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✧˖ ?!— ALWAYS WITH YOU ౨ৎ . - (NSFW.)

— ‧₊˚ — 𝜗𝜚 : " i want to cum in you every way possible ?? "

summary. your husband spontaneously realizing he wants to have kids with you, was most def. not on your bingo cards!

notes. teeheehee, i need husband! jk injected into my veins!! no but fr might just do a few drabbles of dad kook cause he rly is daddy if you think bout it (+ this is for my dearest pookie, you know who you are!!)

warnings/includes. (017 / breeding), talking about having kids (duh), tit play, overstimulation perhaps??, after care :), he's just so smitten rly

he wanted to get you pregnant.

maybe that sounded to forward and it probably was considering you despised kids- okay, perhaps didn't despise but not necessarerly a fan either. but god did his heart tight in his chest when he saw you with kids, the way your voice tone instantly shifted to something more sweeted, the way you fixed their hair, smiling innocently not knowing all the fucked up fantasies in the head of your husband.

as he observed you, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of mother you would be. Would you soften, your edges rounding into tenderness, or would you retain that fierce independence that he had fallen in love with?

and the more he thought about the further did his mind wander: you both the bringing the kids to school, a little family on the dinner table, the bedtime stories you'd both tell to bring the kids to sleep, the first steps, heck- the first words.

regardless he knows you'd be a good mother, a great one at that (and a hot one but we move)

admits all the cute fantasies there was all the fucked up stuff leashed under it, the thought of seeing you belly-full was strangely endearing to him that he could take care of you even better then he already did, that you'd just carry something of his, a teny tiny mini mix of him and you.

"god, i can't believe she's making me look over her son, he's a cutie but a menace nonetheless," you shrugged after setting your sisters son up with some other kids, "earth to jungkook" you waved dramatically in front of his face as he seemed still rather zoned out. "i want to have a child with you," he blurted out instantly.

to say that your jaw was on the floor was an understatement, you never thought that jungkook out of all people would want kids so early on, you'd always seen him as a free spirit, doing whatever- whenever but a child meant commitment for a lifetime.

you moved closer to him, removing one hair strand that was losely hanging behind his hair, his gaze unfocused, eyes never settling as if he was scared of what you'll answer, "i want to have kids with you but i don't wanna plan things out if it happens, it happens and if it doesn't right now, it doesn't- let's take it slow"

you saw his expression shift not necessarly sad but still a bit dozed, you ran your hands through his hair as if to cheer him up, squeezing his cheeks after, "you're the only one i could imagine making a family with"

you did in fact not take it slow- not even in the slightest.

"wanna have everything with you, do anything, fuck- you'd be such a hot mom, baby" he groaned out, lips against your skin, gently biting and licking the fragile skin.

"everything just feels so right with you," Jungkook whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he peppered kisses along your jawline. "I never imagined wanting this until I met you"

your mind felt dizzy, hazy even and you could damn well feel your panties getting ruined solely by his words and what did you do? mentally blame it all you being 'drunk' when you knew that you only had one drink during this whole evening - no, the thought of having his children couldn't possibly have this big of an reaction on you, could it?

"i want to cum in you every way possible," he caresses your hair innocently till pulling just a bit harder, gaze dozing off like he didn't just propose his want for ruining you as a whole, slowly kissing all the bare skin of your upper body till stopping at your chest, "have i ever told you how much i love your tits?"

"huh-" he didn't give you a lot of time to think, licking and nibbling like he had been starved of your company and body for months, leaving a few dark hickeys behind, mouth going back to your ear mumbling something almost inaudible about being 'so hard' for you, only you.

you didn't know how much stamina this fucking guy had.

the sound of skin slapping against skin, whines and sobs having have filled the apartment for damn long, you were sure you heard some sorta banging against the walls from your neighbours - certaintly wouldn't be the first time.

whenever he came in you, he watched the cum drip out of you even going as far as tasting the release of of his fingers himself, his hips almost like moving on their own after everytime reaussuring you "just to make sure"

whispering sweet nothings into your neck, cock slapping in and out of you, how you'd make the "prettiest fucking babies" and how he'd "always be there for you"

and after he's done with you, he'd help you clean up, softly washing you, gently placing tiny little kisses over your shoulders, getting you all wrapped up in bed later, clinging onto you like you were about to fade.

your eyes barerly open as his hands brushed over your hair, so slowly like he was luring you to sleep, "you're so important to me"

you fall asleep with a smile on your face, the one he so adores.

DAD!BTS: jungkook as a first time dad ♡

you and jungkook found out you were having twins at your second appointment, and you both sat there frozen in shock. you weren’t sure if the both of you were exactly ready for one baby, let alone two. but jungkook couldn’t help but cry and assure you he would be there for all three of you, and that reassured you that everything would be fine

he told you he would be happy no matter the genders, but he can’t stop crying with happiness when he finds out he’s having two boys. he kissed your belly 38745x a day, telling his babies that he can’t wait to meet them

jungkook is secretly super nervous to be a dad, and he spends a lot of time with his own dad as he waits for his sons arrival, trying to learn as much as possible. he reads books and articles and watches shows about parenting because he wants to feel as prepared as possible so you can rely on him for anything

he absolutely loves that you need to buy two of everything. the two cribs, high chairs, prams - it all excites him so much and he wants to absolutely spoil his babies with two of every single toy he can find

jungkook’s favourite part of the day is when you both are ready to sleep in bed, and he holds his hand gently against your stomach, feeling his sons kick and move around

when you go into labour in the middle of the night, he jumps out of bed to pack every last minute thing and help you to the car, no matter the fact that he’s half-asleep. he hates that he can’t take any pain away, and he doesn’t want to leave your side for even a second

when jungkook meets your babies, he can’t help but cry when he sees their little faces and holds their little fingers in his. he thanks you a million times for giving him his beautiful sons

he documents the whole thing, capturing the moment he first gets skin-to-skin with his babies. it’s a sight you never want to forget - your husband sitting beside you, hair ruffled from sleep, two sleeping babies in his tattooed arms as he holds them tightly and whispers something only they could hear

jungkook is so proud to take them home to meet everyone, but he makes sure to take it slowly since you’re still recovering. he manages to take on every role possible - cleaning, cooking, diaper changing, bathing etc. not only that, but he makes it look easy

at first he joked about getting them mixed up, which he stopped when he actually nearly forgot which one he was holding when you left him alone for the first time with them. now he makes sure to differentiate them by the colours they wear

he introduces your babies to bam carefully, as his dog was super excited at their arrival. his sons take a liking to bam right away, which melts jungkook’s heart as he watches them attempt to pat the dog that’s 187383x their size

jungkook springs out of bed when they cry at night, and does his best to comfort both at once, rushing back and forth from crib to crib before you swoop in to help him

he sings to them all the time, which turns out to be the only way they can fall asleep at night. you find yourself in their room most nights, gently soothing your babies to sleep to the sound of their daddy’s voice

he loves to hold both of them in his arms when he does anything, which proves to be a challenge when he’s making bottles and their little feet kick around and milk spills all over the bench

he has to have one on each knee whenever he’s sitting anywhere, so he can bounce them gently and listen to them both giggle

jungkook tries so hard to make sure their first word is daddy. you have an unspoken competition, with both of you repeating your name to one baby in hopes one of them will repeat it back. you both can’t help but laugh when your son repeats ‘mama’ back to jungkook one day, but he still tears up at his sons first word.

first steps come soon after, with two little babies wobbling around the house. he keeps an eye on them even when he’s busy, and always swoops in just in time to pick them up before they go crashing into anything

he definitely cries at any milestone because he hates the fact that they’re growing so quickly, even when they’re only a few months old

jungkook is so reassuring as a husband too. he tells you often how good of a mother you are, and how well you’re doing. “i’m so lucky you’re the mother of my kids,” he’d tell you whenever you both got a moment of peace in your hectic days

jungkook is very passionate about finding hobbies for them at a young age. he takes them to taekwondo, dance, art lessons, drum lessons etc before they both find their passion for soccer

jungkook is their number one supporter and first row to all their games. all his member’s sons are on the same team so he loves that they get to catch up saturday mornings while watching their little ones play

he hates whenever they get hurt, however they’re tough like their daddy and even when they’re bleeding they get right back up to play, which makes jungkook proud (and you extremely worried)

that’s another thing about having jungkook’s sons - they take after him in so many ways. they’re super adventurous, wanting to try the scariest, tallest rides at amusement parks which jungkook gladly goes on while you hold your breath until the ride is finished

they are super curious about jungkook’s tattoos, asking about them and tracing them with their little fingers. he’s definitely the type of dad to get tattoos dedicated to his kids

jungkook doesn’t really like taking on the discipline role, which means you have to be the bad guy most of the time. he finds it so hard to be stern with his kids because his heart melts when he looks into their identical big doe eyes

he’s also not strict with school at all. as long as they do their best, he couldn’t really care about grades. jungkook loves to do the drop offs and pick ups and he makes friends with all of his son’s friends parents too

jungkook will drop anything he’s doing to be there for his kids. when he’s on tour and you call him from the hospital after your son hurts himself playing soccer, he’s on the next flight home to be by his side

he takes them out with him often, to parks and cafes and museums because he wants them to learn as much as possible. he takes them to busan often to see his family and so he can show them where their daddy grew up

jungkook would be eager for another baby pretty soon after, bc he knows his boys would be the best big brothers

overall, jungkook would centre his life around his kids, being the most perfect dad and making new fatherhood look like a breeze <3

BOOKWORMS | knj

pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader

genre: smut; fluff

word count: 4.4k

summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.

warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(

note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!

side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks &lt;;3

You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind. 

Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world. 

You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.

Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.

“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.

It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.

Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do. 

He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.

The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing. 

You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.

***

Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.

Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.

“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear. 

You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”

His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs. 

“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”

Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life. 

“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through. 

Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.

You raise one of your eyebrows in question. 

“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”

You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”

“He got some!” 

Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”

“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again. 

“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.

“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”

You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.

“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”

You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction. 

“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.” 

It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.

A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.

“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”

Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?” 

You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.

“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face. 

You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.

“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”

You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. 

“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”

You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”

“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.” 

“That’s my girl. 

You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.

“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”

“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties. 

His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.

“Fuck, baby.” 

“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”

Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.” 

He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear. 

“Sit on the counter.”

You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you. 

Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”

You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die. 

Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all. 

Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”

He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it. 

You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.

“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”

You nod.

“Use your words or we’re stopping.”

You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”

Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning. 

Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.” 

You do, weakly.

“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”

You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.” 

He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.” 

You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper. 

Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans. 

“Come on.”

Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense. 

“I got you.”

Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.

“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.” 

You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?” 

He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.

“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.” 

One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word. 

Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls. 

“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast. 

“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.” 

He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.

“You forgot something.”

He thrusts again, harder this time.

“What?” you breathe out, meekly. 

“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”

He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you. 

“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”

He grinds, hips rotating in circles. 

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.” 

Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him. 

“Please, hmph, fuck me.”

Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.” 

He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over. 

“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?” 

You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.” 

He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants. 

“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”

Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.

“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.

Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him. 

He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?” 

You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.” 

Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.” 

From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like. 

Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.  

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”

The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses. 

“Look.” 

You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.” 

He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing. 

Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.

You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in. 

He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair. 

And you do the same for him.

Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

bangtan shorts masterlist

night thots and other shorts ‼️

☆ short #1 ~ jungkook: stupid amounts of cum

☆ short #2 ~ yoongi: oral

☆ short #3 ~ namjoon: belly bulge

☆ short #4 ~ taehyung: a simple love for thighs

☆ short #5 ~ jin: cock warming

☆ short #6 ~ jimin: mutual masturbation

☆ short #7 ~ hobi: fake cum, real cum & a butt plug

☆ short #8 ~ jungkook: morning sex

☆ short #9 ~ taehyung: ghostface

☆ short #10 ~ taehyung: cum swallowing

☆ short #11 ~ jungkook: body worship

☆ short #12 ~ yoongi: sex in the dressing room

☆ short #13 ~ jimin: oral fixation

☆ short #14 ~ jin: fingering

☆ short #15 ~ namjoon: a specific love for creampies

☆ short #16 ~ jungkook: car sex and pantie stuffing

☆ short #17 ~ hobi: dacryphilia

☆ short #18 ~ taehyung: praise

☆ short #19 ~ jungkook: boob luvr

☆ short #20 ~ jungkook: mirror sex & a beefy back

☆ short #21 ~ jungkook: face riding

☆ short #22 ~ namjoon: slip of the tongue

☆ short #23 ~ namjoon: size kink

☆ short #24 ~ namjoon: in the closet

☆ short #25 ~ yoongi: make-up sex

☆ short #26 ~ jungkook: new toy

☆ short #27 ~ yoongi: hair pulling

☆ short #28 ~ jungkook: alternative methods

☆ short #29 ~ jin: brat tamer

☆ short #30 ~ jin: breeding kink

☆ short #31 ~ jungkook: clit teasing

nothing will ever amaze me the way fanfiction authors do. like, you wrote silly little stories about my favorite little guys? and i can read them?? for free??? that’s fucking wild.

you poured your heart and soul and very being into your writing and then put it out there for anyone to read? insane.

you spend a truly incredible amount of time writing novel-length, high quality stories, again, FOR FREE, that anyone can read, again, FOR FREE??

shoutout to every single fic author in existence, you guys are fucking incredible and i love all of you so much

BOONGI REQUEST THE SEQUEL !!! honeymooning with yoongi and your trip is a little too richly scheduled considering how horny you both are.... leads to fucking in some interesting places 🙈

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Your tropical honeymoon is planned down to the very minute to get the most out of your trip but it seems that Yoongi has plans of throwing off your itinerary every time his hands touch you. 

❀ Word Count: 4,355

❀ Genre: Established relationship, pwp

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Absolutely self-indulgent and gratuitous smut, literally this is the most porn without plot I have ever done, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, fucking from behind, semi-public fucking, light degredation, oral (m. and f. receiving), riding Yoongi, fucking from behind, face sitting, throat fucking, a lot of cum and spit and holes, Yoongi and reader fuck in public spaces where they cannot be seen a lot, temperature place, use of ice (please do not ever take ice from a random ice bucket and put it in your partners vagina, this is fiction and it was handy but do not do that lmao), cum swallowing and cum eating when you squint. 

❀ Published: August 9, 2023

❀ A/N: This is sort of a part two? You do not have to read the first request to read this one, they are easily read separately. Thanks for giving me an excuse to just write porn. There literally is nothing here but porn, I don’t even know if they have chemistry, but they fucking. Honestly I had to cut scenes out of this because I also imagined the infinity pool moment and so many other moments because M and I are fucking insane and ruminate on this shit, but at one point it was just… getting longer and I was RUNNING OUT OF WORDS FOR DICK AND COCK AND I HATE THE WORD DICK IN SMUT IF FEELS NOT VERY SEXY. Okay. Here is my ode to the love of my life, M. This somehow made me more insane.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Part One | Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust | Listen Along |

“Come on,” You murmur, lips pressed against Yoongi’s warm forehead. “We have a breakfast reservation at that place we talked about.” 

A deep groan rumbles through Yoongi’s chest. It’s dark in the bedroom of your resort, the lights still off and the sliding glass door window still shuttered. Your newly wed is tangled in white sheets, face pressed against the pillow and swollen with sleep. You bite your bottom lip to hide your smile as he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

It’s tropical warm in the room, your skin still heated from the sun the day before. Yoongi’s cheeks are sun-kissed blossom, bottom lip jutted out as he pouts. You think about the night before, biting that bottom lip hard as you came around him in the shower, cold water pebbling on hot skin. 

Sighing, you climb onto him, knees on either side of his waist as you sit. His chest is flushed and warm as you lean down, dress riding up your thighs as you press your forehead to the side of his head. His hair is messy, an inky halo around him as he lets out a sound again, very close to whining. 

Yoongi smells like coconut shampoo and palm breeze. It makes your stomach flip having him this close to you, flashes of the night before making your already sore thighs twitch. Ignoring your more carnal urges, you nudge him with your nose, huffing. Sliding your hands around to the back of his neck, you thread your fingers through his silky hair, holding him there. 

“Don’t you want breakfast?” you ask, hoping the promise of food will lure him from bed.

Yoongi is fully awake now. “Mhmm.” 

Yoongi frees his hands from the sheets and places them on your thighs, squeezing. His hands are warm and callused, sparking a curl of pleasure in you as he rubs them up and down your legs. It’s an innocent touch, but your thoughts turn devious. 

When Yoongi’s hands trace to the round curve of your ass to grab a handful of flesh, you let out a breathy sound and tighten your grip on his hair. He hisses in appreciation, hips twitching off the bed as you growl, “What are you doing?”

Yoongi turns his head to face you, your foreheads pressed together as he bumps your nose with his. “I don’t need to leave for breakfast,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips as he talks. His right hand gives you a playful crack on the ass, making you squeak as the sweet sting riles you up, your knees squeezing his waist. “I can eat right here.”

His hands are firm, fingers dimpling your rear end as he pulls you against his stomach and rolls your hips. Your eyes flutter shut at the barely-there friction, Yoongi lifting himself up a little to help you grind against him. 

“Yoongi.” 

The chastisement is nothing more than half of a breath, already feeling arousal curl in your stomach. Your thighs stretch painfully from the night before, a feel-good burn that makes you spread your legs a little wider to feel the pleasurable strain. 

“Come on,” Yoongi grunts. “Girl breakfast.”

“That’s not what that meme means.”

“Who gives a fuck. Sit on my face.”

Ignoring him is impossible. Yoongi’s hands palm your ass, pulling you forward. On unsteady knees, you shuffle up from his waist to his face, lifting the hem of your dress as you go. Yoongi hums appreciatively, slipping a hand between your legs to press his fingers against your clothed pussy. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, the stimulation jolting. “We have an itinerary.”

“Fuck the itinerary. You were going to go to breakfast like this?” he asks, slipping a finger under your underwear, swiping through your dripping folds. “All wet and sticky?” 

You whine, fists tightening in the fabric of your dress. He drags a curled knuckle up and down your pussy, pressing into your clit purposefully as he does, making your hips swivel a little. Yoongi laughs underneath you, mouth hot on your thighs as he leaves sloppy kisses, air cooling his spit on your skin as he goes.

There’s no escaping this. Any desire you had to go to breakfast with a view of the beach is gone as Yoongi nips at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, your legs trembling in anticipation. Yoongi is so good at this, making you bend to his will with just a few words and guiding hands. 

Yoongi’s breath is hot on your center as he peels your underwear to the side. You look down at him, pressing your dress flat to give you the perfect view. His dark eyes are focused on your cunt, his lips bubble gum pink, tongue darting out to wet them. His hair is fanned out around him, some pressed to his forehead. 

Smirking, Yoongi uses one hand to pull you forward, lowering you to his mouth. You hold your breath as he drags his tongue slowly from your leaking entrance to just below your clit before rolling licking back down, ignoring your bundle of nerves entirely. Your toes curl, immediately going white hot at the slow feeling of his tongue dragging through your folds. 

“Oh,” you sigh, eyes shutting as Yoongi hums and repeats the motion, determined to take his time. 

With one hand wrapped in your dress, you lean forward, pressing the other hand against the wall to keep you upright. You hang your head down, heady-heavy, eyes falling shut as you heave shuddering breaths.

