hearted as he does. “Hi.”
He cocks his head to the side (guess some of your worries show up in your voice) as you pull away from the curb, heading back toward your house.
“Have you eaten? I can pick up something.”
“You haven’t made a ten course meal?”
You roll your eyes at his teasing. “No. Whatever is left in the kitchen is up for grabs though. Pretty sure most of it needs to be eaten before I get back.”
He leans back in the seat, turning his head toward you. “I can take care of that. Or I’ll just let Hoseok loose in there.”
You smile. “Your friends are welcome to stay.”
“Thanks.” He reaches out and takes your hand in his. “All packed?”
“Close. Trying to prepare for any and all situations that could occur.” You glance at your hands then up at him. “How’s the studio stuff?”
He rests his head back on the headrest. “Better, I think. It’s a lot of grunt work still. Just things anyone with a semi-competent brain can do, but they’re letting me sit in on some sessions with legit musicians. I can’t even tell you who.” He smirks.
“Like I’d know who they are.”
“That’s actually, sadly, true. You’re stuck in your parents’ generation.”
“I like most music. I just don’t breathe it like you.” You turn toward your neighborhood. “You never really answered about food. I can make you a sandwich at home, if you want?”
“I can make my own sandwich, jagiya. But yeah, that sounds good.” His eyes are closed.
When you pull into your carport, he follows you in, backpack back on. When you’re inside, he touches your elbow to make you look at him.
“I’ll put this in your bedroom?”
You open your mouth to say, ‘of course,’ but you take in his expression. He isn’t sure. He isn’t sure if he can be in your bedroom. And you get it. Because you aren’t sure if he should stay in your bedroom. If you should let him.
Not with all the unanswered questions.
But you nod. Because despite your natural pessimism, you’re really hoping for the best.
Hoping in a life that tells you that hope is foolish.
He grins and leaves you to do just that. You go into the kitchen and pull out what lunch meat you have on hand.
You turn to see him in the doorway. He’s tucked his hands deep into his pockets and seems nervous.
“We should talk.”
You don’t know what it means that he says that. That he decides that this needs to happen. And you wonder if the kitchen is really the right place.
He reaches out his hand, waiting for you to take it. You are about to, but look down at your hands.
“I should wash, I just—” You gesture to the deli stuff on your counter. He grins as you quickly wash your hands, but he keeps his hand out. So when you take it, you wonder if his arm is tired from being held out like that for so long.
He pulls you into your living room, onto the sofa and carefully lets go of your hand before running his hands over his thighs, nervously.
“I’ve been thinking about this since, well, since it happened and I don’t know how to say any of it without sounding like a cocky prick.” His eyes plead with you. “Give me the benefit of the doubt?”
“Of course.”
He relaxes a tiny bit and then gets up to walk over toward the tv, where there’s a bit more space. Does he pace when thinking? You think maybe that’s what he does when he’s working on music. Just pacing until the right words, the right sound comes to mind.
“You asked me why? Why would—” He trails off. “Why would I want the woman I’m with to fuck someone else?” He looks up at the ceiling, scoffing before taking off his hat, smoothing his hair, then putting his hat back on again. “God. It’s going to sound so stupid—” He gestures with his hands, half a shrug and half something you don’t quite get. The frustration is apparent though.
“Why do you think I need to?” Maybe the question will help.
“Because… you’ve only been with me.” He looks at you. “And sex is… emotional. Especially in the beginning, when you haven’t had it a lot.” He huffs, turning and walking toward your fireplace, then back again. “Fuck. I don’t want you to feel anything for me that is just the effects of sex.”
You don’t say anything. He moves over to where you sit, plopping down next to you and taking your hands.
“I don’t want you to think you… care for me and it’s only because I can get you off.” He swallows. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
You drop your gaze to his hands clasping over yours, your brain sifting through his words, trying to understand them and him. It’s hard.
“How many?”
You draw your hands away. “How many men? Or how many times is enough?”
“You said that last time.” He doesn’t move his hands.