Yoongi’s tongue is wicked, laving up and down experimentally as you shake on top of him. He hums appreciatively, pulling you down to his mouth further by your ass. A sharp moan escapes you when he fastens his mouth to you, sucking your clit gently. The suction makes your head spin, your skin over warm and tingling, feeling faint in the dark room.

“Shit,” you pant, listening to him make a mess of you, all wet smacks and happy hums. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees. “Girl breakfast. Or is it wife breakfast?”

You’re too busy rolling your hips gently against Yoongi’s face to shoot something smart back, lost in the rough drag of his tongue against your cunt, the buzz of his mouth when he hums. You feel the way your stomach tightens, the way that pressure in your core builds, the tensing thighs. 

The sweet, saturated sound of Yoongi’s mouth backtracks your whines, your fist pressed against the wall, knuckles popping with the force. Sweat slicks down the back of your neck and your thighs tremble as you fuck his mouth in earnest, hips flexing.

It feels hot in the room, your dress sticking to your skin, panties stretched to the side as Yoongi has his way with you. The strap of your dress falls down, abandoned as you quiver, your shoes and purse long forgotten by the door as you start to come undone.

“Come on,” Yoongi pants against your pussy, tongue prodding your throbbing hole. You squirm at the feeling, wanting more. “Breakfast is supposed to have juice too.”

Your laugh sounds hysteric, closer to a high-pitched cry than anything. Yoongi is vicious, pressing his nose to your clit as his tongue fucks your entrance, drinking you in. You’re dizzy, ears ringing as your orgasm mounts. You start to tense up, teeth clenched, fingers pressed numb against the wall.

Eyes shut, head back, balmy skin, you come hard in his mouth, Yoongi’s tongue pressed against you, not missing a drop. You feel fuzzy drunk, letting Yoongi control your hips. He moves you against his mouth, bobbing his lead as he slurps, dropping staccato mhmms as he goes. 

When you’re falling into his lap, skin sweaty and panting, Yoongi sits up, the lower half of his face shining with your slick. He licks his lips, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Thanks for the meal,” he teases. “I want more.”

-

A high-pitched zing whines through the air, drawing your attention to look at the fishing rod on the back of the boat. The reel spins out of control as the line runs wild, handle circling as the fish on the hooked fish runs wild with the line. 

“Yoongi,” you gasp, turning back to him. 

“Fuck the reel,” he growls, fingertips pressing into your hips hard enough throb.

The vinyl cover of the boat seat is slippery with sunscreen, sweat and a little cum. Sun heats your bare back. The burn on your shoulders is nothing to the fiery arousal spooling in your stomach as Yoongi pulls you up by the hips, dragging you along his slick cock.

It’s a calm day on the water, the only motion coming from the way you roll your hips, fucking Yoongi in earnest on the bow of the boat. Blue water glitters around you, reflecting the sun back up toward a cloudless, azure sky.

Salty wind cools the back of your neck as you throw your head back, gasping when Yoongi presses a thumb to your clit, circling slowly. The gentle lapping of the water against the hull is drowned out by the wet slap of your ass on Yoongi’s pelvis, already soaked from your first orgasm.

Your second high blazes through you hotter than the beaming sun. Yoongi growls between gritted teeth, his grip savage as he helps you fuck him. Up down, up down, up down. His chest is flushed and raked with angry red nail marks.

Fishing plans long forgotten, you continue to ride him, the feel of Yoongi’s cock stomach-deep, your walls gripping him tight as you race toward another orgasm. It feels so good, your knees slipping as the boat bobs under you, the up and down motion aiding the way you glide on his dick. 

“Just like that,” Yoongi moans, head tossed back, hair damp and sweaty. He’s worked up, a beat of sweat dripping down his tan neck, jaw flexing as he tries to stop himself from coming. “Use me just like that, baby.” 

And you do, the tip of his dick brushing your g-spot every time you slide down, working your closer and closer until you’re seated in his lap, cock pushed to the deepest parts of you while you come hard around him.

Yoongi waits for you to come down for your high, post-orgasm twitching and panting before he pins you to his chest and holds you while fucking up into you a few more times before he clenches his teeth and comes.

Hot and spent, you both melt into one another, skin sliding against skin as you lay on his chest. He softens inside of you and you become hyper aware of the slide of your mixed juices dripping from your folds and running down your leg. You don’t care, closing your eyes as you inhale deeply.

Eventually, Yoongi lifts his head to peer over your shoulder. You turn around to see that the line has broken on the road and Yoongi laughs, sounding exhausted.

“Fuck it,” he sighs, laying his head back down and tightening his hold on you. “I don’t care.”

-

“My wife is such a little slut,” Yoongi grins, leaning against the sink as you take him further into your mouth. “You love having a mouthful of cock, don’t you?”

Looking up at Yoongi with wide, teary eyes, you hum the affirmative. Dark blush creeps up his neck, his skin visible where the top button of his white shirt is undone. He looks to die for tonight, with his long, dark hair slicked back and just touching his shoulders, a white short-sleeved button up, and dark pants. 

And you? You looked nice earlier, but now your dress is messy with sand from the bathroom floor, mascara running down you face as you swallow around your husbands cock, feeling your throat tighten as you force yourself to the limits. 

You’d at least manage to pay the bill before dragging him into the palm-textured bathroom and dropping to your knees, ignoring the way stray grains of sand from the beachside restaurant burn your knees in favor of taking him into your mouth.

Yoongi slouches against the sink, his shoulders pressed into the mirror as he closes his eyes and angles his head back. You take him further into your mouth, letting spit escape the sides and run down your chin, working what you can’t fit with your hand. Your wedding ring flashes in the low light and drives you mad, loving the way the diamond looks on your hand while it’s wrapped around him. 

You’re ravenous tonight, staring up at him with clenching thighs, watching the way Yoongi unravels. Pulling back, you pop off of him, strings of spit and precum connecting the brown tip of his cock to your lips. You break it, leaning forward to run your tongue along the frenulum of his cock, earning a whine from him.

Grinning, you continue your assault, dragging your tongue down the thick vein on the underside of his cock until you reach his balls, giving a teasing lick that makes his hips cant off the sink.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he warns. “I fucked you the way you asked for three times today, baby. Don’t I deserve to cum in that pretty little mouth?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pumping him with your hand as you come back up. “Want to come in my mouth?”

Yoongi’s hand shoots to the back of your head, fingers squeezing your skull. It’s not painful, but it’s firm, making you grin up at him, delighted. “Okay then,” you agree, tightening your fist on him a little more, pumping him a little fast. “Fuck my throat.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. Yoongi’s grip on the back of your head stays solid, a comforting feeling as you get a little dizzy from the way he looks down at you, eyes fathomless. Starving. He uses his other hand to prop himself against the sink before he drives his cock into your mouth.

The slide is rough and messy. You flatten your tongue and open up the back of your throat, the sound of you choking wetly around him drowning out the hiss of air between his teeth. You breathe through your nose, your hands gripping his thighs and digging your nails in hard into his flexing thighs.

Absently, you wonder if anyone walking by can hear the gurgle of your mouth, the stilted grunts as he flexes his hips.

Throat burning, eyes stinging and dripping tears, you let Yoongi go wild until he’s coming deep down your throat, a hot and thick mess. He pulls out gently, letting you gasp for air, mouth swollen and sticky as you pant.

Yoongi pulls you up from your knees, holding you tight as you lose your balance. His grip is crushing and he smashes his lips to yours, licking into your mouth to taste the mix of cum and spit, hungry for it.

When he pulls away, his lips are pink and slick and his chest is heaving.

“We’re going to miss that concert I bought tickets for,” you complain, giving him a pout.

“Fuck that concert, we’re going back to the hotel room and I’m going to fuck you for the next three hours, baby.”

-

Admittedly, hiking wasn’t the best event on your itinerary. When you’d planned the adventure originally, you hadn’t accounted for the fact that your legs would be near unusable from days of Yoongi folding you in half to drill into you, or the fact that the jungle is, in fact, hot and humid.

Yoongi walks next to you, his thumbs tucked into the straps of his backpack as he goes. His hair is pulled up into a bun, a few loose strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. He hasn’t complained once since starting the uphill trek through the trees and sifting sand, though you can tell he’s also spent from his inability to stop touching you this entire trip.

But you really want to attempt to get to a single thing on your itinerary for this trip, and the ruins will be out of the question tomorrow when it rains. So, you persist, legs wobbling as you high up the path, shirt sticking to you and scent of sunscreen following you like a coconut cloud.

“You’re sure we’re going the right way?” Yoongi askes, looking up at the gleaming sun filtering between branches. “We haven’t seen a single person.”

“There’s steps, aren’t there?” you ask, gesturing to the path. “There’s ruins that aren’t as much of a climb that everyone prefers. Plus, it’s hot as shit. I wanted to see the good ones though.”

“Anything for you.” 

A few more minutes pass before Yoongi sees you lagging a little. The burn in your thighs is real, remembering acutely the way Yoongi had pressed them to your chest last night as he fucked you slow and deep. The memory makes you shiver, a post-orgasm twitch still haunting you an entire day later.

“Come on,” Yoongi urges. “It’s flat up here, we can step off the path and take a break.”

Yoongi finds some broken trees that have fallen sideways to sit on. You’re grateful, taking deep gulps of water. It immediately cools you down and you close your eyes, rolling your shoulders. Yoongi guzzles down water next to you, his arm pressed up against your.

After a few minutes sitting, you get up and turn to face the fallen tree, bending over at the waist to lean against it in a deep lunge, stretching your hamstrings. It’s a soothing sort of pain, the extension of muscle a relief. 

Yoongi looks at maps on his phone behind you, waiting as you you switch legs and arch your spine, feeling a few joints pop in release. It feels good and you sigh, letting the tension bleed out of you.

Hands find your ass, gentle and curious. You look over your shoulder to find Yoongi looking at you with his brows raised and head tilted. A question. You know he’ll back off immediately if you shoo him away. Instead, You burst into laughter and shake your head, “Seriously?”

“What?” 

You stare at him. He looks delicious, sweat dripping down his Adam’s apple, hair pulled back. He’s dressed simply and yet, looking at him looking at you, wanting you the way that he does makes you vibrate. It doesn’t matter how many times you have him, you always want him more. And again.

You married Yoongi for a myriad of reasons. Because he is gentle and kind, because you like the way he takes his coffee and reads the paper in the morning, because you like that he uses mint shampoo, because you like that he has to line his shoes up perfectly next to the door. 

Everything about him enchants you, and you’re over the moon to have someone who doesn’t shame you for your carnal desires, that you have someone who matches the energy, who can take it and give it to you anywhere you want. 

Yoongi is the perfect balance, always knowing when to initiate, always knowing when it's a good time.

“I know that look,” he smiles. “Now you’re thinking about it.”

“Can you be quick? I don’t want someone to stumble on us.”

“Fuck yeah I can,” he promises, dropping his backpack and popping the zipper on his pants. You let out a pathetic sound at the sight, earning a smug look from Yoongi. 

Yoongi peels your legs and underwear down to your knees, just enough to get access to you but also safe enough to pull them up quickly if you need. His clothed chest presses against your back as he leans forward, wrapping his arms around your middle in what seems like an innocent hug.

You gasp as the tip of his cock breaches your entrance, the stretch a little painful with no prep. It doesn’t matter, though. He pushes in slowly, letting you get used to it until he’s pressed in to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around him. 

“I love you,” Yoongi whispers, pressing butterfly soft kisses to your cheek and temple. He starts thrusting shallowly, stealing your breath away. “You are my perfect, beautiful, wonderful wife.”

“Fuuuck,” you whisper. Yoongi isn’t fucking around, making his thrust precision perfect, pressing that soft spot inside of you. Your thighs are pressed together, making the fit even tighter, feeling him even more. “You’re just saying that cause I’m letting you fuck me against a tree.”

“Untrue, I say this all the time.”

That’s fair. Yoongi does tell you that he loves you. More often now than he used to, more verbal than his little utterances of love by readying your coffee long before you were awake in the morning or picking up the things you were missing from your pantry on the way home. 

“You’re right,” you pant, head lolling to the side as his mouth seeks the heat of your throat. “I love you too”

The tree bark bites into your hand as you take him fully. With the way your legs are pressed together and the angle that you’re standing, it feels like Yoongi is punching to the very core of you, making the world spin. You think you might collapse over the tree if he weren’t holding you up. 

“You’re just saying that cause I’m fucking you against a tree.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the fact that Yoongi picks up the pace, fucking you hard and with purpose. His hand slips between your legs, finding your clit and pinching it lightly, making you squeal and twitch. He laughs, choosing to circle it instead, working you faster toward an orgasm as he pounds into you, punching the breath from your lungs. 

Sex with him is different every time. You don’t know how you manage to never get tired of it, but it never feels the same. Not with him. Every time feels like you’re discovering something new, 

When you do come, you suddenly feel like you can run the rest of the way up to the ruins, energized on the endorphins alone. 

“I’ve heard of post nut clarity,” Yoongi jokes, tucking his cock back into his pants. “But never post nut energy.”

“It’s like a second wind.”

“Dickened wind.” 

You glare at him, tossing his backpack to him. “Stick to writing songs, not jokes.”

-

“You’re so fucking swollen,” Yoongi groans, thumbs peeling apart your folds. “Cute.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your face pressed down into the pillows of the daybed, ass up in the air with Yoongi behind you. The sound of the pool and anyone beyond the closed curtains of the banana are muted by the tropical music of the DJ. All the better to drown out the sound of your husband spitting onto your exposed heat. 

“Cause you’ve been fucking me insane all week,” you protest, body vibrating. Yoongi hums thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything, letting his spin trail slowly down your slit. You’re already wet from the way his greedy mouth sucked at your chest. “Baby, please. I want your mouth.”

“Yeah? You all hot and bothered?”

“Yes.”

“Let me cool you off.” 

Yoongi’s hands leave your ass for a moment. You’re too overheated from days in the sun and the rising tropical temperature to look at what he’s doing. You’re in a slow daze, a little buzzed from sweet drinks and Yoongi’s mouth, from sloppy kisses that taste like strawberry and Yoongi’s cute little sunburn on his ass from falling asleep after letting you drive him insane with your mouth on the private balcony the day before. 

Now, you hear the clicking of something moving around the ice bucket. Your brows furrow and you’re about to turn your head to look at what Yoongi is doing when you feel ice cold water slow drip onto your ass. 

“Shit,” you hiss, grabbing the edge of the daybed and arching your spin. The water is a cool burn, a relief that drives you mad as he makes a pleased sound. “Ohhh fuck, again.”

“More?”

“Fuck yeah.”

There’s the sound of more ice and Yoongi is dripping the cold water on your ass again, making your lower spine tingle and toes curl. The cold drips move closer to your cunt until he’s directly over your clenching hole. The shock of cold against hot sends you into a frenzy. You wiggle your ass back and forth, asking for more, eager for it. 

Yoongi has never been one to deny you. This time, you feel his lips around an ice cube, dragging his cold kiss over the swells of your ass, letting the ice melt on his tongue before lapping at your pussy, tongue cold against your dripping heat. 

It drives you mad. Your fingers ache with the way you clutch the pillows, pressing your face hard into the daybed as Yoongi does this a few times, bringing his cold lips to mouth hungrily at you until it’s all he’s focused on, forgetting the ice in favor of sucking greedily at your clit. 

Your spine feels like it might crack, bowed dangerously as you press back into his face. He moans at your eagerness, tongue twisting between your folds as eats you out in earnest. If it weren’t for the privacy curtains and the DJ booth, you’d never get away with this. Yoongi is not quiet, smacking his lips like a glutton. 

Air escapes you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an orgasm bears down on you. Your face is pressed so far in the cushions that you don’t think you can breathe, your lungs contracting and your chest squeezing as you come on his tongue without warning, a silent scream raging through you.

Stars burst behind your eyes. Yoongi takes it in stride, licking you long and slow as you remain rigid for the duration of your high. When it finally begins to subside, you fall to the side, sprawling boneless and feeling drunk.

“Holy shit,” you croak, voice gone. “You were right. Fuck the itinerary. This is so much better.”

need your help !

didn’t wanted to be annoyed with this (and I’m embarrassed) but given to the situation.. I have to do it 😖

given of me not living in the states, I can’t just open a gofundme so I decided to open a Ko-Fi so you guys can actually see the process if you’re willing to help. (because I know it could sound like a random scam) so, to show you this is real,

here’s my Ko-Fi

now let me explain the situation so you can understand better.

ginger (my dog, she’s a girl), was all fine until she started getting sort of bloated very randomly so I took her to a checkout.

the results of it being, she has some weird liquid inside of her that they’ll need to take out. once they did removed just a bit of it, they sent her some treatments to see if she’ll get better. and me, after following each step, I’ve noticed there weren’t much improvement but her situation became worst. she continued getting big and so now that I did her second checkout, they’ll say they need to do surgery. which i’m very worried bc I’ve already used my money and I’m currently without a job 😭 so that’s why I’m doing this.

if you’ll be kind enough to help, I’ll thank you forever, really. she’s part of my life and things will be much different If only l had a job but given to where I live.. it’s very hard to find another job that actually pays more than 5$ 😭

so you can donate on my Ko-Fi to help me even if it’s just a little. I accept any type of help. (wishing for an angel fr)😞

thank you so much for reading this, and helping me. really. if you could share this with your friends or people that’ll like to help, I’ll be thankful🥺🤍

colour me in | jjk (m) | masterlist

Jungkook’s door only opens for you when there’s a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening – and you hope it doesn’t close his door forever.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader

➳ genre: fwb, fake dating, college!au; fluff, angst, smut

➳ contents & warnings: artist/fuckboy!JK, annoying parents, endearing friends, lots of smut and fluff, misunderstandings; and more chapter specific warnings! | 18+

➳ current word count: 263.1k

➳ status: ongoing

➳ cmi’s mood: still with you and my you by Jungkook | collaborative playlist 🎶

Keep reading

Way Back Home | jjk | Part Five

pairing: jungkook x reader

au(s): exes to lovers, single mom reader

rating: 18+

genre/warnings: parents au, single parent, co-parenting, chaebol, ceo jungkook, assistant reader, jeon twins, some angst, fluffy, areum?

word count: 8.2k

authors note: you asked, you shall receive.

Previous | Next | Masterpost

It was early morning when Jungkook woke up. The sun hadn't even risen when his alarm started blaring into his ears. He reluctantly got up, quickly turning off the alarm before the person beside him on the bed woke up. 

He had a meeting in Busan before lunch so he knew he had to get going so he could prepare. He made his way to the bathroom to get ready. Quickly freshening up before making his way to his walk-in closet. He chose to pack one of his fancier suits for today since he’s trying to impress the CEO of another company, hopefully for joining in a collaboration. After he put on his suit in his bag, he chose to use the new dress shoes that Areum bought for him when she came back.

He went into the guest room where he keeps his extra clothes that he used back when he was in college. In the process of taking out the box from the top shelf, he accidentally knocked over another box that only he would be able to recognize. 

He watched as the contents scattered all over the floor. His heart dropped at the sight. 

It was the box of the things you either left with him or gave him during the years you were together. It was filled with all your memories, the memories he’s cherished for years.

Placing the box of shoes on the floor, he picked up the fallen items from the ground.

You coming back into his life was probably one of the biggest kicks to the gut. He never thought he’d ever see you again. But seeing your beautiful face after all these years, he’s never felt more at ease to be near you than he did. It’s been six years and you still have the same effect on him as you did before.

The day you left Jungkook was probably one of the most heart stopping days of his life. He remembers his entire body filling up with panic the second you hung up the phone. He didn’t even think before booking the earliest flight back to Seoul just so he can get to you.

The way you broke up with him was out of nowhere. You always reassured him that you understood his situation and how important his job was to him, despite the guilt he has for leaving you alone for long periods of time. 

But clearly there was something more to the story or you just lied to him about how you felt.

Which broke his heart.

He remembers heading straight to your dorm the second he landed. Your roommate opened the door instead of you, but even she didn’t know where you were.

He was restless trying to find you. He tried asking around, even asking Jimin and even Taehyung if they knew where you were. But nobody knew. You didn’t attend your classes, you were nowhere on campus, even in areas that he knew you would be.

He searched for you days on end, but it was like you disappeared off the face of the earth.

As he stared at the old polaroid of the two of you smiling under the sunset when you and your friends all went to the beach, he could see all the love the two of you shared just by this photo.

If you stayed, what would’ve happened? Would you guys still be just as happy and in love? Maybe more especially with the addition of his two beautiful children? 

There’s so many unanswered questions. 

But answers he won’t be getting. He’s an engaged man. 

Areum wasn’t an easy person to connect with. He met her a year after you disappeared from his life. She was the one who chose to pursue him. But after the scar you left on him, it was difficult to move on. He never trusted anyone, never loved the same.

But Aruem was patient. He slowly got to know her, he enjoyed her company. It was easy. But not the same, he knew his heart belonged with someone else. And she did too. He told her many times. But she was okay with it.

He proposed to her simply because it was something she wanted. His father wanted it, so did she. So he did it. 

Compared to you, his father adored Areum. She came from an influential family, an old partner of his father, she is a model and they looked good together.

He tried in the relationship, he didn’t half ass anything. 

But his heart was just not in it. He couldn’t even bring himself to set a date for the wedding.

And when you came back, with the news of the kids. It seems like the life he had before you reentered the picture completely vanished from his thoughts. It was like the life he wanted was here, but he forgot about the life he already has. 

Taehyung and Jimin have been trying to urge him to tell you about Areum. And he’s tried, but he couldn’t bear the thought of something getting in the way of the bliss he was having. Call it selfish, but everything he’s wanted all these years was back in his life.

Did he love Areum? He was slowly opening his heart to her, thinking you’d never come back. But the second you came back into his life, it was like he was back at square one.

He’s warned her that he’s scarred from a love from the past, but she was determined to keep him to her. Maybe he wanted to feel the same thing he felt with you again, but it wasn’t the same. 

He once considered you the love of his life. 

He doesn't want to imagine what he’s considered you to be in his life now if he really thought about it.

When you left, he waited to see your face again. A week went by, then a month, then a year, then two, then three…He didn’t think you’d come back. He thought he had no choice but to move on. 

Seeing the way your face fell after Areum introduced herself to you, it was something that was permanently engraved into his mind.

But it wasn’t something to get into right now. He was going on a business trip to Busan with you coming along. There’s more on his mind than this. Especially with everything that happened in the last few days between the two of you. 

“I’m Song Areum, Jungkook’s fiance”

You felt your heart break at the sound of her words in your ears. You never thought you’d ever hear those words, but who are you kidding. Jungkook was a young rich and handsome CEO, of course other people would try to get along with him.

But part of you thought that maybe, just maybe he’s waiting for you. A selfish part of you. But you left him, with no words and no choice but to move on.

You felt your throat tighten, fighting back the tears that threatened to arise. You looked at your brother who gave you a sympathetic look. You couldn’t look at Jungkook’s face. You mentally scold yourself, you’re the mother of his children. His ex. You’re nothing more than that. And you hate how you forget that. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Jeon, Ms. Song, we have some work to complete so if you’ll excuse us.” You said, politely bowing. You saw Jimin and Taehyung reflecting your moves as you all made your way out the door. 

Once the large pieces of wood finally closed behind you, you let out a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asked. You shook your head, tears clouding your vision. You looked at Taehyung with a sad expression.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Taehyung-ah?” You asked him, brokenly. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close. You allowed a few tears to fall but you wouldn’t break, not now. Not when they can walk out at any time.

“I knew how you felt and you were already broken enough from what you did. How could I hurt you more?” He asked. “And it’s not something for me to tell you, it was his.” Nodding your head, you break apart from him and wipe the tears from your eyes.

You look at Jimin and Taehyung with a fake smile. “I’m alright, it was inevitable. Let’s just get to work, hm?” You didn’t wait for their response and went back to your office. You needed to be alone. And it was all you could do not to break down and cry in front of them, especially at work. 

Jungkook luckily didn’t visit you at all the rest of the day. He got Soo-ah to deliver some of the files but he’s never bothered you. Maybe it was for him or for you, but to be honest you were thankful. You didn’t know what you’d say to him if you saw him right after finding all that out.

Areum left not long after you went into your office. It was a short visit, but you tried not to pry into it. Or else you’d start crying and you didn’t want to do that right now.

It wasn’t until the end of the work day when Jungkook knocked on your office door. He opened the door after granting him access, and you see how messy he looks. Shirt ruffled, hair a mess from running his fingers through it, tie loosened. 

Looks like he wasn't having a good day either. He walked into your office and sat on the chair in front of your desk. It was silent between the two of you, the two of you not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about Areum” He said, finally breaking the tense atmosphere. You sucked in a breath and shook your head.

“Jungkook-ah, it’s okay. I get it.” You told him sincerely. And you did, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

“It’s been six years and a lot of things have changed. You don’t owe me anything.” You told him with a kind look in your eyes. Jungkook’s face softened.

“You’re still one of the most important people in my life and I wouldn’t want to hide anything from you. Especially since we’re both raising the kids together.” He said. “I wouldn’t want it to affect the dynamic I have with you or the kids”

You immediately shook your head. “Never. The kids adore you. We’re okay, don’t worry. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters to me.” You told him. He looked awkward after your last sentence, but it was so quick that you almost missed it. Almost. 

“But I only have one request.” You told him with a serious look. Jungkook looked you in the eyes, putting his full attention onto you.

“When it comes to the twins, would it be okay if you’re the only one around the kids? It’s not like I wouldn’t want them to meet Areum, it’s just they’re still getting to know you and I wouldn’t want to confuse them with another new face. And I'm scared they’ll start calling her mommy instead of me and–” You started to ramble. Jungkook let out a soft laugh at your panic and gave you a smile.

“Y/N-ah, I wasn’t planning on introducing her just yet. I like how it’s only the four of us. Eventually, she’ll meet them, but not now.” He told you. “And they'll never call anyone other than you their mother. Those kids love you too much to see you any different than that.” 

You gave him a teasing smile. 

“You like it when it’s only the four of us?” You asked him with a raised brow. “What about Taehyung?” 

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s our family, Y/N-ah. He just so happens to tag along”

You felt your heart spike in your chest at his words. You will yourself to calm down, knowing that he doesn’t mean it in that way. But that thought puts a smile on your face.

“Huh, we are a family huh?” You ask him. He nods his head. 

“Whatever is between me and Areum is different from what you are to me, Y/N-ah. Please don’t forget that.” He told you. You nod your head and get up. 

You look at the time and notice that it’s almost time to pick up the kids. 

“Wanna go see the two dumplings?” You ask him, excited to be reunited with your babies. He lets out a laugh and stands. 

He takes out his car keys and holds it in front of your faces. “Let’s go?” 

The two of you headed down to his car to pick up the kids from daycare. You’re quite glad you and Jungkook have talked it out. As much as it sucks that he’s engaged to another woman, it does make you feel reassured that it won’t affect his relationship with you and the kids.

You love Jungkook with all your heart, and you know for a fact that it won’t stop. But you know you won’t stop him from moving on with his life. It hurts to know that things will change a little, but you finally know where you stand. 

And you’ll make your peace with it.

Your main priority is the kids. You have your brother, your mom, your best friend. And now you have Jungkook back in your life. 

As the two of you silently sit in the car as Jungkook drives to the daycare building, you know it’ll be alright. You’ll heal eventually.

Jungkook holds your heart, and you’ll be there for him even if it isn’t the way you want. Maybe in another life, but not now.

In the end, you’re not only Jungkook’s ex-girlfriend. You’re also the mother of his children. 

You looked at the man beside you and felt your eyes prick with tears. It hurts, but you’ll be okay.

As Jungkook parks in the front of the building, you immediately get out with him trailing behind you. You walk in and immediately see your two kids playing building blocks with another little boy. 

“Jiyeon-ah, Jayeon-ah, look who’s here!” Jooyoung, a worker at the daycare says. You see your two kids turn around at the sound of their names and a beaming smile breaks across their faces at the sight of you and Jungkook waiting for them. 

“Eomma!” 

“Cookie!” 

The two kids immediately run into both of your open arms. They both started rambling about their days as you all walked out of the daycare centre. You both listen carefully and respond at appropriate times as you and Jungkook buckle the kids in their car seats. 

You and Jungkook give each other knowing looks as the kids continue to speak.

Yeah, you know you’ll be okay.

You were making some food for dinner as Jungkook played with the kids in their room. You were on the phone with Miyeon as you cooked dinner. You marinated some beef for some bulgogi last night so you cooked that while you prepared the veggies. 

He has been spending dinner with you guys after work almost every day and if he doesn’t he lets you know beforehand. You thought he’d go home since his fiance would be waiting for him but he told you that she’s busy at a shoot so she won’t be home until much later. Jungkook loved your cooking when you guys were in college so you of course thought about what he liked.

You shouldn’t but you can’t help it. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with it?” She asks. You let out a sigh.

“I don’t have any other choice but to be, Miyeon-ah. He’s their father so I have to be okay with it.” You told her truthfully. It’s hard, don’t underestimate that but what else can you do? It’s not like you can beg him to break up with her. The two of you are still figuring things out. It wouldn’t be fair.

“So what, you guys are just going to co-parent and that’s it?” She asks. 

“No it’s two friends, raising two kids together.” You told her, not even believing your own words. She snorts on the other end of the line.

“We both know that you two were never just friends” 

You know she’s right but you can’t get into that right now. As you finished cooking, you and Miyeon talked for a little more before you got off the phone. You finally finished dinner.

You heard as the three of them laughed in the room as you fixed the table. Making your way to the room to call them out for dinner. You hear Jungkook and Jayeon making sound effects as they play with Jayeon’s action figures while Jiyeon’s barbies lay on the floor as she giggled at the sight of them trying to save her dolls. 

“Pffffftshoooo” Jayeon says as he hits one of the toy action villains. Jungkook laughs and goes along with what he says. He’s still in his work clothes, the only thing that’s missing is his blazer and his tie. But he’s more at ease now.

“Oh no, Jayeon-ah! The lizard is coming!” Jiyeon says, bringing over the toy lizard from the Amazing Spider-man in front of him. 

You look at them with fond eyes, this is what you want to see everyday.

“Ahem, you three.” You said, crossing your arms as you playfully gave them a scolding look. “Come on, let’s eat dinner or else I’ll will call the real life Lizard to take away your toys”

Jayeon and Jiyeon squeal with big smiles as they make their way out of the room to head to the dinner table. Jungkook smiles at the domesticity behind all of this. It’s what he’s always wanted with you and it’s so surreal that he gets to live like this. There's so much that the two of you have to figure out and it’ll take a while before you do. 

But as of right now, he’s satisfied. Eating dinner with you and his two kids. The center of his world right in front of his eyes.

The four of you talk and converse about different topics that the kids bring up, entertaining their imagination as the four of you eat together. You felt so at ease. 

As you and Jungkook washed the dishes together, while the kids watched some educational T.V, you felt extremely happy at this moment. 

“Hey Y/N-ah.” Jungkook says, as he soaped the plate. You look at him giving him a sound of acknowledgement, grabbing the dish from his hand as you rinsed it off. 

“Would it be okay if I take the kids out on my own for a few hours sometime soon? It won’t be for long and I’ll be sure to bring them home early and—” Jungkook starts. You let out a giggle. You dry one of your hands on your shirt and place it on his shoulder.

“Of course I’m fine with it, you’re their father, you can do whatever you want with them.” You said. He gives you a bright smile before nodding his head. 

As the two of you clean up, you turn back to the kids who you can tell are starting to get sleepy. 

“My little beans, are you tired?” You ask them as you approach. They nod their heads in unison. 

“Alright, time for bed” You told them. They groan in protest before getting up and making their way into their room. Looking back at Jungkook you urged him to join you as the two of you helped the kids get ready for bed. 

“Cookie, can you read us a story?” Jiyeon asks as the two of your kids get settled into their beds. Jungkook smiles before picking up the nearest book and reading the book aloud. Even making voices to indicate different characters. You felt your heart tighten at the sight. 

As the two kids started to fall asleep, you and Jungkook placed kisses on both of their heads as they silently slept. 

You both quietly make your way out of the room. “Do you think they’ll figure it out soon?” He asks. You nod your head. 

“They can feel it, Jungkook-ah, don’t worry.” You reassure him. He nods as he bids you goodbye. 

Six years have been quite a long time but everything with Jungkook feels the same but different at the same time. You guys aren’t that young naive 22 year olds anymore. The two of you have grown up and as much as things were rough in the beginning, you know it’ll work out eventually.

“Hey! You’re here early” You said with a smile as you opened the door, revealing Jungkook. It was currently 1:00 p.m.He was wearing an oversized dark grey shirt and baggy ripped jeans. The years have done nothing but made him even more attractive. 

He’s taking the kids out today while you have to go into the office to fix something for his trip to Busan. He asked you if you could accompany him and of course you had to agree. Even though he’s the father of your children, he’s still your boss. 

So you asked Taehyung and Miyeon to take care of the kids for a few days while you and Jungkook are away. 

But you have to head into the office to figure some things out for the trip and fix his scheduling for the next few days.

“Yeah, I wanted to come a little earlier so you can do your tasks without having to worry about them for too long.” You smiled at his consideration before inviting him in. The kids were nowhere to be seen so he assumed they were getting ready to spend the day with him as you fixed your hair to head into the office. 

“Do you want me to drive you?” He asks. You shook your head. 

“Taehyung said he has to get some things done so he said he’ll just bring me along with him.” He nods. Suddenly the twins' door opened to reveal Jiyeon running out with a hair tie in her hands.

“Eomma, can you braid my hair please?” She asks with a pout. You giggle, trying to hurry up and finish your hair so you can help her, but Jungkook beats you to it.

“I can do it, Jiyeon-ah” He said with a smile. Jiyeon’s face broke out into a smile.

“Really? Okay!” 

You forgot Jungkook learned how to braid hair so he can do it for you when you guys were in college. It was once of the sweetest things he learned and he was actually really good at it.

You watched as he precisely french braided her hair, not even hurting her in the process, that’s how good at it he is. 

You smiled at the sight and made your way into the kids room to see Jayeon sitting on a basketball as he read a book. 

“You ready, bug?” You ask him. He nods his head and stands up. He looks at the ball longingly as the two of you walk out of the room. 

“Cookie!” He says, running towards Jungkook giving him a hug just as he finishes with Jiyeon’s hair.

“Wahhh, Jiyeon-ah! You look like a mermaid!” Jayeon says. She smiles and looks into the mirror in the hallway.

“Woah! Thank you so much, Cookie!” She says. You and Jungkook giggle at the sight of the kids. You pick up your bag and give Jungkook a backpack of things for the kids while they're out. The four of you make your way out of your apartment.

You help Jungkook buckle the kids into his car. “Be safe, okay?” He says to you. You raise your brows at him.

“Shouldn’t I say that to you?” You ask him. He smirked as he looked at you. You felt your knees buckle a little bit at the sight of this attractive ass man. 

“You know I will be” He told you, looking directly into your eyes. You nod your head and look away, hopefully to hide your blush. You suddenly see Taehyung’s car pull up a few meters away from you. 

“Oh he’s here! I’ll see you guys later!” You said, giving the kids kisses on the head. You look at Jungkook, not sure how to say goodbye so you opt for a small wave before making your way over to your brother's car.

As Taehyung drives away, you see a weird smile on his face. “What?” You ask him as you look at him.

He shrugs. “What?” You ask again, rolling your eyes at his nonchalant behaviour. 

“Nothing, you’re just so awkward with him.” He tells you, with a teasing smile. You hit his shoulder. 

“Shut up” You say, turning away with a huff.

“What? You literally have a kid with him, you can hug him, you know?” He says. You ignored his statement as you looked at the scenery while he drove to your office. 

Jungkook was holding the hands of his two kids as they made their way to the park. He places a blanket on the ground, along with the bag as they all settle together on the grass. He wanted today to be simple, getting to know the kids without their mom around. As much as he likes you around them, he wants to build a connection with them on his own too. 

It’s been good so far, he ate at a diner with the kids and they seem to be having a good time. They're constantly having a conversation with him and showing him new things that peak their interest. 

“Cookie, can we play?” Jiyeon asks. He hesitantly looks at Jayeon. He knows he’s been doing quite well with his recovery, but he’s still not fully better yet. He wouldn’t want anything happening. But with the way his eyes look at him pleadingly, he can’t help but agree.

“Just be careful okay? If you feel anything, stop immediately and come back” He says tp Jayeon, who nods enthusiastically. He makes his way over to the park and Jiyeon turns around to him.

“Don’t worry! I’ll watch over him!” She says with a smile. He loves how understanding Jiyeon is about Jayeon’s situation. Maybe it’s a twin thing but she’s always caring for him and vice versa. 

He watches the kids play together, even making some friends as they play in the park. He never felt so happy to be around the little kids as much as he is right now. He loves how they’re so content, having no care in the world.

He loves the twins so much that it’s so hard to explain. They stemmed from a love that you and Jungkook made a long time ago. And watching that love personify itself into two beautiful children, it’s all he could ever ask for.

Suddenly his phone rings. He looks at the caller id to see Aruem calling. He sighs. He still hasn’t told her about the kids. You urged him to let her know as soon as possible. But he’s afraid of what it’ll become. She’s not an easy person.

So the thought of her getting worked up over it makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t want to affect the serenity around him right now. He doesn’t want you to get involved and he especially doesn't want his kids to be included in this too.

He knows he has to tell him eventually. But he just doesn’t want to break whatever peace he has right now.

“Jiyeon-ah!” 

He looks startled to hearing Jayeon call out his sister's name. He stands up immediately and makes his way over to a group of kids surrounding his little girl on the floor and Jayeon helping her sit up.

“What was that for?!” Jayeon says. He makes sure his sister is okay before walking up to the girls who pushed her to the ground. Jungkook was about to intervene but stopped himself as he watched.

For some reason, he knows the kids can handle themselves. 

“She’s been following us everywhere, we’re just trying to stop a creep like her!” The little boy says. Jayeon looks at him bewildered before looking back at his twin sister.

“Do you not see her face?” He says pointing at her direction. “Do you see mine?” He says, pointing at his own. 

He looks at him in confusion. While the other kids seem to slowly understand what he means.

He looks at the boy with a strict look on his face. “Treat my twin sister like that again and I swear I’ll make you regret it” He says, sternly. Jungkook raises a brow at his “intimidating” look, well as intimidating a little kid can be. He can see that it affected the kids, given the fact that Jayeon was a little taller than the other kids, probably getting the height from him.