“I think it’s still valid.” You lift your eyes to his. “Sex is emotional. I don’t know about other people, but it is for me. Which means that if I fuck,” you choose the word intentionally, watching him wince at the way it colors your words, “some guy I barely know, it’ll probably be crap.”
“You barely knew me.”
It hurts to have him compare what you two have to something shallow (even though he’s right).
“You were kind.” You say, shifting your knees away from him. “You were so kind. And sweet.” Was it cheesy to say you felt a connection? Probably. “And it was my first time. Maybe you were shit, but I didn’t know. That’s the point of this right? Maybe I need more experience to know what we have is crap?”
“No, that’s not—”
“It’d be better with someone I know and care for. Obviously. Well, most of the men I know are married or don’t like women, or both. Except—” You get up now, wishing you could kick your coffee table without breaking a toe. “Well, except your friends.”
“What?” He’d been staring at his hands, but this makes his head pop up.
“So, who should I choose? Hoseok? I mean, he’s always so happy to see me, I guess he might be interested. Taehyung? Pretty sure he sees me as a big sister, but he is proud of his dick, and I should experience a different dick, right? Seokjin is dating, so I wouldn’t do that. But I’ll text Hoseok and ask, okay?” You pull out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, your hands shaking with… you aren’t sure if it’s anger, or something like hurt.
He’s up, and his hands are grasping for your phone before you can even unlock it. You pull it away, turning so your back is facing him. His hands drop and you feel his forehead fall to your shoulder.
“The appropriate language is ‘wyd,’ right? I’ve never tried a booty call before. Do they even call it that anymore?” You try to affect a nonchalant tone, but there’s a tremor and you know he hears it too.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says into your shoulder. “I said it was stupid.”
You don’t turn around. “Did you have someone else in mind?”
“No, god, no.” You feel his hands on your shoulders, gently maneuvering you so you’re facing him. He sees that your cheeks are wet and his face drops even more. He pulls you into his arms while your hands stay down at your sides. “I’m sorry. I know.” He holds you for several seconds.
Eventually, he draws back and stares at you.
“Explain it to me,” you say, voice more broken.
“How do you know?” he asks. “How do you know if this is enough for you?”
There are major assumptions in his question and that makes your heart jump before crashing down again.
“Us. Me.” He swallows again and you watch his Adam's apple as he does.
“How do you know?”
His lips part at your question.
“I mean, have you slept with enough people to know you’re not emotionally affected by our sex?”
He starts to say something, but you cut him off.
“I swear, if you say ‘you’re a guy’ or something, I will make you sleep upstairs.”
There’s a half-chuckle at your threat. His hands are on your shoulders again.
“You have a point,” he says slowly. “But I’ve got… a few more than you.”
“Most of the world has a few more than I do.” It’s a bit of a joke, you aren’t sure why you can even make a joke, but your heart needs a break. “If I’m good with just you, why should I try with others?”
“Because you don’t know.”
“I do know!” You push his hands off you. “I’m not a kid. I’m a grown woman, who, although inexperienced sexually, is more than aware of the effects of oxycotin and endorphins and whatever other chemicals are churning through me because of orgasms and your kisses.” You shake your head. “If it was just that… ” You take a breath, feeling like you’d been running for a time now. “Why do I just want to text you every evening and just have you tell me how your day was?”
“You don’t text me every day.”
“I know. I’m trying not to be me.”
“What?” His confused expression would normally make you all gooey inside, but you can’t go there.
“I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to say too much. Or do too much. Men don’t want clingy women. I’m all cling. I like my space, but I like your space too.”
He says your name and you raise your hands in abject frustration.
“I’m just wanting you. Any and all parts of you that you want to share. That’s not because of sex. Sex is great, but it’s not my libido doing the thinking when I want to curl up next to you at night.”
With that, you fall back down on the sofa then stand right back up.
“Shit. I have to finish packing.” Without another word, you head back into your bedroom. When you get there, you lean your hands on your bed, taking a few breaths before wiping the back of your hand over your eyes. You see his backpack on the cushioned rocking chair in the corner of your room, and you close your eyes.