“Seojun-ah!” The kids mom says, coming towards them. She makes him bow in forgiveness before walking away with the kid. Surprisingly walking towards him. 

“You don’t treat people like that! What’s wrong with you!” She say walking off. She looks at Jungkook and looks back at the kids.

“Are those kids yours?” She asks, a little worried. Jungkook nods his head.

She bows to him, surprising him. “I’m sorry for how he was acting, I taught him better than that.” she said. Jungkook nods before bending down to look face to face with the kid.

“Hey buddy” He says, he’s a little pissed at the kid but like he said they’re kids. They don’t know better. 

“Treat everyone with respect next time, hm? You don’t want to hurt your mom right?” He says. The kid nods before looking at his mom.

“I’m sorry, Eomma…” He says, looking up at his mom. She nods her head with a smile and walks off with the kid, bowing once more in politeness. 

Jungkook finally makes his way over to the kids. He squats down, looking at Jiyeon’s scratch on her knee. He felt his heart clench at the sight but he knows it happens sometimes. She’s not crying, surprisingly, but she’s more annoyed if anything. 

“Are you okay, Jiyeon-ah?” He asks. She nods her head. “But I’m not a pretty princess anymore” She says with a pout. Jungkook chuckles at her cuteness before picking her up, Jayeon following in tow as he makes his way over to the blanket he put down earlier.

He looks through the bag you gave them, surprisingly a whole first aid kit in the bag. This probably happens more often than he thinks if you packed this for him.

“You’re more of a warrior princess than just a regular princess if anything” Jungkook tells her as he cleans her wound, Jayeon holding her hand tightly. She looks at her father in confusion before he puts a bandaid on her cut. 

“A warrior princess is the princess of a kingdom but she keeps everyone safe. She’s strong, she fights for what she believes and protects those important to her” He says. She smiles and looks at Jayeon.

“I’m a warrior princess!” She says to him. Jaeyon giggles before looking at Jungkook with a smile. 

“Thank you, you’re definitely Superman” Jayeon says with a bright smile. Jungkook ruffles his hair before placing him on his lap and tickling him. Jieyon joins in and he laughs at the sigh of his two kids giggling. 

Suddenly his phone starts ringing again. He looks at the caller id to see Taehyung calling him. Answering the phone he puts it on speaker.

“Hey, what’s up man?” He says.

“Hey, would you be able to pick up Y/N? She just finished her work and I’ll be held up for a while. She didn’t want to ask you but she’ll be here longer than she’ll need to be, and I know she needs rest since you guys are leaving for Busan tomorrow” He says. Jungkook chuckles and looks at the kids.

“Yeah, we can come. Don’t worry.” He says. Taehyung thanks him and says hi to the kids before getting off call. 

“Wanna go see Eomma?” He asks. The kids nod their heads and they all pack up to make their way to the car. 

This is the first time the kids will see his building and for some reason, he’s a little excited for them to see it. 

As he pulls into the front of the tall skyscraper, he helps the kids come out of the car. He watches as the two kids look up in awe.

“This is so cool!” Jayeon says, looking up at the building. 

“Is it yours?” Jieyon asks. Jungkook smiles. How did she figure it out? He doesn’t know. 

He only shrugs and makes his way inside, the two kids walking in front of him. The workers bow at him as he enters. He’s dressed a little too casual than his usual attire but hell. It’s his building, he can do what he wants.

He can see people staring at him with his two kids walking in front of him as they look around the reception. He guides them over to the reception where Soo-ah is. 

She looks at him surprised, standing up to politely bow. “Mr. Jeon!” she says. Jungkook waves her off.

“I’m off work right now, no need to be so formal.” He says. She smiles.

“So what brings you here? Don’t you usually go up your elevator” She asks. Jungkook shakes his head. 

“We’re here to pick up Eomma!” Jayeon says with a smile. Soo-ah peers over her desk to see little kids with identical smiles on their faces. Her eyes widen at the sight of the resemblance of the kids and Jungkook.

He has children?

She masks her surprise as she moves around the desk to bend down to talk to the kids. “Oh yeah? Who’s your Eomma?” She asks. 

Suddenly a group of people make their way into the reception. There you are with Taehyung, Seokjin, Jimin and a few other workers that he assumes you befriended. Soo-ah starts to blush at the sight of Seokjin.

Jungkook saw one of the guys in the group standing a little too close for his liking, trying to talk to you but you subtly scoot away from him, standing between your brother and Jimin to avoid him. As you kindly conversed with the group.

Their conversations were interrupted at the sound of children yelling out. “Eomma!” the twins say. They both immediately run over to you and you bend down with your arms wide to give them hugs. Soo-ah look at Jungkook and the sight of the kids hugging you. All she saw was a fond smile on his face. 

Are you—?

“Uncle Tae!” Jayeon says hugging Taehyung, Jieyon was blushing at the sight of Jimin smiling at her. Jungkook walked over with a raised brow, Soo-ah following behind him. Everyone was watching the interaction with confused faces. 

They bow at the sight of Jungkook standing in front of them, while the other three of you excluding Soo-ah don’t bother to do that. Fully comfortable in his presence. The only person who didn’t bow was Jisung, since he’s a new worker and clearly doesn’t know who Jungkook is.

“You’re here?” You ask him. He nods his head and looks at Taehyung.

“I told you not to call him” You said with a pout, scolding your brother. He shrugs and looks back at Jungkook.

“You saw that too, didn't you?” He said. Jungkook rolled his eyes and pushed his best friend away from him. He looks at the workers who were just staring at them in confusion. 

“Uh? What’s going on?” The guy who was trying to get close to you suddenly said. You were about to answer but Jungkook interrupted. “I’m picking up Y/N, is that a problem?” 

Even though he was off work at the moment, he still wants to show his authority. Jimin and Taehyung exchange knowing glances while you stood there awkwardly. Soo-ah looks at you with wide eyes as Jungkook’s whole demeanor changes as he talks to your coworker, Jisung. 

“I was gonna offer her a ride home” Jisung said suddenly with an annoyed glance. “But you kind of got in the way” Jungkook only smirks, before walking up to the man. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, poking his tongue with his cheek. You couldn't help but slightly swoon at the sight. You know you should stop whatever is going on, but you kind of have no other choice but to let it happen since it’s his building after all. 

“Kang Jisung, Marketing Management” He says. Jungkook nods his head. “And you are?” 

The other workers tense at the sight. “Mr. Jeon, we are so sorry he’s a new worker and—” Soo-ah tries to say but Jungkook waves her off.

He held out his hand. “Jeon Jungkook, CEO of Jeon Enterprises” He says with a cocky smile. Jisung widens his eyes and immediately bows. 

“I’m so sorry!” He says, immediately asking for forgiveness for his behaviour. Jimin and Taehyung snicker from behind while Seokjin nudges them to be quiet. You knew this would get even more awkward so you stepped in.

“Eomma, I'm hungry!” Jiyeon said, catching everyone’s attention. Thank god.

“Ah well, we have to go so I’ll see you guys soon!” You said, pushing Jungkook away. Leaving everyone behind while the kids walked with Jimin and Taehyung in front of you. Everyone was shocked at the sight of you pushing the CEO like it was nothing.

That was so awkward.

After that whole escapade, you and Jungkook made your way back to the apartment with the kids. But Jungkook treated them to some ice cream before you guys got back to the apartment. They were talking your ear off about their day, faces filled with ice cream. And the funniest part of it all was Jungkook joining in too.

The three of them were all identical as they told you what they did today. And it made your heart swell.

“Cookie said we’ll all go out together next time, can we Eomma?” Jiyeon asked, your kids giving you puppy eyes. You look at Jungkook who also had the same look on his face. 

You can't deny them that. “Fine fine” 

They all cheered. You were wondering what to eat for dinner, while Jungkook took care of the kids. 

He walked over to you while the kids were occupied. “What's up?” He asks. You were looking at recipes on your phone, but you were so tired from the day that you didn’t even want to cook.

“Trying to figure out what to have for dinner” You said with a pout. He nodded his head. “Why don't we just order in?” He asks. You look at him skeptically before shrugging.

“Alright but I’m paying” You told him. Jungkook nudged your shoulder. “I’ll pay, Y/N-ah” He said. You shook your head.

“You already took care of them and got them ice cream, I owe you” You told him. Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“You don’t need to owe me anything, I’m their father. It’s my job, Y/N-ah. Don’t think you need to be like this every time it includes taking care of the kids.” He pleads. You look at him, you know he’s right. So you let out a sigh before nodding.

“Eomma, Appa can we have pizza tonight?” Jayeon says, catching the two of you off guard. You and Jungkook look at each other with wide eyes before you make your way to the kids. Who looks at ease with what Jayeon just said.

“Jayeon-ah, what did you just say?” You asked. He looks at you confused. 

“Can we order pizza?” He asks. You shake your head before pointing at Jungkook.

“No no, what did you call Cookie?” You ask. Jiyeon and Jayeon look at each other before looking abc at you.

“Appa? Isn’t he our Appa?” Jiyeon asks. You suck in a breath and look back at Jungkook who was struggling not to cry. 

“How did you—how did you know?” You ask them. They look at each other before shrugging. Jiyeon got up and walked over to Jungkook to lead him over to the three of you. He sat down beside you while the kids cleaned up their building blocks together.

“Nothing really, Jayeon and I talked about it and we had a feeling he was someone important to us.” They said nonchalantly. You and Jungkook share nervous glances. 

The anticipation was just so hard to bear. 

“And he said his name is Jeon Jungkook earlier, we have the same last name!” Jayeon said with a smile. You bring your kids onto your lap, both of them sitting on one leg each.

Jungkook looks at them nervously. “Are you okay with that? Me being your dad?” he asks. Your twins look at each other before nodding with beaming smiles on their faces.

“We love you, Appa, don’t worry!” They said. It was a long time coming but Jungkook didn’t hesitate before bringing the kids into his arms as he silently cried. 

“I love you both so much” He says, looking at you with tears running down both of your faces. He nudged his head, indicating you to join them. Hesitatingly, you come over and wrap your arms around your little family. 

This was one of the best moments of your life. And you can tell it means just as much to Jungkook. 

The four of you held each other close before Jayeon started groaning. “Please, let's have pizza! I’m so hungry” He said with a pout. You and Jungkook laughed before Jiyeon got up and ran to get your phone. She handed it to you and you ordered the pizza they wanted so badly.

You look at Jungkook with a smile on your face, both of you basking in this moment.

Jungkook got home later that day, a bright smile on his face. After the twins called him Appa, he’s never felt happier in his life. It felt too good to be true, the little dynamic between the four of you is something he holds dear to his heart. 

The four of you ate pizza and watched a disney movie together, the twins falling asleep on both of you laps. Jungkook held his daughter close to him as they slept. 

“Do you think I’ll be good at this?” He asks you, running his hand through his daughter's hair. You look at him, with a small smile as you watch the way he cared for Jieyon.

“You already are” You told him, sincerely. 

He was in such a good mood leaving your apartment that when he entered his own place, he wasn’t expecting to see Areum sitting on the couch. 

“Oh you’re back?” He asks, putting his keys on the holder. Areum went to Japan for a modeling gig and apparently came back already. The last time he saw her was the day she visited him in the office. 

“Where were you?” She asks, narrowing her eyes at him. Jungkook tenses up for a second before letting out a sigh. He doesn't like lying and eventually she’ll have to find out.

He sat down on the couch, keeping a safe distance from her. He knows she might not take this well.

“Well uh, Areum. I have something to tell you.” He tells her. She looks at him intently. Jungkook sucked in a breath.

“I was uh….I was out. With my kids…” He said. There he said it. She looked at him confused. Her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Kids? What the hell does that mean?” She asks. Jungkook nervously plays with the rings on his hands.

“Do you remember the ex-girlfriend I told you about? We have two kids together, twins.” He told her truthfully. She deserves to know. Even though their relationship is complicated, she still deserves to know about them.

“And you’re only telling me now?” She asks. Jungkook’s eyes looked down ashamed.

“It’s just…I only found out about them recently and I wanted to get to know them first before I introduced them to you…”  He told ehr. She looked away with a scoff. 

“No you just don’t want me to be included in this with you. You don’t want me to get to know them” She said. Jungkook tried to calm her down but she suddenly got up and stormed off. He groans and runs a hand through his hair. 

He sighs and makes his way to their shared room. She isn’t here, he doesn't really know where she goes sometimes but his house is so big that he couldn't bring himself to really care.

He decided to shower while she cooled off so they can talk it out better before he leaves for Busan tomorrow.

While he was in the shower Areum was in another room, pacing around while she was on the phone.

“You said you took care of it” She said to the person on the other line. 

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Jeon says. Areum groans. 

“You told me you showed the DNA of the kid. Only for him to tell me he has twins with his ex-girlfriend” She says angrily. Mr. Jeon was quiet on the other line. 

“Look I agreed to do this because you said you’ll give me money if he falls in love with me and forgets about her. I thought it was working but it looks like you didn’t hold out your end of the deal.” She said. Mr Jeon lets out a sigh on the other end of the line.

“This is gonna be a problem isn’t it…” He said to nobody in particular.

“Alright, Areum-ah. Head to Busan with him tomorrow. The two of you need some time together, that’ll probably snap him back into place.” He said. Areum quickly agreed, noticing the sound of the shower shutting off. She quickly bids the man goodbye as she waits for Jungkook.

She just hopes this works. 

Jungkook told you he’s going to be picking you up to head to Busan. It was early morning, Taehyung said he was gonna be there in 10 minutes. Just enough time for the two of you to get going.

You hear someone knock on your door and you open it to reveal Jungkook in matching sweatpants. He wanted to be the one to drive so you both chose to dress comfortably for the road trip.

“Ready?” He asks. You were about to agree when you suddenly saw your brother’s face pop up behind him. You smile at him while he pats Jungkook on the back.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Taehyung-ah” You told him. Your brother waves you for before turning towards Jungkook.

“Take care of her, alright?” He says. Jungkook nods his head. The two of you head into the twins’ room to bid them goodbye. You didn’t want to disturb their sleep so you both silently kissed them goodbye before you made your way out of the apartment. 

You guys were mostly silent during the car ride. It was comfortable. The two of you together. You were still tired and it was too early for your liking. You didn’t even notice yourself dozing off but Jungkook did. He chuckled at the sight of you sleeping in the passenger seat. 

He allowed you to sleep while he drove to Busan. 

You were shaken awake a few hours later. Jungkook has already checked into your hotel, getting the two of you rooms. 

“Come on Sleeping Beauty, we have a meeting soon. Let’s get ready.” He said, taking both of your bags. You sleepily followed him into the hotel. You were still trying to wake up when he showed you your room. You got in and immediately headed to the shower to try and wake up.

Luckily it worked and you came out, feeling much more refreshed. You quickly got ready, noticing it’s almost time for his morning meetings.

15 minutes later, Jungkook knocks on your door and you open it to reveal him in a fancy three piece grey suit and black dress shoes. 

“Let’s go?” You ask him. You wore a matching blue pants suit and heels. Fitting into the standards of his assistant. 

“Ms. Kim, what’s the schedule for today?” He asks as he leads you to his car. As the two of you get settled in, he starts driving towards the Busan Company building. 

You tell him his schedule for today, both of you holding your professional aura. 

The second you guys arrive, you guide him to the floor that’s holding the conference meeting. The two of you silently rode the elevator. You were organizing things for him while Jungkook scrolled on his phone.

“Good luck today, Jungkook-ah” You told him with a smile. He looked at you with raised brows but he smiled in return.

“Let’s hope we get this partnership” He said, as the doors opened. The two of you make your way into the boardroom. It was almost full, filled with different people in fancy suits and dresses. But you were especially caught off guard at the sight of his fiance Areum sitting at the foot of the table. 

“Areum?” Jungkook says. Clearly caught off guard at the sight of her too.

“Hey, honey” She said with a smirk.

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Way Back Home | jjk | Prologue

pairing: jungkook x reader

au(s): exes to lovers, single mom reader

rating: 18+

genre/warnings: parents au, single parent, coparenting, chaebol jungkook, ceo jungkook, assisstant reader, angst, pregnancy, jungkook's dad is a dick.

authors note: hey guys! here's the prologue to the new story! i surprisingly finished it much faster than i thought, but here you go! let me know what you think.

Next | Masterpost

“Congratulations! You’re 9 weeks pregnant!” The doctor states as he rubbed the probes around your abdomen. 

You felt your heart drop in your chest as you looked at the screen. You knew, God of course you knew. You took 6 tests and every single time it came out positive. But for some reason, you just couldn’t wrap your head around it. 

You were pregnant. 

“And look here, there are two sacks.”

“That means…”

“Yes, you’re having twins!”

You felt your eyes tear up as you looked at the two little black and white peas in your uterus. You were pregnant, with twins too. You would’ve been surprised but honestly, since you’re a twin…It’s just inevitable. 

You felt your nerves kick in. Would Jungkook be happy?

The two of you have been together for almost four years now. And you’ve never been happier with the man of your dreams.

You haven’t been able to tell him because you only recently found out a few days ago. Jungkook is currently out of the country for business. His father is the CEO of one of the biggest food manufacturing companies in Korea. 

Jungkook so happens to be the heir to the company, getting ready to take over for his father. 

For a chaebol, he was probably one of the most humble and caring people you’ve ever met. He doesn’t gloat, he doesn’t flaunt. He wants all of his successes to be his own.Although the company is being passed down to him, Jungkook went to university to learn everything there is to know about the business community. 

He wanted to be good at his job, to make his father proud. 

So, aside from school he’s been learning the ropes from the ground up.  Starting off as an intern, to a regular worker. 

He’s doing it all so he can do well, and you admire him for that.

Now that you guys are in your last year of university, he’s getting ready to take over for his father.

So he’s been quite busy, he tries to talk to you as much as he can but since he’s currently on the other side of the world, you guys miss each other pretty often. 

He still texts you good morning and goodnight, and tries to contact you as much as he can during his day. 

But it’s sad, because you find out you’re pregnant with his children and he isn’t here.

You understand though, this is important to him and he wants to do right by his family. Who are you to stop him from achieving that? 

So, here you are at the OBGYN looking at your twins who sit at the bottom of your belly. 

You felt happiness burn within your chest as you gazed at the monitor. You can’t wait to tell him.

You were currently sitting at the bus shelter, waiting for the bus so you could go to your afternoon classes. You were wondering how you'll tell everyone about your pregnancy. 

Of course, you’re scared out of your mind. How can you not be? You’re 22, working at a cafe for a part time job, and you're still in school. 

You know Jungkook will be here every step of the way, this man is constantly telling you about how he wants to marry you and make a family with you one day. He even teases it during…ehem…that he can’t wait until you’re pregnant with his children.

Deep in thought, you notice the bus roll up in front of you when suddenly you get a call. 

You look at the caller I.D to only be surprised. 

Jeon Estate is calling…

You sucked in a breath and answered the call.

“Uh, hello?” 

“Hello Y/N” Jungkook’s father says. 

You felt your heart stop. Jungkook’s father was probably one of the most intimidating people you’ve ever met. When you first met him, you knew he didn't like you from the start. 

Jungkook’s mother unfortunately isn't in the picture. His parents got a divorce while he was still in high school but he’s still on good terms with her. 

He told you if he had the choice, he wished he could've stayed with his mom instead. But his father ended up getting him while she moved back to Busan.

Anyways, every time you saw Jungkook’s father at either company parties or dinners that Jungkook had to attend and took (dragged) you along. 

You saw the insincere smile on his father’s face and the mirth behind his eyes.

“Hello Mr. Jeon, how come you’ve called?” You asked, nervously. 

“I would like you to come to the Jeon Estate, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” He replied. You looked at the time on your phone and noticed you had class in an hour.

Knowing you didn't really have a choice, you knew you had to spare some time. 

“Alright, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” You told him as you got onto the bus, scanning your bus card. 

He hung up the phone without any goodbye. You nervously chewed on your lip as you sat down on the chair in the bus. 

You gazed out the window as you made your way to the Jeon Estate. 

Why did he want to meet you? Does Jungkook know about it? 

You wish you could call him but he's currently sleeping and you don't want to wake him up after the long day he’s had.

You fidgeted in your seat as the bus halted at your stop. Getting up with a breath, you made your way out and started to walk into the rich neighbourhood that held almost all the most important figures in Korea.

You’ve been here a few times, but each time you're in awe over how large and beautiful these houses are. 

“I wonder how many packs of ramyeon I can buy with the amount of money they spend on these houses…” You mumbled to yourself.

You felt more nerves kick in the second you saw Jungkook’s childhood home come into view. There was a security guard outside in a booth at the gate.

You slowly made your way to the security guard with short steps. He gave you a small smile as you approached him.

“What can I help you with, Miss?” He asked.

“Uhh, my name is Kim Y/N and–”

He suddenly pressed the lock that buzzed open. You looked at him in surprise.

“He’s expecting you.”

He gave you a pity look before opening the door wide for you. This is definitely not good.

You felt your hand shaking as you raised it up to ring the doorbell. “Come on, Y/N” You pep talked.

Suddenly someone opened the door revealing Mrs. Cho. She was the one who took care of Jungkook when he was younger after his mother left. She basically became the mother figure for him while she was away.

“Mrs. Cho” You said warmly. She gave you a smile before leaning in for a hug.

You embraced the woman, her hand rubbing your back soothing your nerves. 

“You should head upstairs to Mr. Jeon’s office” She said as she let you go. You nodded your head before making your way up.

Standing in front of the big oak doors, you had a strong feeling something was about to happen and you know it can't be any good.

Screw it, you thought.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door. You silently waited for a few seconds before hearing Mr. Jeon granting you access to come in.

You made your way inside his office and stood at the front of his desk. You bowed down as a greeting before standing straight. 

Jungkook’s father was clad in a white dress shirt and trousers. He was staring at you with a blank expression as he sat on his chair behind the desk, not saying a word. You fidgeted in place, uncomfortable with the silence. 

“Uh–”

“Would you like some whiskey?” Jungkook’s father interrupts. He stands from his desk to walk towards the mini bar he has full of different alcohols on the other side of the room. You just watched him in confusion, not knowing what was going on.

He looks at you, expecting an answer. 

You shook your head no, knowing you can’t have alcohol anymore. Luckily, you weren’t much of a drinker so it won’t be that big of a change. He shrugged and made his way back to his chair with a whiskey glass in hand.

He sat down and swirled the brown liquid in his cup. Taking a small sip, he pointed to the chair beside you, urging you to sit down. 

You sink yourself down into the chair, feeling small under his scrutinizing gaze. 

He put down his glass and looked straight at you. He gave you an unwithered glare. This was definitely not good. 

“Let me cut to the chase.” He started. You looked at him, but you couldn’t keep eye contact for long. This man was just so intimidating and you know that he’s not your biggest fan. “I want you to break up with Jungkook.”

Pause. Pin drop.

What?

“I beg your pardon?” You asked, baffled.

Mr. Jeon only raised a brow at you before taking another sip of his whiskey. “What’s not to understand? I want you to break up with Jungkook.” 

You felt your eyes burn. “Wh–Why?” 

“Jungkook is about to begin his career as the CEO of the biggest food manufacturing branch in all of Korea.” He states. “He doesn’t need a distraction right now, and he definitely doesn’t need someone from your kind to be with him.” 

What the fuck? A distraction? How the hell are you a distraction when you’ve not only been the most supportive person and the most encouraging. You don’t come from much, your father dying when you were 12 and your mother owning a bakery here in Seoul.

You don’t come from much, but you've had all the love and support you’ve needed growing up. 

Much more than what this pathetic excuse for a father is. How the hell is Jungkook even related to this man?

Taking a deep breath, you furrow your brows at him. “And if I don’t listen?” You threatened. 

He scoffed. “Trust me, if you don’t want your life or Jungkook’s to be a living hell. You will.” 

Rolling your eyes you stand up. “I’m sorry but I love Jungkook too much to just give him off like that, and I know he would say the same thing.” You stated before turning around to leave. You didn’t bother bowing, he didn’t deserve your respect.

“Are you sure about that?” He questioned. Something about his tone of voice brought shivers down your spine. Glancing back at him, he had a smirk on his face before opening his drawer to take out a stack of papers.

He slammed it down on the desk only for you to find out that it’s not papers, it’s photos. 

Photos of you from today, leaving the OBGYN.

You felt your eyes widen in fear. You look at the man startled.

He grinned at your panicked expression. You could see it all over your face. He knows you’re pregnant. 

He leaned over his desk, placing his elbows on the wood. “If you know what’s good for you and for your child, you’d leave him.”

You felt your heart drop down to your stomach. He’s really threatening your children right now. Luckily he doesn't know you’re pregnant with twins, at least he doesn't know that much. 

“Why are you doing this?” You question him, tears streaming down your face.

He rolls his eyes. “Does that matter? You said you love Jungkook–then leave. We don’t need this scandal to ruin our reputation.” 

You hold the picture of yourself leaving the building with a bright smile on your face. The day you find out about your babies growing in your belly will also be the day you lose the person who means most to you in this world.

Sucking in a trembling breath, you look at him with dead eyes. 

“Fine.”

You have to do this. For Jungkook. For you. But especially for your unborn children.

You’re currently sitting at another bus shelter. How long have you been here? You have no idea. You just left the Jeon Estate with a miserable heart and tears in your eyes as you slowly made your way to the nearest bus station. 

You’re pretty sure you’ve been here for a long time. The sun is starting to set and you know you definitely missed all your afternoon classes.

You looked down at your hands and felt your chin tremble. 

You don’t want to let him go. 

The man you love with your whole heart.

But what other choice do you have? You need to protect your babies.

Taking all the courage you can muster, you digged out your phone from your trench coat pocket and went to the call log. 

You scrolled down to pick on Jungkook’s contact and with shaky hands you pressed the dial. 

You waited a few seconds. Hoping he won’t answer and you’d never have to do this. But luck wasn’t on your side, by the time it reached the last ring you heard the sweet melody of his voice booming through the phone speaker.

“Hey, baby” He says. You sucked in a breath at the sound of the familiar nickname. “I was just about to call you, I just got out of the shower.” 

You were silent. You felt your chin tremble at the sound of his voice. The voice that lulled you to sleep with his beautiful singing. The voice that comforted you even in your darkest nights.

“Baby?”

“Huh? Yeah, that’s good.” You said, absentmindedly. 

“What’s wrong?” He questions at the sound of your tone. You felt a sob bubble into your throat but you held it back. You need to do this.

“You know that I love you, right?” 

“Huh? Yes, of course I do. I love you too. What’s up?”

More tears started streaming down your face. “I–”

“Y/N, what’s going on? Talk to me please?”

“I want to break up.”

SIlence. He went quiet on the other line and all you wanted to do was take back the words you said.

“You don’t mean that” He said with a broken voice. Of course I don’t mean that, I love you too much to do something like this. 

“Why are you saying this? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…I don’t see us working out anymore. You’re always busy, we barely make contact with each other and I get it’s because of the time difference but what happens when you actually start your real job, huh?”

You were spewing out nonsense. Jungkook was the type of guy who would do anything and everything to make you happy. He was so caring and considerate. It’s what made you love him that much. 

“No no no, you don’t mean that. Please, baby. I’ll be better, I’ll do better. Please, just don’t leave me.” He pleads, his voice muffled with tears. You wanted to scream that you don’t mean it but you can’t.

There’s no use.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook” And you mean it, you’re sorry you can’t tell him. That you have to hurt him. That you love has been personified into two beautiful young souls. 

You know he would make a great father. And the thought that he won’t know about it breaks your heart.

“Baby–”

“Make sure you eat well, you get good sleep and take good care of yourself. Hm?” You say. You can hear him calling out your name but you press the red button on the phone, ending the call.

You bury your face into your hands as you wail out. This is so hard. 

Why does this have to happen?

You cried your heart out for god knows how long. But you know you can’t just stay there. So you got up once the next bus came and made your way onto it. 

You had to go back to your college dorm but you can't go back there right now. You can’t go back to an empty room with your missing roommate who spends more time in her boyfriend's room than staying in her own dorm.

And knowing Jungkook, he’ll probably catch the next flight back here to try and get to you as soon as he can.

With that thought, you knew there was only one place left to go.

You got back to campus not long after and made a b line towards the other dormitory where your twin brother stayed. 

Taehyung was Jungkook’s best friend. But you and Taehyung have always steered clear from interfering in each other's lives, so nobody, not even Jungkook knew you were twins. You guys wanted to have a life where the term twins didn’t follow you both around all the time. Even though you guys love each other to pieces, two halves of the same whole, you guys wanted to be your own person too.

Of course, being Jungkok’s girlfriend–or ex–you’ve hung out with his friends a bunch of times, including Taehyung. But ironically, even though you guys are twins, you don’t look that alike as long as people don’t study you like weirdos. 

You walked up the stairs to the third floor, not bothering to wait for the elevator. You make his door and just as you’re about to knock it swings open to reveal your brother staring at you with wide eyes.

“Jesus christ” He sighs in relief. “I woke up from my nap because I got the most random urge to see you.” 

You gave him a sad smile before walking into his embrace. Ever since you guys were younger, you both just knew when you needed the other. It was like intuition. You just knew.

Taehyung was slightly startled at your sudden hug but he brought his arms around you as ell. “Are you okay?” He asked, worriedly. 

You shook your head before walking into his room. He closed the door and followed closely behind as you sat on his bed. He sat on the floor right in front of you as you silently fidgeted with your hands. 

He sighed and got up to stop you from peeling the skin around your nails. A nervous tell you’ve always had.

“What’s wrong?”

You sighed out before looking at him with tears welling up in your eyes. “I broke up with Jungkook.”

Taken aback he sits down on the bed and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You place your head on his shoulder as you cry. “Why would you do that?”

“Jungkook’s father threatened me to break up with Jungkook.” You told him honestly. Startled, Taehyung looks at you to see if you’re fuckign around with him but with the way you look so empty. You are definitely telling the truth.

“Why the fuck would he do that?” He asked, angrily. He never liked Jungkook’s father, even when he met him this one time he was at Jungkook’s apartment with Jimin and had the most unpleasant encounter with the man.

“Because he said someone like me is a distraction to Jungkook.”

“Well that’s bullshit, you know that’s not true. Jungkook would never agree to that.” He said exasperated. “Come on, Y/N-ah, you can’t just give up on him that easily. Jungkook would never let you.”

You sighed. You know he wouldn’t, that’s what you’re afraid of.

“I thought you love him?” He asks you. You look at him with wide eyes and an angry scowl. 

“You have no idea how much I love him, Taehyungie. But I have to do this.” You told him, sternly. Taehyung only shook his head. 

“You have to tell him.”

“I can’t, his father already threatened to take away his career and ruin our lives, I can’t do that to him.”

Taehyung let out a sigh as he stared at you. “You know Jungkook would drop anything to stay with you. Why do you think I’ve been okay with you guys together this entire time? Jungkook isn’t like that.”

You nod your head. He has a point. Taehyung was actually very happy to hear that you guys were dating. Although its been four years, he was finally ready to tell him that you guys were twins but now…

“I can’t…”

You grab your bag and pull out the ultrasound pictures you got earlier. You nervously bit on your lip and handed it to Taehyung. His eyes widened in surprise. 

“Are you–”

“His father threatened my babies…I can’t–”

He hushed you before bringing you back into his arms. He held you close as you buried your face into his shirt. 

“That son of a bitch” Taehyung mumbled. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

You shook your head before breaking away. “What do I do?” You question. Taehyung looks at you with sympathy. He knows this must be hard for you. And knowing what you’ve gone through, this is probably the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

But now he understands. It’s not just for Jungkook. It’s for the children you’re holding. 

“I have an idea” He told you.

You were sitting at the seaside a few days later. Your mom left to get you some food while you stayed and watched the water. 

You were right. You stayed with Taehyung for the night and got multiple calls from Jungkook. You turned off your phone so you didn’t have to see that.

Taehyung told you that your roommate, Miyeon, told him that Jungkook came. Of course, you couldn’t see him. It’ll be too much for you to handle and you know you can’t get even more stressed than you already are.

Miyeon was the only person who knew you and Taehyung were twins. She knew the second she looked at your faces. 

But she didn’t care and noticed that you guys barely talk about it, so she kept it to herself. 

Luckily, Jungkook left because Miyeon said you didn’t come home last night. Taehyung grabbed the majority of your clothes and packed it into a bag. He drove you to your mother’s house and told her what happened.

Next thing you knew, you were on a flight to Jeju Island with your mother while Taehyung stayed behind to handle things from there.

You were on autopilot. 

You didn’t realize what was going on. You were so heartbroken and sad that you just went along with what everyone said. 

But you’re glad that they did this for you. You know you’ll start showing soon, especially with twins. You can’t hide that while you’re in school. So it looks like you’ll have to postpone that for now.

So now, you’re living with your mom and her sister who fortunately lives here. 

You glanced down at your phone in your hands. You changed your number so Jungkook would stop calling you, but you just wish you could hear his voice. One last time.

But you knew you had to do this.

You looked out into the sea with a sad smile. This was your choice, so you’ll have to live with it. You have to be strong, for your kids.

“We’ll be okay. Eomma, will be fine.” You said as you rubbed your stomach.

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taglist is officially closed :)

Hi! congrats on 2k followers ♡ The trope would be Idol!Namjoon x non Idol!reader, and actually just something smut & fluff is okay, like in a new relationship, please.

Thank u ^^

(I'm not a minor dw)

thank you for your support, lovely ): 🤍 means so much to me x love u, mwah 💋 xox

sweaty and steamy

Namjoon is very busy with work so you decide to visit him at his studio. You both end up sweaty and steamy.

pairing: idol/bf!namjoon x non-idol!reader

genre: established relationship, idol au, smut, fluff

warnings: namjoon's the best bf obvi, unprotected sex, studio sex 👀, praising, clit stimulation, a little under 1k.

a.n.: the first thing that came to my mind was studio sex... i mean, can you really blame me? 🥺

This is part of my 2k milestone celebration! Here is the post for the drabble game if you want to participate and send in a request of yours! 🤍

♡・2k celebration masterlist・♡

Namjoon is a very busy person. Not surprising considering the job he has, but sometimes he really dedicates his whole day to his music. It's not a bad thing, he's always productive and hardworking, all of that amplified because he's genuinely passionate about what he does.

You try not to be jealous. After all, he's not replacing you or ignoring you for his lyrics. You know that because he makes it a priority to call you at the end of each day, reminding you how grateful and happy he is to be your boyfriend.

Despite the relationship being new, Namjoon isn't afraid to show his emotions and that's what you like about him. His ability to express what he feels in such a meaningful way, with beautiful and poetic words, makes you fall in love with him over and over again.

Dating an idol is not easy, especially with one who has such a tight schedule, but you both make it work. For example, you like to visit him at his studio whenever you're free from work. You go support him and bring him some food.

You usually don't stay long either because you have to go back to your office or because he has to get back on what he's working at the moment. But sometimes, like right now, it happens you get a little bit distracted and stay longer than you're supposed to.

"Fuck, baby," Namjoon breathes out, throwing his head back against his desk chair. His hands are holding your hips, guiding you over his hard cock. His chest heaves fast, out of breath with you bouncing on his lap. "What a good girl, feels so fucking good."

You whine in response, also having an irregular breath. Your hands are on his naked shoulders, nails digging into his soft and tan skin, leaving behind crescent forms all over his flesh.

You're still not used to his size, being so big he stretches you out really well. It's a bit painful, a burning sensation making you moan, but the feeling is addicting, exhilarating.

"I love it," you admit, having Namjoon's cock nestled deep inside your pussy. You circle your hips, his tip brushing against your sweet spot and making you want more, always more.

He smiles, showing off his cute dimples and straight teeth. "Me too," he agrees. "Love these," he adds on while groping your tits in his big palms, gently pulling on your hardened nipples.

You mewl in his hands, doing a grind motion with your hips. He seems amazed to see you using him to pleasure yourself, finding it hot of you, being so turned on he feels his dick twitch inside of you.

He lets go of your breasts and watches them jiggle on your chest, licking his plump lips at the sight. He won't lie, this must become his new favourite position. The other positions are going to be tasteless compared to that one and all of this will be your fault because you can't just ride him like that and expect him to not become obsessed.

Your slick covers his pelvis and even the inner of his thighs, cock slipping in so smoothly by how wet you are. He knows his studio will smell like sex after that and he doubts anyone who enters won't notice. The odour is strong, but nothing repulsive in his opinion, on the contrary, he adores it.

He won't forget this moment that's for sure. He even believes nothing will surpass it, unless you decide to ride him with that much determination from now on.

It must be because of his work, of how badly you miss him every time he's not with you. He feels guilty, he doesn't like being so busy it stops him from seeing you, especially when you're a new couple. Honestly, sometimes he would drop everything and spend the entirety of his day with you, but he can't do that, which really sucks.

But if moments like these can make up for the wasted time, then he's satisfied.

He feels you clench around him and grip on his shoulders, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. "God... baby, are you close?" Namjoon asks and you nod, moaning sweetly against his ear. "I got you," he announces, his voice husky and low, making you shiver.

One of his hands slides between your bodies and reaches for your pulsating clit, massaging it with his thumb. Your moans start getting louder and he grunts, feeling his balls tightening.

He plants his feet on the floor and thrusts up into you, your thighs shaking as your high approaches really fast. "I'm close too, fuck," he curses under his breath, circling your clit as he fucks you, a hand on the back of your head to keep you close to him.

"I'm cumming-!" You squeak, bucking your hips as your orgasm shoots through you. Your walls close around him tightly and he groans, your high bringing him to his own.

His thighs tense under you, big and strong, hips coming to a halt. "That's it, fuck," he moans and he finally comes undone into your pussy, painting your walls white with his cum. His cock twitches, spilling the last bit of cum he has.

He pats your hair, trying to catch his breath as you do the same, boobs squished against his chest. After some time, a comfortable silence settles between the two of you and you push yourself off him.

You face him and can't help but smile, biting down on your lip. You kiss him, a way to thank him for being with you.

You're happy and he is, too.

.

.

.

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) || ch. III

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 3,375

Warnings: 8-year age gap, big flashback of bromance between Tae and JK, slight drunkenness, family drama in-laws, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, mentions of therapy, kookie trying to be a good husband, needy kook 😶

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: chapter 3 is here! I know its so short 😩 but I promise it sets up the next chapters really well! Also, I wanted to get into jk's background a little this time, his undergrad days, and Taehyung of course. It's a big leap but they're older now so...meh. Tysm for everyone's patience! 💞

<< ch. II ༓ ch. IV >>

There weren’t many people Jungkook envied in his life. He was 34 years old, had top-notch experience as an economist within the business and legal sphere, and taught at one of the finest universities in South Korea. He also earned his Ph.D by the time he hit 30, which was undoubtedly the cherry on top.