You hear him come down the hallway.
“I can sleep upstairs.”
You turn to look at him. Hands in pockets, lips turned down. Your eyes fill again.
“I don’t want you to.”
“I don’t either.”
But neither of you move.
“I’ll let you pack and I’ll make myself something to eat?”
You nod, and turn back to your two mostly filled suitcases on your bed. You listen to his footsteps go the other way.
It’s about twenty minutes when he comes back in. You’ve pushed through your emotions so you can finish packing, going twice through the list you wrote down. You look up when he comes in.
“What’s that?” he asks, voice about half of its usual confidence.
You look down at the small pink and white bag. There’s tissue paper jutting out from the top of it, prettily packaged for the trip from the store to home. Or maybe you should give it to someone else.
“I bought this.”
He comes in tentatively.  “For the trip?”
You smile, but you know it probably looks awful. More like a grimace.
“No.” You pull out the tissue paper and then the two items. You watch as his eyes widen and he swallows hard. “I was going to try the whole, wear these as a surprise for you, but it felt so dumb and cheesy to me. And embarrassing. I’ve never bought this kind of stuff before. And it’s pretty tame to what my options were.” You shrug, as though this isn’t just another form of vulnerability. You are so weak around him. “Should I return it?”
His eyes go from the bra and high waisted underwear to your face. “Wear it.”
“You want me to?”
“Of course I fucking want you to. Shit. You’ll look… shit.”
You set the lingerie on your bed. “What are we?” You never thought you’d be having another conversation like this. Not after all the ones in college and beyond.
All the ones that ended with cliches: ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ ‘you’re such a good friend,’ ‘I really don’t think I should be dating right now.’
He walks over to you. “What do you want?” He’s really good at answering questions with more questions.
“I want you.” That’s safe to say, right?
“I want you, too.” He holds your hands in his.
“So, why…?” You lift both sets of hands in an effort to explain something that still doesn’t make sense to you.
“I need you to have no regrets.” His hands tighten on yours.
“I’m not gonna sleep with some random person.” You shudder. “It’s enough to not freak out when we—”
“Okay. Okay.” He presses his lips together before continuing. “Be open to it. For me.”
“Fine. Then you too.”
His forehead scrunches up in confusion. “Huh?”
“Either we both can have sex with other people, or neither of us can.”
“I'm not going to—” He stops when you raise your eyebrows at him. “Okay.”
“This is stupid.”
“I get that you think that. But I just… “
You see the struggle on his face, in how high he holds his shoulders, and you just say it. “Do we need a break?”
You’ve had an internal monologue ever since you can remember. You assume it’s from years of theatre, movie-watching and then story-reading. Your inner narrator tells much better stories than your life.
Your narrator simply says that he’ll say no. But your narrator is often wrong.
You stare at Yoongi, desperate for an answer you’re terrified of.
He shakes his head. “I don’t like that either.”
You let out your held breath. “What do you want?”
“Just… talk to me? Let me know what’s going on. If you meet someone… “
“If you meet someone?” Just saying the words is like a punch in your stomach.
“I won’t.”
“I won’t either.”
“Dammit, you are stubborn.”
“Not really, but you’re bringing it out in me.”
He laughs as though he can’t help it, that he’s surprised at it. He leans close and lays his forehead against yours. “Are you really mad at me?”
“Not you. Your thoughts kinda suck.”
He smiles, quick before rubbing his nose along yours. “I like you a lot, jagiya. I just think we aren’t going to agree about this.”
“You bet we aren’t.”
He kisses you softly. “Indulge me? Consider if you have a chance?”
You stare at him helplessly. You might be a mess, but you know your feelings. You aren’t going to want someone else, no matter how attractive or appealing they might be.
But you understand his point, as much as you disagree. It’s a pretty common thought. That to get into a relationship, a person must have tried a few things before. Practiced, some might say. You don’t really subscribe to that thinking (as a former virgin of a certain age, you obviously don’t), but you get it. You just hate it.
He moves in, mouth seeking yours and you let him. You want him, you want to reassure him that he’s all you want, but there are things that cannot be believed through words. You know this more than most.
He draws back, eyes dark. “Put it on?”
“You have no idea.” The heat has taken over his voice, giving you goosebumps. You pick up the pieces and move around him toward the bathroom. “Pink?”
“I know, I thought you’d prefer black, but I’ve really liked this pink, so…” You look back at him. “Okay?”
You picked something that wouldn’t be too hard to get into on your own. There were so many options that had clasps and ties and maybe that’s his preference, but you are a simple person at heart. You like cheese pizza, jeans and t-shirts, and things that are comfortable.
The underwear isn’t sheer because you just couldn’t, but it does cover up high which makes you feel a bit better about wearing it. It holds in a lot of your soft parts (that’s a lie, you have a lot of soft parts). The bra is pretty and lacy, but a soft lace. When you look at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you don’t think you look too bad. You wish you’d taken the time to fix your hair, maybe do some dramatic makeup on your eyes, but it is already pretty daunting to put it on, you shouldn’t do a big production.
When you open the door to your bedroom, he’s opening his backpack, but he stops immediately to look over at you. You don’t have a clue what to do with your hands.
So you end up with them clasped behind your back, looking back at him.
“Shit,” he breathes. “I mean, I always like your pajamas, but I like this.” He starts to walk toward you, then pauses. “You alright?”
“Sure. I think. I mean, you said you liked unwrapping.”
He smirks before crossing the room to you. “You remember that?”
“I remember a lot of what you say, Min Yoongi.”
“You look amazing.” He runs his hands down your arms in order to pull them forward, so you aren’t gripping them so tightly. “Look at you.” He smiles softly before leaning in to kiss you.
His lips meeting yours helps take away some of your insecurities.
“Now I kinda wish I had pretty underwear,” he teases. You make a face at him as he lets go of your hands to pull off his shirt.
“Women are different. Well, I’m different. ”
“Yeah?” He sidles up in front of you, playing with your hands, while his eyes continue to rove over what you’re wearing.
“I remember how you looked the night we met. I could see just a bit of your collarbone in that shirt. That was—” Sexy? Tempting? You aren’t sure what it was, but it drew you. All of him did.
He looks up at this. “Really?”
“You had makeup on.”
“I did. Hoseok. He’s pretty good at it. Years of performing I guess.” He threads his fingers with yours. “What else do you remember?”
“Your hair was off your forehead. Your eyes were so dark.” You feel yourself heating at the memories. “You looked otherworldly, like a dark angel. And you had this deep voice.”
He’s almost skin to skin to you, hands lifted. “I saw you at the bar.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. You were watching the crowd like I was. Then I felt your gaze.”
“You did not. You didn’t notice me.”
He chuckles, letting go of your hands to rest his own on your waist. “Not like that. I just noticed you. Then you were walking. Your voice pitched high when you spoke to me.”
You groaned. “I was nervous. You’re intimidating when you don’t smile.”
“I know.” His thumbs brush up and down, still at your waist. You thought he might undress you immediately, but he seems content just to stand close, to touch. “I don’t know if I would have said yes if you hadn’t said it was your birthday. You were cute, but I’m not much of a dancer.”
“You’re a good dancer.”
His cheeks, already flushed, darken. “Am not.”
“Are too. I’ve danced with you, I know.” You take off his hat and let it fall to the floor, ignoring his frown at that. You push his hair back, off his forehead, looking at your skin compared to his. “Pale boy.”
“I don’t like the sun.”
You giggle at his pout. Your mind chastises you. How can you laugh when minutes ago you were arguing?
How can you not?
You’re leaving tomorrow and you want as much of Yoongi as you can get.
His eyes flutter closed when you let your nails scratch his scalp. You take advantage of this, leaning in to kiss him just as softly as he had earlier. When you draw back, his eyes are open.
“So if it hadn’t been my birthday, or if I hadn’t told you it was my birthday, we might not be here?”