But if there was one person who could shake the ground from under his feet it would be Kim Taehyung.

The pair met during undergrad through mutual friends. Jungkook had been invited to an off-campus party his first year and Taehyung was an unexpected third party. The man was so put together that it was as if Michelangelo himself reached down and sculpted him from the clay.

16 years ago

“Hi,” a low, baritone voice rumbles. “I’m Taehyung.” He sticks his hand out, waiting for a shake. He’s a little timid but mostly stands upright with a few pieces of his caramel hair falling over his eyes.

Jungkook chuckles at Taehyung’s stark formality. “What’s up, man!” He slaps Taehyung’s hand casually. “Jeon Jungkook.”

Taehyung reeks of sophistication and has the most annoyingly gorgeous face. His boxy grin could charm the pants off anyone who was two feet from him. Hell, even Jungkook feels a little starstruck by him.

Though barely acquaintances, it doesn’t take long for Jungkook to realize they are on opposite ends of the same stick.

Taehyung comes from a wealthy upper-class family. They have four mansions plus a beach house. Every Christmas, he goes to Italy to visit his aunt and uncle. For his 18th birthday, Taehyung got a brand-new Corvette, red with black rims. Everyone wants to be him…everyone wants a piece of Kim Taehyung.

But underneath the surface of his flashy lifestyle is something oddly endearing. Jungkook can’t quite put his finger on it but as the night goes on, he enjoys the man’s company. Taehyung seems to latch onto him as well which shocks both of them to the core.

“Seriously hyung,” Jungkook slurrs. “I don’t know why you’re hanging around me this whole night when you could be getting off with one of the fifty girls who’ve come up to you. Are you playing it cool are you really a loner or something?”

Taehyung snatches the beer bottle from the younger’s hand. “That’s enough drinking for one night Jungkook. You’re about to pass out, I can tell.”

“I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.” Jungkook grabs the bottle back, taking a big slug before wiping his mouth off with his arm. “Something to know about me Taetae. I live by the work hard, play hard kinda philosophy.”

Taehyung cringes at the pet name but chalks it up to Jungkook being off his rocker. “That’s the type of philosophy that’s gotten my family to spend millions on useless crap. It’s fun for a while but it never lasts. I don’t recommend it Jungkook.”

Jungkook snorts. “So you are a loner huh? Because my parents have been stuck in the same loop for years. All work, no play. It’s caused them both to lose every hair on their head. Do you wanna lose your hair by the time you’re 45 Tae? I wouldn’t think so with those luscious locks of yours. Bet some chick would love to yank on them while–”

“I’m not a loner.” Taehyung interrupts, feeling a surge of embarrassment creep up his cheeks. He knows the looks people shot at him and while he didn’t entirely hate it, it always took more than it gave. All he wanted in those moments was to retreat into himself with his paints. Taehyung loved art and like many, found it therapeutic. “I’m not a loner,” he repeats. “I’m just not interested.”

“Sure you’re not buddy.” Jungkook gives a nod but remains largely unconvinced. “But you didn’t answer my question. Why you hanging around me? I’m not that cool ‘cause if I weren’t here, I’d be at the library right now with my nose in the books. Economics doesn’t slap all the time you know.”

Taehyung is silent for a moment before answering.

“I feel like a normal person with you," he starts. "Everyone looks at me like I’m some spoiled golden boy who they can get a free ticket of off if they talk sweet. And yeah, I’m aware of the advantages I’ve had…the struggles most people have that I don’t. But I’m still a real person that wants what most people do...purpose, belonging, someone that just gets them.”

Taehyung takes a breath before continuing.

"I really fucking love painting. It’s my heartbeat honest to god and I’m tired of being looked at as merely an object of someone’s unfulfilled wishes and desires. I like that I don’t need to worry about that with you. I think...we come from different backgrounds but we’re cut from the same cloth Jungkookie. Oh, are you-are you crying?”

“Fucking beautiful Taetae. You’re straight out of Vanity Fair you know that? I’m more of a Forbes magazine guy myself though.”

Taehyung throws Jungkook a puzzled look. Is he being condescending or is this just the booze talking?

“‘Cause I’m a small-town boy with great ambition, intelligence, and gall? We covered this earlier man, keep up!” Jungkook emphasizes his words, hands flying about.

“Right,” Taehyung joins in, recalling the conversation. “You’re father is an analyst for the city and your mom’s an accountant. They want you to get a job nearby after graduation but you don’t want to because–“

“Because it’s too small, boring, set in its traditional ways, and I for one am not fucking with it.” Jungkook sends Taehyung a lopsided grin. “You got a pretty good memory man. Maybe we can be friends after all.”

“I’m so glad,” Taehyung drawls, a slight trace of sarcasm. Jungkook doesn’t notice, however, too busy staring at the strobe lights dancing across the ceiling.

“Hey!” he suddenly pipes up, eyes wider than before. "What are you doing next Friday?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Why?”

“I got this boring family reunion to go to. Happens every year. I don’t wanna go but my parents force me to. You wanna come?”

Taehyung hesitates. “A family reunion? I know I said we’re cut from the same cloth, but we’re not…related Jungkook.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll ask my parents if I can bring a friend. They won’t give a shit as long as I’m there. Also, I heard from my brother that Ha-Yun’s gonna be there.”

“And Ha-Yun is…?”

“Some girl that my parents want to set me up with. Family friend’s daughter. I went to high school with her.”

“So you think that if I’m there I can be your right-hand man or something? Make you look good in front of your future wife?”

“Fuck no. I’m hoping she’ll go to you instead.” Jungkook laughs when he sees the color draining from Taehyung’s face. “It’s nothing against her bro. She isn’t weird or anything. I say this lightly but, I just don’t wanna go out with her and she’s not my type.”

“I’ll think about clearing my schedule for this but I’m not being your meat on a stick,” Taehyung seethes. “But since we’re on this topic, what is your type?”

“Mm, not sure.” Jungkook shrugs. “Someone who’s unexpecting I guess. Like you shouldn’t be together because it's outside of the usual. But you can’t help it. You gotta have this person or it’s over. What about you?”

“Easy,” Taehyung mutters. “I like artists.”

“Artists huh? Like you? Well, I guess I can understand.” Jungkook smirks before leaning his head back against the couch. “One day, I’ll find an artist for you Tae. I promise.”

Oh, the irony.

present

“Jungkook, stop! I need to get up.” You struggle in his arms, biting back a grin. Jungkook has you in a locked position. His hard chest presses close against your back and his leg hugs your body.

“Mm,” he groans. “It’s not time yet.”

“Yes, it is. Also, you’re nearly suffocating me.”You wiggle your body but to no avail. Your husband always tends to get needier as the school year approaches.

"I just don't want you out of my arms yet. Is that a crime now?"

No. No it's not, you sigh to yourself. By this time next week, you’ll be waking up to an empty bed. "Okay." You glance at the alarm clock. "Ten minutes and then I really need to get ready for work."

"Fifteen," Jungkook mumbles.

"Twelve."

"Thirteen."

"No. It's twelve or I'm going now." Jungkook gives a cute grunt and tightens his grip. He really doesn't want you to leave this morning.

"Fine," he says. "Twelve. But we're snuggling again tonight."

"Jungkook. Can't. Breathe." Being spooned by your husband is nice but this isn't spooning anymore. He's completely cacooning himself over you. As soon you feel him shift his weight off you, hand loosening from your waist, your ribs hum in relief.

After what seems like three minutes of complete silence you decide to bite the bullet and ask the question that's been on your mind for the last couple of days.

"Um Jungkook?"

"Yeah?"

"When we went to get ice cream the other night. There was something that happened...to you." You're uneasy bringing it up but you can't shake your concern. When Jungkook saw the little girl with her dad, he went into a bit of a trance. He didn't talk, didn't move, and was pretty numb to your presence all together.

"Oh god," Jungkook groans. "I was hoping you didn't notice but you're my wife so I guess it's fine."

Crap. Was this a sore subject for him? You twist your head over your shoulder, just enough for your ear to be near his lips. You're in high alert now. "Why weren't you hoping I noticed?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's embarrassing." Jungkook smacks his lips before continuing. "But do we really have to talk about it? Spilling ice cream on my shirt at 34 isn't something I really wanna relive through early morning conversations."

Oh he thinks....of course he thinks that's what you're refering to.

"I'm not talking about you being clumsy Jungkook. I'm talking about the little girl with the ribbons. When she was with her dad, you kinda went a little frozen."

Jungkook doesn't reply immediately so you prod him a little. "I just wanna know if everything was alright. I suppose with our current situation I get it if it hit you in a sort of way. Good or bad, whatever the feeling was, you can tell–"

"They seemed happy is all," he croaks, voice dropping an octave. "The kind of happy that makes someone's entire soul stop, I guess. Like they had something special that no one else could. Does that make sense?"

If you look down you think you'll see goosebumps. The words coming from your husband's mouth are, at most, mumbles but they aren't coming from a place of unease or hesitation. Instead they allude to something warm, wholesome, and new.

"Yeah of course, it makes perfect sense. I had a similar experience when I met Si-woo. The way his face light up when he saw his mom comforted me but I felt envious too. Is that wrong of me?"

"Not at all. I think it's a natural response when you see something you want but don't currently have. You know, there was one thing that popped in my thoughts while I watched that father and his daughter..."

"Hm?"

"I thought, maybe I'll be happy too. If we actually have a kid, we'll be happy together like them or something." Yawning, he continues. "I dunno, honey. Kinda sleepy still so if I fall asleep I love you and I hope work goes well. But we can keep talking if you want."

You untuck your hand from under your head and close it over your husband's arm; the one draped around your waist.

Hope. Real hope.

"Dammit why won't you open?!" Jungkook bangs the jar on the side of the kitchen counter. He's been trying to get it open for the last five minutes. With you at work, it's his turn to prepare dinner.

"Take a breath kid," Yoongi says from the other line of the phone.

Jungkook ignores him of course, continuing beat the shit out of the jar in his hand. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. You stupid jar!"

"Kid!" Yoongi tries again, this time grumbling. "Stop doing that and go get a butter knife or something to hit the side of the lid with. It'll pop right off and I won't sue you for making me go deaf."

"Hyung–"

"Oh I thought you didn't call anyone that anymore. Now that you're a real boy and all. With big boy things." Jungkook shakes his head, hearing the older man snort through the speaker.

"You been talking to Taehyung?" That big mouth, he's become as bad as Jimin. What happened to the more reserved Tae he met in undergrad. He likes him better than this new, cocky mf.

"He may have slipped out a thing or two. But I'm glad to see you're still scared shitless of me that you'll keep calling me hyung."

Jungkook slams the jar on the counter, having enough. "Why the fuck did you call hyung? Can't you tell I'm a little busy right now."

Yoongi chuckles. "Alright I'll stop picking on you. I need a favor. The wife and I want to go out just the two of this weekend. I know you got your professor duties starting but would you and __ be willing to look after our gremlins for a couple hours Saturday?"

"Uh–I'm gonna have to talk to __ about this but maybe?" You and him have babysat for Yoongi's twins a handful of times before. They get a little rowdy but it's been mostly fine. Jungkook's not sure if either of you have the energy or time this weekend though. "I thought you usually got a babysitter."

"Yeah, usually but they're unable to this weekend. I'm hoping this time the babysitter will be you and __. We won't be long but we'd really appreciate it if you guys could do this for us. Could you maybe let me know by Thursday if you can?" Yoongi waits for an answer.

"Yeah alright," Jungkook finally responds. "I'll talk to __ about it when she gets home. No promises though." Jungkook wipes the sweat from his brow. It was a little hot in the kitchen. "Listen Yoongi, I gotta get back to prepping dinner but thanks for that tip about opening the–"

"Jungkook! Hello?" A familiar but muffled voice hollers from the front door. "Are you home?" The door bell is pressed continually without rest.

"Uh my ears," Yoongi pipes. "Who the hell is at your door?"

Jungkook walks towards the front of the house, peaking out the window. What the fuck are those two doing here? "Damn it, I gotta go hyung. My parents have decided to pay an unexpected visit." Before Yoongi has time to reply, Jungkook ends the call.

fuckfuckfuckfuck, he repeats under his breath. Could they not have called beforehand? It's a friggen' ten hour drive. Did someone die or something? Why are they here?

"We can hear you Kookie," Jungkook's mother coos in a sing-songy tone. "No one died. We just wanted to see you and __."

Jungkook opens the front door, not even caring if his face shows he's pissed off. "Mother it'd be nicer if you, I don't know. Planned these things?!"

"I told you," Jungkook's father grippes. "I told you woman, didn't I? We should have called. You never listen to me!"

"Oh shut up you goat," Jungkook's mother pushes her way through the door and into the house. "My son loves me and he's happy to see me." She wraps her arms around Jungkook's waist and presses her cheek against his arm.

"Yeah," his father steps in the house. "He's just jumping with joy with that silly apron on. C'mon, he was obviously in the middle of something. Ugh I'm sorry son. Your mother is, well, you know how she is." He slips out of his shoes and shuffles to the kitchen. "Whatcha cooking anyway? Something good I bet."

Jungkook rubs his face in agitation. __ is not gonna like coming home to his parents running around the house.

"You're not mad at me are you?" His mother lifts her chin, big doe eyes just like his own. "We just missed you and we figured you'll be busy with teaching soon so...we just decided to drive down last night."

Trying to smile, Jungkook brings his arm around her. "No, no I'm not mad. I'm glad to see you and __ will be too."

"Jungkook, why the hell are your parents here?" You force yourself to keep a low voice. Your in-laws were steps away and they had the sharpest pair of ears you knew. You didn't want them to hear a single beat.

Your husband pulls at his hair, pacing small circles around the bedroom. "Trust me, I didn't invite them. They just showed up. I don't even know why they're here besides they just wanted to. I'm really sorry."

You yank your silk blouse over your head, tossing it in the hamper. "I love your parents but you're gonna need to tell them this can't be happening." You change into a basic t-shirt and jeans. "I know they're probably a little lonely with you and your brother so far away but I'd be a far better host with some pre-warnings."

"I know. Mom's just so-" Jungkook pauses, scratching his head. "Persistant...and dad will do whatever she wants."

"Look I get it. Saying no is hard when they just want to see us. But what if we had something going on tonight?"

"You're right, you're right," he sighs. "I'll try bringing it up to them."

"Anything else new happen while I was gone?" You mean it as a joke. You really do. Jungkook gives you a look that says yes though. Excellent.

"Well, uh...Yoongi hyung asked if we could babysit Saturday. Him and the Mrs want to go out but thier regular babysitter isn't available that night."

Groaning, your shoulders slope down. "Wha–uh at this rate why the hell not? I was just looking for more things to do."

"Honey," Jungkook makes his way over to you. "We don't have to if–"

"You guys still in there?!" Jungkook's mother intrudes, pounding on the door. "You better not be having coitus! Though grandchildren would be nice if that were to ever be in the cards."

"Coitus?" You mouth silently. Jungkook's parents were a little old fashioned sure but who the heck still says coitus?

"We'll be out in a second. Can you and dad set the table?" Jungkook responds, girmacing at his mothers word choice.

"Okay but wrap it up in there. I'm only here for two days. I wanna see my beautiful daughter in-law!"

You and Jungkook immediately exchange a slack-jawed expression. "What?" With the door thrown open, your husband's eyeborws furrow. "Mom you can't be serious."

"Oh don't look so worried!" The older woman lets out a restrained chuckle. "We're not gonna stay in the house with you or anything. We got a hotel. But ten hours is a long drive and I really wanted to see you. Your father and I don't hear from you often and you didn't come to the last family reunion. What do you expect us to do? Just not see our son?"

"Please don't say it like that Mom," Jungkook combs his fingers through his hair, teeth grinding together. "You know that __ and I are–"

"Always happy to see you!" You rush next to your husband who's startled by your sudden change in demeanor. "Jungkook's just been a little anxious about returning to the university. But we'd love to spend a couple to days with you and dad. Let's start with dinner!"

You usher everyone down the hall and towards the dining room. Jungkook's mother is filled to the brim with joy while your husband slightly, actually very, concerned.

A/N: Apologies for any editing errors! Also close to adding some spicy stuff but we gonna wait on that a little longer 😉 Lmk what you think and if you wanna join taglist comment or send an ask. Thanks!! 😙💗

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Taglist:

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

tonight i present to you, namjoon and his thick cock.

a man as beefy as namjoon has a thick cock, and maybe he gets a little feral over the way it splits open your pussy. he loves missionary, solely because he can watch how stretched out you are with every back pull, unashamed with the filth that spills from his lips as he rocks back into you. perhaps even a little enamored by how creamy your pussy becomes, thick ring of white clinging to the base of his cock.

and maybe sometimes he gets a little carried away, pulling your legs off the bed, stomach con-caved slightly. perfect for him to see his cock through your tummy when he’s fully flushed inside of you.

it would turn into somewhat of a kink for him, watching as he pulls back, only to push in and that little bulge to show once more. his head would tip back, a low groan rumbling through his chest.

maybe the second time he notices it, he gets a little more bold. gentle as he splays his fingers over your stomach, feeling each time he pushes into you. thick cock sliding beneath his hand. his hips picking up their pace, and his desperation growing tenfold; that he pushes down on your tummy.

the both of you moaning in unison, because holy shit you can feel him inside your stomach. so deep, and so thick your legs start to quiver.

“one more time” he’d beg, even after the both of you come down from your high. anything to feel that pure euphoria once more. anything to see as he punches into your stomach, one more time to fully ingrain the imagine of him so visually deep inside your cunt.

and to be a slightly more filthy. maybe he curls his hand around the bulge of his cock in your tummy, squeezing ever so slightly, extremely gentle— as if he was jerking himself off, as your walls milk him.

CLOSER ✰ KIM NAMJOON

pairing: namjoon x f. reader

word count: ~4,158 words

genre: established relationship ✰ smut (18+ pls)

tags: unprotected sex; oral sex (f. receiving); handjob; disgusting amount of fluff; sooo much teasing; aftercare.