You can see his eyes change when he hears it in your voice. “Jagiya, don’t be sad. You did and we’re here.”
“I know. Sometimes I still think I’m making this all up.”
He shakes his head, hands tightening at your waist to pull you against him. His mouth meets yours, open; tongue seeking and finding. You press close too, wanting no space, no distance between you and him. He’s a lot warmer than you (he’s wearing a lot more) and you soak in the heat he emanates, kissing him with more urgency the more you think about leaving tomorrow. You drop your hand to the waistband of his joggers.
“In a hurry?” he murmurs against your lips.
“You?” He pulls back a little. “The woman who told me to slow down so she could remember every detail?”
You start to push down his pants, but he stops you.
“We have all night.”
You move to cradling his face in your hands, thumbs running back and forth along the apples of his cheeks.
“Some of us like sleep.”
“My favorite thing… after sex, probably.” He grins at you, all top teeth. “It’s a toss up.”
It’s there. In your heart, on the tip of your tongue. But you aren’t impulsive as much anymore. So you tuck it away.
“Why do I like you so much?”
He shrugs, giving you a bump, nose on nose. “I’m irresistible?”
“Hmmm,” you hum, kissing him and moving him toward your bed. He hops up onto it, scooting himself back with his hands. You climb on after him, intent. Maybe it’s the lingerie, but you feel pretty. Sexy even. He watches you with those darkened eyes, lips parted just the slightest. You straddle him on your knees, just a few inches above him. He’s looking up at you, but his eyes keep drifting back down to your exposed skin. “Maybe a little.”
“What?” He’s forgotten what he just said. It’s titillating. To know that you can distract him like that.
“You’re a little irresistible.”
“Oh.” His hands settle on your hips. “You look really… really good.”
You smile. “You always make me feel pretty. I had a friend who used to do that. I told him once that I would look for that in someone I want to be with. He taught me that.” You cup his face in your hands, leaning down to kiss him softly. “So thank you.”
“You don’t have to—” he stops talking when you ease down on his lap. “Fuck.”
His fingers dig into your skin. “I can’t really—” He hisses when you bite his lower lip lightly. “... Explain how you picking that out to wear for me just… damn, it’s such a turn on. I was half-hard before you even put it on.”
You laugh, fingers moving into his hair and tugging so his gaze is on your face. His look of pleasure from the hair-pull makes you oh so warm.
You tug again and he lets out a low curse. He’s so attractive like this (like any way honestly) that you just want to stare at him for an interminable period of time. But you also want to kiss him, to run your hands over every part of him. Commit every sense to memory.
You shift in his lap and his eyes narrow.
“You’re the one who told me not to hurry.”
“I take it back,” he breathes, the sheen of sweat starting to show on his skin. You shift again and he groans. “Jagiya, you tease.”
You laugh again, going in for a deep kiss. His hands slid up from your hips to your back, making quick work of the bra clasp. He expertly draws down the straps, his chest still pressed to yours, his calloused fingertips lightly scratching down your arms. He draws back so he can remove it, his hands seeking the soft skin immediately.
You let out a sound that makes him smirk before you go back in, kissing him with all the turmoil and need building in you for the last week. Your desperation makes him fall back on the bed, you going with him. He grunts, but doesn’t break away for air, his fingers dancing from your front to your back and down, sliding under your underwear.
“Pretty, pretty girl,” he whispers against your lips.
“Pretty boy,” you reply, lifting your head. He gazes at you, hands never still. “You make me wish I could draw.”
His smile is soft. “Make me art?”
“On my wall for posterity,” you say before tilting your head, and wincing.
“What’s wrong?”
He gives you a look and you sigh, clearly aware you’re killing the mood, though you also realize you do that.
“Just a knot.”
His forehead furrows. “In your back?”
“Shoulders,” you admit before kissing his collarbone. You hiss in pain and then find yourself on your back with Yoongi straddling you. “Um…” He moves off of you.
“Turn over.”
“Turn. Over. Jagiya.”
You roll over, face burning with embarrassment, though hiding your nudity (mostly naked, your underwear is still on) is comforting. You let out an ‘oof’ when he settles on your ass. “Comfy?”
There’s a snicker as he pats your butt. “One of my favorite parts of you.”
You hide your face in the mattress. You can’t with him.
You tense when you feel his hands on your upper back.
“Uh huh.” You let out a heavy breath when he presses his thumb next to your shoulder blade.  “Yeah.” Your voice is squeaky and breathy. “Along there.”
He hums as he traces along the curve of your shoulder blade, paying attention when you stiffen in pain. “Are you always this tense?”
“It’s been less since—” You cut yourself off, again hiding your face into the mattress.
“Since?” You can hear the playfulness in his tone. “Since me?”
“Apparently orgasms are good stress relief.”
He laughs, continuing to rub along your upper back, spending longer on the muscles that are tense. You can feel some of it seeping away, the anxiety and strain.
But you’re feeling other things too. It’s an odd mix of relaxation and arousal and you just have to open your mouth.
“Can I ask you a question?” You try not to moan at his hand on the back of your neck and down to your shoulders. It hurts, but a good hurt.
“What’s the appeal? I mean, from behind?”
HIs hands stop moving and you immediately regret everything.
“From behind?”
“You’re not going to make me spell it out?”
“I don’t know,” the humor is dripping from his words. “You’re the English prof. Shouldn’t clear communication be your thing?” He traces his fingers from your neck down your spine to the top of your underwear.
“What’s appealing about sex from behind?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, fingers dipping underneath the band of your underwear to tickle the skin of your lower back.
“Well…” You close your eyes like that will help with your embarrassment. “I mean, we’re one of the only creatures, or the only, I can’t remember, um, who do it face to face. There’s connection like that. That seems like it would be gone in another position.”
Again there’s a long pause, his hands lightly running up and down your back, your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Well, most guys like the view.”
You try to look at him, but his hand rests on the back of your head.
“Don’t ruin what I just did, jagiya.”
“Most guys?”
“Different scenery.” He’s slowly tugging on your underwear, lifting himself up on his knees. “Also, it hits different. Literally.” He gently pulls it down your legs until it dangles from your ankle. “It’ll feel different.” He palms your right cheek. “Is this you asking to try it out?”
“Can I… Can I see you?” You know he hears the dread.
“Roll over.”
You do and he straddles you again, looking down at you with dark eyes.
“I’m scared.”
“Yeah. Of what?” he leans down, bracing himself on his hands so his mouth is only inches from yours. You lick your lips in nervousness, but he drops his head so his tongue meets yours before slipping into your mouth. You take the distraction, willing to kiss him for hours upon hours, but he draws back, waiting for your answer.
“I don’t really know. It just makes my stomach twist in fear when I think of it.”
“Sure that’s fear?” he teases.
“99% sure.”
He rubs his nose against yours. “You know I’ll stop if you ever say so, sweetheart.”
“But I hate to do that to you? I mean, it has to be hard—I mean difficult,” you stutter on your unintentional innuendo.
He chuckles.
“Sometimes. But you know what?” He gets close again. “You’re more important.” He presses his lips to the tear that trickles down your cheek. “And you always take care of me.” He grins at you. “I told you. I’m easy to please. And I want you to feel comfortable and safe with me.”
“I do.”
“Yeah?” He kisses you. “We don’t have to. But I’d like to if you want.” When he breaks away, he says, “Anything with you.”
You stare at him for a few seconds, summoning your minute courage. “Okay.”
He sits back up on his knees, eyes trained on you. “Sure?”
You expect him to get off you so you can assume the position, but he doesn’t move. His hands do. His fingers caress your folds, his other hand squeezes your thigh. You cover your mouth.
“You don’t have to be quiet,” he whispers in his raspy timbre.
You watch him until he slides a finger in and then your eyes shut, back arches, and hands seek the bedding to hold on to.
“I thought we were—”
“You first,” he replies to your incomplete question.