—

the first rays of the sun gradually made their way through the curtains casting a warm, golden light into the bedroom. you were lost in a profound slumber, enveloped by a serene and tranquil dream when an unexpected tickling sensation on your neck stirred you from your rest. a small, barely-there peck drew your attention to the area. then another. and another.

slowly coming back to the world of awareness, you discover, much to your delight, that it was none other than namjoon showering tender kisses all over your neck and arms. slowly, he traces his lips along the contour of your shoulder and places a series of tiny pecks on each part of your exposed skin. the warmth of his breath as he sighs contentedly against you entices you further into wakefulness.

his voice, still laden with traces of sleep, breathily whispers into your ear, "i missed you."

namjoon's lips proceeded to gracefully dance across your skin, akin to gentle butterflies fluttering around. they trace a tender path from your shoulder onto your collarbone before finally landing on the sensitive area just behind your earlobe. your breath catches in your throat as he murmurs against your skin - each enunciated word sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"morning, sleepyhead," he murmurs softly with a loving tone that began to ease you out of sleep even more.

as namjoon presses his warm naked torso against yours, you couldn't help but marvel at how incredibly soothing his touch was. his presence was like a furnace, filling the room with an almost tangible heat. his body curved around yours with perfect symmetry and his arms were securely wrapped around your waist.

even though you enjoy every second of namjoon's gentle affections, the growing warmth ultimately became too much for your groggy state. whining softly from a mixture of discomfort and longing for more unencumbered intimacy, you shift restlessly in his embrace.

namjoon's sudden silence takes you by surprise. he pulls away slightly – just enough to gauge your reaction – and looks at you with eyes full of hurt and confusion. "after all that time i spent away on tour," he says defensively, sulking as he frowns at the sight of the distance between you two, "you're really going to reject me now?"

biting back a small grin, you turn on your side and reach out tentatively to cup his cheek gently in your hand. "no one's rejecting you," you murmur softly. "but it's just really hot in here." you couldn't help but let out a snort-laugh at his exaggerated sulkiness and reach out to affectionately tousle his unkempt hair – an action that never fails to elicit an endearing scrunching of his nose that you loved so much.

the corners of his mouth gradually curve into a smirk before he crosses his arms stubbornly across his chest. "well, if that's all it is…" he sighs theatrically, though you notice playfulness sparking in his eyes once more as he adjusts the sheets, allowing cooler air to circulate between your entwined bodies. as namjoon leans back and allows you some space, you study his familiar features – the sincerity in his gaze, the soft curve of his lips, all painting a picture of a man who radiated love and warmth. "there. better?"

the moment you give him a nod of approval, namjoon smiles warmly and pulls you back into his embrace. this time, with the sheets adjusted, it's much more comfortable. as your bodies meld back together, you intertwine your legs with his, pulling him as close as possible.

slowly, almost hesitantly, you lift your head to meet his gaze, and time seems to pause just before your lips touch.

your eyes flutter shut as your noses brush against one another, and the gentle pressure of his mouth against yours is like a taste of heaven. the kiss begins tenderly, understated but full of emotions that words could never express. it deepens gradually as the fire within both of you ignites; namjoon threads his fingers through your hair with a firm yet delicate grip, pulling you closer and making the intensity of the kiss grow.

a soft sigh escapes from between your lips as namjoon's large, warm hands find all the spots that make your pulse race – stroking along the curve of your hip, dipping into the small of your back, and brushing the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. every touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, spreading goosebumps across your skin like wildfire. soon enough, the sweet passion between you escalates – a subtle ache surging through your body as you feel his length harden against your thigh. the weighty evidence of his desire only serves to coax a quiet moan from you in response. namjoon himself is hardly silent, which is something you never get tired of. the sounds he produces are like music to your ears – first soft sighs and ragged breaths escalating to eager gasps and throaty moans. you can't deny how much they turn you on; there's just something primal about hearing his desire so plainly laid bare in the sounds he makes that it sends shivers down your spine and straight to your core.

his exploring hands drift lower until they reach the waistband of your panties. with a teasingly slow motion, his fingers slip beneath the fabric, gradually daring to venture further. his touch is featherlight, teasingly gentle as he traces your folds.

a soft gasp escapes your lips as his fingertips make contact with your slick arousal. his touch is both tender and firm, his fingers tracing maddeningly slow circles around your clit. namjoon's touch is a delicate dance, his fingers caressing and exploring, mapping out the contours of your most sensitive areas. he pays attention to every subtle reaction, his touch adjusting and intensifying with each trembling breath and hitched moan that spills from your lips. with each revolution, he applies just enough pressure to drive you to the edge, only to pull back and leave you yearning for more.

"does that feel good? tell me, baby," namjoon whispers softly but demanding into your ear. his deep voice reverberates through your trembling body.

the overwhelming pleasure clouds your thoughts, making it difficult to string together coherent words. despite this challenge, you manage to breathe out through a lust-induced haze: "yes… yes, namjoon. fuck, so good." your hand instinctively reaches for his arm—fingers digging into his skin as if driven by primal force—to anchor yourself in the present moment. just as you feel yourself teetering on the precipice, he somehow senses your impending release and withdraws his hand, leaving you gasping for more.

wide-eyed, you meet namjoon's gaze, your desire mirrored in his darkened eyes. wordlessly, namjoon brings his slick, glistening fingers to your slightly parted lips. parsing the unspoken invitation immediately, you eagerly take his offered fingers between your own parted lips and indulge in taste of your arousal. your tongue swirls languidly around his digits as if drawing patterns against them—eliciting deep groans from namjoon that hint at just how much he's enjoying this interlude as much as you are.

the fleeting moment of stillness is suddenly broken as namjoon's lips forcefully collide with yours and his tongue eagerly makes its way into your mouth.

breaking the kiss, he swiftly pulls your his shirt up and over your head, his gaze fixated on your exposed breasts, your nipples tantalizingly perked from the cool air. namjoon's lips trail a scorching path down your body, hands squeezing your breasts while his lips leave a trail of wet kisses and nips. with every inch he traverses, the heat between your thighs intensifies, aching for his touch. with a flick of his fingers, he effortlessly removes your panties, discarding them carelessly on the floor. his hands guide your thighs apart, and he settles himself between them, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh.

with a slow, deliberate motion, his tongue emerges from between his lips, wetting them in a teasing display as his gaze locks with yours. then, his tongue ventures forward, delicately tracing along the folds. he explores your entrance, his tongue circling the perimeter, before plunging deep inside you, eliciting a moan of pleasure that echoes through the room.

"namjoon—," you gasp, your fingers instinctively tangling in his hair, urging him to continue. your fingers curl in the sheets as his tongue ventures deeper. namjoon manipulates his probing tongue expertly—flicking, swirling, occasionally letting it linger—masterfully alternating between subtle grazes and intense pressure as if he's attuned to the rhythm of your pleasure. his ministrations are both a slow, torturous tease and an intense rush of ecstasy.

"p-please, namjoon," you mewl. you writhe beneath him, your hips instinctively rising to meet his mouth, seeking more. namjoon's hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he continues his relentless assault on your senses. he knows your body so well, every secret spot and hidden desire, and he uses that knowledge to drive you closer to the edge.

with every stroke of his tongue, he brings you to the brink of climax, only to ease back and prolong the pleasure. he teases your entrance again, his tongue dipping inside briefly before returning to the swirling motions on your clit. the sensation is maddening, a delicious torment that pushes you to the edge of sanity.

incoherent babbling spills from your lips, fragmented words and moans blending together in a symphony of pleasure.

in a moment of lucidity amidst the dizzying sensations flooding your body, you manage to whimper out a plea to namjoon: "wait… please wait. i-i don't want to come just yet." confused by your request and with a glistening trail of your arousal lingering on his chin and nose, he gazes up at you with questioning eyes as he continues to grip your thighs firmly in place.

"i want… i need…," your voice quavers with an overwhelming mixture of emotions as you confess, "i want you inside of me."

namjoon's eyes widen for a second before a grin spreads across his face. a deep chuckle escapes him at your admission; the sound reverberates through you like waves in a calm sea. maintaining eye contact with you, he offers a teasing reply: "now who said that i couldn't give my baby multiple orgasms?" his fingers leave gentle trails on the inside of your thigh, embodying an ironic innocence given the serious and sinful nature of his words.

consciously ensuring that he remains at that tantalizing edge and not allowing you the full release just yet, he plants tender yet frustratingly sweet wet kisses on the delicate skin of your inner thighs along the path to your glistening core. it takes all of your willpower not to squirm under his touch, your body yearning for the climax that he holds just out of reach.

"joon," you whine, the sound escaping your lips in a breathy plea. you bite your lip and paw at the sheets, your fingers curling and releasing in a desperate attempt to find some semblance of control. his chuckle deepens while a sly grin unfolds upon his lips, clearly enjoying the effect he holds over you.

as you teeter on the brink once more, he lowers his head again, his lips latching around your swollen clit. the moment his tongue intensifies its assault, sucking gently and lapping at your sensitive bud, your entire being trembles with pleasure. the sensations wash over you in waves, igniting a delicious ache deep within your core.

but namjoon isn't satisfied with just his mouth. his hand slides between your parted thighs, his finger poised at your entrance. slowly, he eases his finger inside, the slick warmth of your walls enveloping him. as he plunges his finger deeper, a moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him.

his finger curls inside you, expertly stroking against your velvety walls, searching for that perfect spot that will drive you wild. his tongue never ceases its fervent assault on your clit, alternating between delicate flicks and firm, relentless licks. the combined sensations send electric jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, coiling your muscles tighter and tighter.

your breathing becomes erratic, your moans growing louder and more urgent. the intensity builds within you, threatening to burst free at any moment.

with one final, tantalizing swirl of his tongue and a perfectly timed curl of his finger, he sends you hurtling over the edge. a strangled cry escapes your throat, your body convulsing in the throes of a mind-shattering orgasm.

namjoon, ever attentive, watches you intently, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and desire. he revels in the sight before him, your body quivering with pleasure, your eyebrows drawn together and your lips parted as you pant in ecstasy. the raw, uninhibited beauty of the moment leaves him momentarily breathless.

as the last remnants of your climax ripple through your body, leaving you trembling and breathless, namjoon slowly withdraws his finger and eases himself up, a triumphant and satisfied smile gracing his lips. crawling back up your trembling body, namjoon captures your lips in a searing kiss, feeling the taste of your arousal.

as your body gradually starts to settle, namjoon gently pulls away from the kiss, gazing upon your face with tender concern. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before planting a soft peck against your forehead, as if attempting to smooth out the slight creases that formed. his eyes twinkle with warmth as he lets out a breathy chuckle before asking, "okay?"

you hum in response to his question. "want more, though." as your gaze drifts downward, you can't help but notice the unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric of namjoon's shorts. a smile plays on your lips as you lower your hand, deliberately palming him through the material.

namjoon inhales sharply, his eyes widening with surprise. a low groan escapes his lips as he leans into your touch, his hips involuntarily rocking against your hand.

encouraged by his reaction, you slip your hands beneath the waistband of his shorts and underneath the soft fabric of his boxers. you skillfully lower the fabric, throwing it haphazardly to the floor, exposing his throbbing shaft to your hungry gaze. namjoon's length stands proudly with a bead of glistening pre-cum adorning its tip. the warmth of his skin greets your touch, your fingers wrapping around his length. a sharp intake of breath escapes namjoon's lips as your hand starts to stroke him, your grip firm yet gentle.

his eyes flutter closed, his head tilting back slightly as a low groan escapes his parted lips.

moans escape both of you as he aligns himself with your entrance, slowly pushing inside. you gasp at the delicious stretch, feeling him bottom out within you, his size filling you completely. whimpering his name, you cling to him desperately, the world around you fading into blissful oblivion.

hungering for more closeness, your lips meet namjoon's in a feverish kiss. breathless moans fill the room as both of you lose yourselves to the passionate embrace. fingers entwined in one another's hair, needing and wanting more; it's impossible to tell where one of you begins and the other ends.

"fucking love you," namjoon breathlessly murmurs between heated gasps for air, punctuating each word in rhythm with every powerful thrust of his hips. "i've wanted this…wanted you, for so long."

with each calculated movement, namjoon hits that specific spot within you that makes your vision blur with pleasure, the sensations sending bright, dazzling specks of light dancing before your eyes. the intensity of it all causes tears to prick at the corners of your eyes as you cry out involuntarily.

unable to hold back any longer, you finally respond to namjoon's confession, raw emotion coursing through every last syllable that leaves your mouth as the words tumble out. "love you too, baby. so, so much," you whisper, breathless and in awe.

as if spurred on by your response, namjoon reacts by tightening his grip around your legs. he lifts them gently and wraps them securely around his waist before steadily increasing the force of his thrusts. he firmly pins your arms above your head, weaving his fingers delicately through yours. this change in angle allows him to penetrate even deeper, intensifying the sensations that ripple through your core.

your eyes flutter shut in the midst of overwhelming pleasure, but namjoon's voice, thick with desire, draws you back from the brink.

"look at me, baby," he coos, his voice dripping with desire.

his intense gaze pulls you back from the abyss of pleasure, and you obediently open your eyes, meeting his hungry stare. "there we go. so beautiful like this," he murmurs, "so responsive, so eager for me."

effortlessly, his hand slides between your entwined bodies, fingers deftly seeking out your swollen clit. moving with unhurried precision, he delicately traces circles around the ultra-sensitive nub with the pads of his fingers while planting a trail of warm, wet kisses along the curve of your neck. your other intertwined hand is still clasped tightly together, fingers turning white from your vice-like grip.

as if namjoon knows exactly what buttons to push to get a reaction out of you, he continues to speak. whispering dirty words of encouragement and praise that only serve to drive you closer to that coveted edge. his voice is smooth as velvet but dripping with sin as he urges you on, "that's it, baby." he gauges how close you are when he asks with a breathy tone in his voice, "you're so close, aren't you? you going to come for me?"

in response, you nod furiously between shallow breaths and bite down on your lip to stifle a moan – the sheer amount of pleasure makes speaking almost impossible at this point. without any conscious decision on your part, your hips begin to buck against him. in tandem with his deep thrusts and precise movements against your clit, a cascade of moans and whimpers escape both of your lips. you can feel the familiar coil of release tightening within you, ready to unravel.

and with a final thrust and swirl of namjoon's fingers, you cry out his name as your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper. namjoon's body tenses, and a deep, guttural moan rips from his throat. in that moment, you feel his release, warm and pulsing, painting your insides.

then stillness.

the room fills with deep breaths and the warmth emanating from your connected bodies. namjoon collapses onto you and immediately buries his face into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving with exertion.

you become aware once more of the sensations around you: the smell of sweat and cologne that fill your nostrils and the sounds of punctuated breaths intermingling in the quiet air. your limbs still wrapped securely around him—arms encircling his shoulder blades like a hug while legs retain their position firm around his waist—you bask in the shared afterglow.

heavy breaths mingle, and your heartbeats gradually slow, bringing you back to the reality of the room.

after a moment, you feel the rise and fall of his chest against your skin as he lifts his head to look at you. his eyes soften as they meet yours, and he can't help but smile as he breathes out a simple "hi."

you can't help but shyly giggle at the simple greeting, feeling a wave of love for this man wash over you as you reply with a matching, "hi."

he brings his lips down to place a soft kiss on your forehead, your nose, and then finally your lips - each touch impossibly gentle in contrast to what had transpired moments prior.

"when did you get back? i didn't even hear you come in."

namjoon grins before explaining, "the company van dropped me off around 4 am. i didn't want to wake you." feigning annoyance but unable to suppress your grin, you reply with a teasing tone, "well, you should have."

eventually, namjoon gathers enough strength to carefully withdraw from you. once free from your embrace, he pushes himself up off the bed and strides across the room. your gaze falls upon his strong naked back – toned muscles rippling and glistening with beads of perspiration. you feel your face rush with warmth as your eyes hungrily trace his form, leaving your heart racing even more than before.

he returns promptly with a warm damp towel slung across his shoulder, a water bottle, and fresh sheets.

with gentle hands, he begins to clean you up as you take turns having sips of water. the soothing touch of the fabric against your skin elicits a contented sigh from your lips. thanking him as he finishes cleaning you, namjoon suggests, "you should go to the bathroom while i change the sheets, love." you pout and let out a playful whine, feeling too comfortable to move.

he shoots you a skeptical eyebrow lift as if daring you to contradict him further but conceding to your unwillingness to move, begins to reach around you, determined to carry you to the bathroom despite your resistance. upon his first touch, a sudden surge of laughter and half-hearted protest arises, and you squeal in response to his intentions. "i can go by myself!" you manage between bubbles of laughter.

with a playful swat to your naked behind, namjoon pulls back and encourages you onward. you wobble slightly under his touch, as the surprising sensation momentarily sets your legs off balance. namjoon laughs at your reaction, rushing forward to catch you before you stumble further.

"careful there," he teases with a glint in his eye, his hands firmly supporting you. you shoot him a playful glare in response.

"you think this is funny?" you retort, feigning seriousness as a giggle betrays your attempted facade. "you're definitely going to pay for that."

namjoon kisses your temple lovingly. "i look forward to it."

once you reach the bathroom, namjoon steadies you and places another tender kiss on your forehead before retreating to change the sheets. you take a moment to pee and freshen up before making your way back to the bedroom. the sound of crisp linen being smoothed over the mattress drifts through the slightly ajar door.

as you enter, you find namjoon diligently finishing up with the fresh sheets. his naked form is a sight to behold, causing a faint flutter in the pit of your stomach.

namjoon turns to you, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you returning. "all done," he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

you playfully stick out your tongue. "you're so efficient," you remark, earning a chuckle from namjoon.

once you're settled back into the soft embrace of fresh sheets, namjoon joins you, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

lying down next to each other in the scented sheets, you both turn to face one another, allowing your eyes to lock on each other's.

namjoon brushes a strand of hair away from your face, studying its texture between his fingertips before leaning in to press a gentle kiss against your lips. it's slow and tender before it gradually begins building into something more passionate and fiery.

he breaks the kiss momentarily, resting his forehead against yours as both of you pause to catch your breaths. "so how are we planning on making me pay?"

a grin spreads across your face as your hands glide downwards toward his torso playfully. "well," you muse innocently at first with slight mischief coloring your tone, "there are always massages if we want to take things slow." you let silence briefly fill space between your words before adding with a sly grin: "but i think we can be more creative than that – don't you agree?"

namjoon's laughter rings through the room. "i'm always up for a little creativity."

feeling a slight shiver run down your spine due to a mix of exhaustion and slowly cooling sweat, you realize just how spent you truly are. however, the warmth of namjoon's embrace keeps the chill at bay and provides a sense of security that envelops you like a protective blanket. as if sensing your need for further comfort, he pulls the sheets up and around the two of you, the soft fabric cocooning your sated bodies.

as you lay there nestled against him, namjoon guides your head to rest on his chest – your ear pressed against his warm skin, allowing you to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. his arm remains draped protectively around you, while he gently traces soothing patterns with his fingertips over your exposed back and shoulders, massaging away any lingering tension. feeling your eyelids grow heavy with sleep, you fight to keep them open. however, namjoon reassures you with a soft whisper.

"go ahead and sleep, my love. i'll be right here when you wake up."

hello!! so glad to see you back IM SO EXCITED FOR YOUR UPCOMING WORKS :-))

I was wondering if you could write smut for heechan and/or seungho because they felt possessive over the reader?

thank u :))

pairing: hwang heechan x fem!reader

warnings: slight dumbification, smut, profanity, toxic fan behaviour, rough sex, protectiveness and possessiveness from heechan, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, drool, fingering, marking, hickies, mdni!!!

a/n: k its like 3 am and I need god💀Don’t even wanna proofread anything so if there’s mistakes, just ignore them🙏

“Heechan! Over here! Give us a smile!”

You timidly moved to the side, flashing a reassuring smile to your boyfriend Heechan as you felt his hand rest on your lower back, guiding you through the hectic airport security and eager fans that tried to sneak a glimpse of the world renown football player. 

You just happened to be in the way. 

Having your boyfriend be such a celebrity was intimidating sometimes. Just like now, with the lights of cameras flashing throwing you off, and the loud shouts from both female and male fans. It can be a lot to take in, but having Heechan hold you close to him by his side, makes you feel much more safe. 