“Shut up, jagiya.” His tone is playful, but when you open your eyes, his expression is stern. Your breathing is already getting shorter, especially when he stimulates your clit. You think you can tell now, how close you are, but he seems more in tune than you because he lifts an eyebrow when you gasp (you thought you had longer) and then release. He watches you unraveling, smirking the whole time. You’d hit him if you had the strength. Then he grabs your hands and pulls you up so he can kiss you. “Less stressed?”
You can barely form words, so you just attempt a glare at him which only makes him kiss you again.
“Still okay with this?” he asks and you nod. “On all fours.”
He moves off you, hands not leaving your skin as you place your hands on the bed, knees too. It feels very wrong, very strange and very embarrassing, especially considering how shaky you are.
He strokes your back and then along the curve of your ass. “Okay?”
“That’s nice and confident.” He lets go and you can hear him getting rid of his pants and underwear.
“I trust you. The rest of this…” You really don’t know where you’re going with that statement. Besides, now you feel both his hands on your hips. “Um, do I need to help you out?”
“Ohhhh, I’ve been good since you came out in the pink.”
You feel your face heat at the compliment, but you’re also a little proud. Your body, which you definitely have never thought could, can seduce someone. You can seduce someone.
That’s something you thought would never be true.
“So…” you begin as he’s still rubbing your skin, and you feel him right there (he is ‘good’ as he said). “Different scenery?”
There’s a strained laugh. “Ask me after. I’ll wax poetic about your back and ass.” He eases in and you try to relax. He continues, one hand warm on your side as though reassuring you. You breathe in so quickly, you feel him tense. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, um, no.” You try not to sound like you’ve inhaled helium. “Just, hits… different.”
He leans over your back, kissing your shoulder. “Good different?”
There’s an answering chuckle before he raises up again and pulls out. He goes back in and you grunt.
“That’s… new.” It is different. All you can focus on is where he’s touching, both with his hands and cock. He’s deeper than before, filling you in a way that makes you feel taken and conquered. Owned.
He’s completely in charge and you’re just here, letting him do what he wants.
Your feminism should be completely appalled at this, but you trust him. He has proven to you over and over that sex and it’s many iterations are safe to explore with him.
Another laugh. “I can hear your brain trying to process this.” He doesn’t say much more as the rhythm slowly increases. Your normally quiet home is filled with sounds that you can’t imagine you’ll ever get used to: they are so human, so base. In the best way possible.
One particular thrust hits so deep that you feel lightheaded.
You miss his face. Despite that the stroking is affecting new places in you, a lot more surely than they do normally, you love his face. Every expression, microexpression as he feels the build and subsequent shattering. The tension that highlights the lines of his body and face, followed by the melting. The drain of tautness, and the sleepy cat-eyed look when he snuggles into your neck or chest.
But it’s building in you. Though you’re satiated, you feel the coiling in your core, your limbs all the more trembling.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Fuck, you feel so… so good.” His hips stutter and he comes, collapsing on top of you. You don’t have the resilience to hold him up and you collapse under him, which pulls him out of you.
“Sorry!” You are breathing nearly as hard as he is. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He is panting against your back, mouth kissing whatever skin he can find. “Am I crushing you?” He manages to get out the question in between breaths.
He’s sweaty and basically a heater, but you don’t want him to move. “No.”
He rolls off you anyway, his hand splayed on your back. “So?”
You turn your head to look at him. His face is pink and shiny. You just want to stare. “So?”
“Final analysis?”
You love his teasing smile. So you scoot closer to kiss it. His responding kiss is lazy, his exhaustion slowing his movements.
“I miss being able to see you. And touch you,” you say softly. He pulls you close, arm wrapped around your middle. “Though it is… nice. I might have gotten close.”
He gives you a peck on the nose. “I can get you off again. You sounded like it was more than just ‘nice.’”
You bury your face in his shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“Sure?” He grabs the blanket at the end of the bed to pull over both of you. “I don’t mind. If you hadn’t figured it out, I kind of like it.” You shake your head as he pulls you closer, kissing your sweaty brow and hair. “What time are we getting up?”
You sniffle at the pronoun, but he doesn’t comment. Hopefully, he just thinks you just breathed him in.
“I’ve set my alarm for five.”
He groans. “The worst.”
You lift your head to see his eyes barely open, but on you. “You volunteered to be my driver.”
“I did.” He goes quiet, his fingers trailing along the slope of your back. “I saw the thing on the fridge.”
“All phone numbers you might need, trash day, what to do if my air conditioning stops… again and—”
His mouth is on yours. You move to your side to align your body with his. Despite his fatigue (and yours), the kisses have the earlier urgency, the intensity that time is short. You let your hands wander wherever they want to, pulling on his hair just to hear his moan. He throws a leg over your hip, grinding against you even though he’s not recovered. He muffles a whimper when you press against his cock.
“Too much?” you ask, worried.
“Feels good,” he says. “You feel good.” He sucks on skin near your pulse.
“Are you… giving me a hickey?” You ask, though the breathlessness negates the admonishment you meant.
“To take with you,” he whispers. You cradle his face in your hands, so you can look at him. He blinks a few times, lips turned down into an almost-pout. You nibble on his lower lip and he puffs a breath in response.
“Give me as many as you want.”
It’s quiet the next morning. Getting up and showering, getting dressed. Even when he joins you in the kitchen, neither of you speak beyond soft voices. He tells you he’ll strip the bed and not to worry, he can do laundry. You walk around your house, checking for anything you might have missed and he stays by the back door, waiting. He looks so attractive with messy wet hair, jeans and a t-shirt, leaning against the door. The photo roll on your phone would be full of him if you didn’t think it would embarrass the both of you.
Making him (sneakily taken at the bookstore while he shelved and you sat in the armchair) your home screen felt very relationshippy. You wonder if he’s noticed. If he minds. If he understands how much of a big deal it is to you; never having someone to put there other than family and friends.
You hand him your keys and let him drive. You don’t let him pick the music however, plugging in your phone for your coffeehouse mix. He complains a little about the mellowness, but even hums along after a while.
He reaches for your hand once you’re on the interstate and doesn’t let go until the Departures sign and arrow tells him where to go. You check your phone to see that your BFF and her husband are already inside. He pulls up to the curb and gets out even though you tell him he doesn’t need to.
He ignores you.
Your suitcases and bag are on the sidewalk and he’s standing next to your trunk, about a head shorter than you and you feel like you might cry.
He shuts the trunk and looks up at you.
He’s so beautiful.
“Have fun.”
You nod.
“Don’t forget, okay?” He takes your hand and kisses it, like you both have stepped back a hundred-plus years. He doesn’t have to elaborate. You know what he’s talking about. Indeed, it’ll probably be on your mind every time you see a man who looks remotely attractive.
You nod again, though you haven’t changed your thoughts on the matter either. You stroke your hand on his cheek before leaning down to kiss him.
“I’ll write you annoyingly long emails.”
He smiles. “Nothing annoying about that.” He lingers, lips on yours, gentle and sweet before you both draw back. He gives you that flat line of an expression as he steps away and hurries to the driver’s side of your car. A security guard is already heading over to tell him to move on. You don’t move until the car disappears in the chaos of more cars, taxis, and busses.
You wipe your eyes before texting your best friend back that you’re on your way to the security gate. A text comes through.
yoongi :: miss you. already.
part 12
crossposted to ao3
© 2020-21 btsarmy9593: BTS belongs to BigHit and they are just inspiration. I am fully aware that my stories are not them, in any way. They are far better than any thing I could write. The rest is from my little brain. Please do not steal. Why would you do that?
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youmyjhope · 2 months ago
Min Yoongi Eating Your Pussy / Audio Smut
What an interesting request:)) guys pls give me more requests, making them is so fun
Imagine Yoongi eating you out in his house while his favourite song is playing. 💀
im wet af
Idk what to say anymore. I created a masterpiece.
do not repost
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