“Are you alright?” he asks you quietly, looking into your eyes and immediately showing an apologetic look for what you have to experience as a result of his career. You chuckle, holding his hand in yours. “Don’t worry idiot, I know the cameras are all for me anyway” you quipped, making Heechan smile like a fool and look down. 

He didn’t want to smile too big for the cameras. That was for you only. 

“Hwang Heechan! Could I get your signature please?” a desperate looking fangirl shouts, pushing herself through security’s arms. 

Heechan unfortunately is used to this, so he isn’t surprised, but he does squeeze your hand in his, asking you if it’s alright that he signs this one thing for his fan before you two go through security and on to board your flight. 

You smile softly, nodding as you let him make the fangirl’s day better. 

You watch the girl almost flirt with your steel wall of a husband, with Heechan declining and respectfully keeping his distance with the fan. Your husband’s responses almost made you laugh out loud. 

“Are you doing anything later, Heechan?” the girl pouts, showing off her keychains and jersey.

Heechan doesn’t even mind looking up at her, instead signing her shirt and nodding his head. 

“I’m boarding a plane.” he says monotone. 

“I hope you’ll see me at the airport when you come back! I’ll be waiting for you!”

“No thank you” Heechan replies curtly, making you chuckle. 

However, it isn’t until you feel a tug on your sweater that makes you jump just a bit closer to your boyfriend in fear. 

A male fan pushes through there, practically shoving his recording phone to your face as well as a pen and notepad. 

“Hi Y/N! I’ve been watching all of the videos on the internet that have you in them” he boasts eagerly, making you furrow your brows from being uncomfortable.

“Oh. Thank you.” you said, trying to bow your head in respect and declining giving out your personal signature, before walking forward with Heechan. 

The fan takes it a step too far when he grabs onto your wrist harshly, making you step back and almost tumble due to the amount of fans surrounding you two.

“You can do better. You can be with me and I’ll show you how a real man treats his lady” he whispers chillingly and disgustingly into your ear. You would’ve tried to wiggle free from his grasp, but Heechan is already right by your side in less than a second, prying the man’s hands off of you. 

“Please do not touch people without their consent. You might be able to invade my privacy, but please don’t invade my girlfriend” Heechan says cooly to the fan, sending him a harsh stare and grabbing onto his wrist. Fans surrounding you two whisper in shock and awe, making you become a bit embarrassed. 

“Babe..” you said softly, tugging on Heechan’s sleeve. “Let’s keep going” you suggested, finally making it out of the public eye and heading near your flight. 

Heechan looks pissed right now, whispering something to the security that was protecting you two, before holding your hand tightly on his own and bringing you two to a secluded, single washroom. 

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did he do anything else to you? My fucking god I swear if they continue to invade your privacy and space like that-”

Heechan quickly spits the words out, placing his hands on his hips before taking your wrist in his hand and massaging it soothingly.  You mutter softly, looking down at your wrist. 

“It’s okay, I’m not hurt”. You felt a bit embarrassed back there for some reason, feeling that the media and netizens would criticize your boyfriend for being too harsh back there. You knew what he said was totally right, but of course, there are such things as haters and trolls. 

Heechan locks his jaw, staring down at you intimidatingly before he sighs, pulling you in for a protective hug. 

“I’m so sorry my love. If you don’t feel like going, we can just go back home. I can rent a private cottage up north and we can-”

“No!” you quip up, looking up at Heechan. “Baby, it’s fine I still wanna go on our vacation” you whined, trying to assure your worried partner. 

You stand on your tippy toes, giving him a small kiss to the cheek and corners of his lips. 

“Let’s go board our plane” you smile, finally getting him to sigh and intertwine his fingers with your own. 

And so you two boarded your plane and arrived at your vacation spot that you had wanted to visit for a while now. It was only a night after arriving at your hotel that you could sense a bit of tension with Heechan. 

It was nighttime, and you were getting ready to snuggle next to your boyfriend who was already lying down in bed, eyes shut but not actually sleeping. 

Turning off the lights of the bathroom, you quietly tiptoe to the edge of the bed, wearing only a thin silk nightgown that Heechan loved, before opening the covers enough to straddle your husband laying down. 

Heechan’s eyes are closed, but his hands roam your soft thighs, his member starting to get hard when he realizes you’re wearing just the nightgown and no panties. 

Heechan sleeps bare as well, only wearing his boxers and opting to go shirtless when he sleeps. That gives you plenty of room to roam your hands across his sturdy and broad chest, feeling up your boyfriend's muscles and leaning down to press kisses on his lips. 

Heechan smiles into the kisses, opening his eyes and taking your face in both hands. He then swiftly switches your positions so that you’re now lying down and he’s on top of you, kissing you hard, and feeling you up with his large hands. 

You moan when Heechan starts to circle your wet cunt with his fingers, both of you looking down to see the tip of his hands covered with your slick. The sight makes you smile, looking back to Heechan and sucking small light hickies on his neck. 

But for Heechan, ever since that male fan had harassed you like that, he couldn’t help but feel an immense amount of possessiveness over you, feeling like he should protect you from anyone now. 

You can sense how stiff Heechan is, making you pull apart and link your arms around his neck, asking softly. 

“Something wrong, baby?”

Heechan blinks out of his trance, looking down at you and wanting nothing more but for him to be the only person able to ruin you and make you his. 

Heechan quickly removes your nightgown, watching as your plump breasts become hard at the tits, running his fingers to pinch them and make you arch your back into the mattress. 

“Heechan,” you replied, eyes shut as one of his hands massaged your tits and the other continued to poke at your entrance, rubbing circles and applying pressure. 

“Say who the fuck you belong to” he mumbles, low, deep, and commanding. 

When you don’t answer immediately due to the pleasure, he sends a slap to your cunt, making you whine and clench around nothing. 

“I said, who the fuck do you belong to” he replies dark and menacingly, peppering kisses by your neck and collar bones to make up for the pleasure mixed with pain. 

“You.” you shuddered, whining even louder and burying yourself into Heechan’s shoulder when he slaps your pussy again.

“Say my name baby girl” 

“Daddy” you whimper softly, trying to hide your red cheeks into the pillow. 

Heechan finally brings down his boxers, letting his weeping cock to brush back and forth on your folds to mix your precum together. 

“How would you like it if one of my fangirls touched me like that” he whispers in a low voice. 

You shudder, thinking of how you felt that possessiveness and jealousy so many times when you saw him with his fans.

“Hate it. Hate it, Daddy” you groan, crying out his name when he finally slips his tip in, stretching you out and making you clutch onto him for support. 

“Fucking shit” he mutters under his breath, giving you no mercy and shoving his fat cock to let you adjust to his size. 

“That’s how I fucking felt with you and that asshole”

You panted, sweat beading in the valley of your tits, bouncing with every hard thrust Heechan made. You clawed at his happy trail, leading up to his abs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about Daddy,” you moaned, a tear almost escaping when Heechan grabbed your hands and intertwined his own with your, making you unable to grasp onto anything now. 

“Oh fuck,” you screamed, trying to raise your head so that your boyfriend would reward you with a kiss, before his simply leaned down and peppered one onto to your temples. 

“That fucking asshole at the airport. He doesn’t fuck you like this does he?” he asks, smiling when you shake your head obediently. 

“Only you, heechan” you tell him the truth, making it now his turn to groan as he could feel your cunt clench around his clock from just you saying his name. 

“Do I turn you on babygirl? Make you fucking crazy for my dick?” he mumbles softly, kissing you feircly and protectively. 

You could only pant a trail of yes’s and high pitched whimpers, telling Heechan that you were close. 

“S’too much” you whined, shaking your head and feeling the way your tits bounced with every hard motion made by Heechan. 

Then, it all comes crashing down with the most intense orgasm you’ve had since you left home. Heechan made sure to take his time with you when you two had sex, but this time, it was somewhat better with how protective he was of you. 

Heechan sits back, looking at your spread legs, leaking, puffy looking cunt, and the way some drool pools out of the corner of your mouth. 

He hovers over you, making you squeal when his fingers come to play with your mixed cum. 

“That’s right. It’s only me.”

[do not translate, repost, or claim as yours!! ]

hours || jjk

⇝ title: hours ⇝ pairing: jungkook x f!reader ⇝ genre: humor, i think? | neighbors to lovers | smut | implied unestablished relationship to established relationship ⇝ summary: You walk across the hall and visit your neighbor Jungkook every Wednesday to drink, chill, sing some karaoke… watch some Netflix. But you always end up wobbling back to your apartment after hours of doing all kind of unholy things. Not tonight. ⇝ rating: 18+ ⇝ word count: 3k ⇝ warnings: alcohol consumption | strong language | they’re both kind of bratty but cute | mentions birth control | pussy eating | edging | fingering | unprotected sex | pull out method | cervix touching/bulging | jungkook has a lip piercing and a septum piercing | uhh he puts his nose in her coochie lol | light tit slapping | teasing | throat grabbing | dirty talk | hairstyling (wink, wink) | missionary | cum shots | squirting | slight dom!jk | nipple sucking | breath play | crying | ass worshiping | aftercare | bam makes an appearance | naked jk… yes this is a warning and you will see why | i brought up BTR, i need to apologize immediately for that | discussions about relationships | i think that’s all

⇝ author’s note: she’s here, bitches!!!! lol thank you @m1sss1mp​ and @monvante​ for putting posters of this man all over my blog. this fic is for the both of you. thank you so much for holding my hand through it all. thank you @baljinciaga​ for beta’ing and screaming in the comments because you gave me the confidence to post this lol. listen, i’m rusty with the smut y’all so i apologize if it’s a mess. anyway, i hope you enjoy. this has been beta’d but there’s still probably some errors since i changed some things after it was beta read.

masterlist | permanent taglist form | read on ao3

drabbles: the unholy drabble | nails drabble | keeps

Keep reading

Attitude | One-Shot (Namjoon)

anonymous: Hi! I'ma join the drabble game i just saw it on my notifs that i was tagged. Anyways i like your writings and stories so I hope i get to read some more in the future and i only really follow the authors i find that have great writing styles cause I am a bit picky when it comes to that stuff. It’s up to you who’s bts member/members your gonna use but imma request some kinks for the drabble. Spit kink and choking kink please 🥺

Rating/genre: M (18+), established relationship; smut 💖 Pairings: Fem!Reader x Namjoon/RM Warnings: Explicit smut, dom!Namjoon, sub!reader, playful brattiness, size kink, choking, spit kink, manhandling, reader is described as small in comparison to Joon but like he’s a big boy so, he actually picks her up and carries her, fxod mentions Word Count: 1.4k Summary: Your boyfriend is needy. Or are you the needy one? Neither of you really knows. But you’ll both endlessly bug the other about it. 

“Oh my god, stop!” you exclaimed, scoffing through a laugh as Namjoon stole a piping hot bite of the meal you were still cooking. “Can you just wait?”

“You’re so cranky today,” he said through a smile, sliding behind you instead to hook his arms around your waist. 

“Oh, yeah, this is much better,” you noted sarcastically, elbowing him as you stirred to emphasize your point that he was in the way.

Keep reading

Eight Years

[Summary]: Namjoon and you have been married for eight years. What makes it so great? Maybe the fact that your husband never stopped loving you with just as much passion as the first day he fell in love.

[Theme]: MarriedCouple!AU, EstablishedRelationship!AU, very soft Joon but also extremely powerful and dominant Joon.

[Rating]: fluff, smut, 18+ content

[Word Count]: 2,493

[Author’s Note]: I wanna say this is probably the first fic I have ever written? I could be wrong but I am almost positive. So glad to finally share it though…this is one of my favs.

[Materialist]

"Let me sit on your lap," You demand from your husband.

Namjoon looks up at you with wide eyes as he stops chewing, his cheeks stuffed with food. He looks too good, even with a mouth full of greasy hamburger. Dark green t-shirt, fluffy hair, and, of course, gray sweats — you absolutely have to cuddle him. It is not an option. You must.

"I'm eating," He says, but you're already lifting his arm up and sliding onto his thighs.

"Keep eating, then," You reply, shoving your nose into his neck. He smells clean, like fresh laundry. And his hair is soft as you play with the ends of it at the nape of his neck. You can't get enough of this man.

Namjoon continues chewing as he lets you sit on him.

"I'm not understanding this behavior," He says, mouth full.

"You don't have to,"

"But I want to,"

"Just accept it and move on,"

Namjoon shrugs and stuffs the last piece of his hamburger into his mouth. His chewing is obnoxious, and you're sure that there's grease all over his mouth, but that doesn't stop you from wanting to kiss the fuck out of him right now anyways.

He leans back on the chair as he drinks his water. His warm palm comes up and rubs at your back. They're so big and strong; you can't help but melt into his palms as he holds you. His touch creates a reaction within you, like a heater touching an ice cube.

"Did you have a good day?" He asks you.

"Yeah, it was okay," You mumble against his neck. "How was yours?"

"It was good. Couldn't wait to come home, though,"

"Why?"

"Don't know. Kind of wanted to see my wife."

"You're seeing her,"

"No, I'm seeing her back."

With that, you bring your head from the crook of his neck to look your husband in the eyes.

"Now I'm seeing her," He smiles. "Hello, angel," He hums, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

You reciprocate, enjoying the softness of his lips before you pull away, an antagonizing grin plastered on your lips.

"You taste like beef,"

"Well, you insisted on sitting on me while I was eating."

"Never said I didn't like it,"

"Didn't know you liked the taste of beef and spit. Well noted,"

"I like the taste of you," You coo, giving his cheek a pinch.

"Tch," He snorts, giving you another kiss.

This time, you tuck your lips into his firmly. Your hands caress his jaw and neck as you move your lips against his. Namjoon sighs against you, confidently sliding his hands up your back as he tilts his head into yours. He hums into you, enjoying the way you kiss him so surely.

After a few more kisses, you pull away, brushing some of his hair away from his face.

“I missed you today" You confess.

“I did, too,” your husband kisses the inside of your palm before his eyes flicker up to yours hurriedly, as if he remembered something.

"Guess what, babe," He starts, hands firmly holding your waist. He doesn't give you time to respond, though, immediately continuing his sentence afterward. "When I was riding to work this morning, I decided to take the same route we used to walk down before we started dating. They're putting it under construction."

"What?!" You exclaim, your heart dropping in your chest.

"I know. I was really upset about it," He sighs, rubbing circles into your hips. "It made me think all day, though. That place holds so many memories."

"It does," You frown, remembering your early days with Namjoon at the spot. "That's where I kissed you for the first time."

"That's where I kissed you for the first time." Namjoon corrects, smirking.

You sigh. "Namjoon, we have gone over this,"

He chuckles as he kisses the bridge of your nose. He finds enjoyment in antagonizing you.

Looking back on it, you both leaned in at the same time. But it was you who took the first step towards him, deciding on whether or not you wanted to kiss him right then and there. You guessed you both had the same battle going on in your heads at the time.

"I can't believe they're putting it under construction," You frown. "We wouldn't be married if it weren't for that path."

"Well, it's been like what? Eight years since we started walking down there? Married for 3, dated for 4, friends for about 1-2 years... yeah about eight years. It probably just needs to be renovated. It was all torn up, even when we met there."

You laugh at that. "God, that makes me feel old. Eight years..."

"I know," He chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I'll be sad if it looks different." You pout.

"Don't be sad. We still have a lot of places where we experienced our firsts at. Like that bridge where I asked you to be my girlfriend. Or that restaurant by the ocean we had sex in for the first tim—"

You playfully hit his shoulder. Your husband just laughs as he wraps his arms around your waist. Namjoon kisses your cheek as you try to act annoyed at him for bringing up the shameful place you both had your first with each other. But, alas, you can never truly be annoyed at him. You love him too much.

"Don't kiss my face, your mouth is covered in grease," You whine, pushing him back softly by the shoulders.

"Why don't you lick it off then," He smirks.

You raise an eyebrow at your husband.

"What is it, babe? Are you taking back your words? Do you not like the taste of me?"

"That's not what I meant," You roll your eyes.

"What did you mean, then?" He taunts you.

"You know what I meant,"

"No, baby," He grins. "I don't think I do,"

You know he knows what you meant. He just wants an excuse to hear you say it.

"I like the taste of your cock, is what I meant." You give it to him.

Namjoon gives you the most fuck boy smile you've ever seen after that. It gives your pussy a shameful heartbeat like it always does whenever he flashes his teeth at you like that.

"Shut up," You shy away from him. But Namjoon grabs your chin with his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look at him as he cuddles your hips closer to his.

"Did you eat today?" He asks, changing the topic while giving your jaw a kiss.

"Mmhm," You hum as he sensually drags his lips down your neck. You know what he’s doing. Trying to get you to focus on a thought while he teases the living hell out of you has always been a kink of his. However, you’re too needy not to play into his antics today. It’s kind of fun playing this game, anyways.

"Was it good?" He bites at your sweet spot. You gasp, your hands firmly grasping his shoulders for support as he effortlessly turns you on.

"So good..." You moan as he licks the soreness of the bite afterward.

Namjoon's big hands cascade up your shirt, slowly making their way up to your breasts. He massages them firmly as he rolls his hips up into yours.

You force your hips to grind down into his, begging for some friction down south. You hate how he does this to you in literal seconds — makes your pussy aching and wet for him with just a flash of his teeth.

"Yeah? Can you tell me about it, sweetheart?" He grins before sucking a fat hickey just above your clavicle.

"Ahh—I-I had pasta," You moan. The very thin material of your pajama shorts does not make the situation any easier for you.

"Yeah?" He antagonizes you further, lifting your — his — t-shirt over your head. He hums at the sight. "Was it just how you like it?"

Namjoon kisses down your chest, stopping at your nipple before giving it a gentle lick. You gasp at the contact, your nipples extremely sensitive to his touch. He licks it again before encasing the bud completely in his mouth, sucking and gnawing at it as he waits for your answer.

"J-Joon—" You pant, your fingers immediately tangling in his locks. His hand rolls your other nipple in between his fingers, causing you to jerk your hips harshly into his. Namjoon moans at the friction, squeezing your hip as he motions the sway of them harder and faster against him.

"'C'mon, baby. I wanna hear about your meal," He grins, his teeth scraping your nipple as he does so.

"You tease," You moan, tugging on his hair.

Namjoon flashes another signature smile at you, and if it weren't for the jello filling your legs, you would slide down to your knees and suck him until he forgot his last name. But as much as Namjoon would love that, he kind of wants to fuck his wife into the sheets right now.

"S-Stop smiling at me like that," You shy.

"Or what, baby?" He hums, kissing down your torso. "How will you punish me?"

"I-I'll—"

He slides a hand down your pants.

"I'll—"

His fingers delicately slide up your folds, his middle finger gently circling your clit.

"I'll—ffuckk," You whimper, eyes focused on his hand in your pants.

"You'll fuck? Fuck what, babe?" He coos, circling your opening gently, gathering your juices on his fingertips, before he continues. "Me? Hmm, I don't think so. Fucking is my job this evening."

"Joon—," You cry, rocking your hips into his fingers. "Do it,"

"I will." He promises. Namjoon's strong arms manhandle your thighs, securely wrapping them around his waist before he walks the two of you to the couch. He gently tosses you on the cushions, ripping off his clothes before he joins you. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, spreading them wide for him after he tosses your clothes on the pile with his own.

Namjoon slides between your thighs, pressing his cock hard against your entrance.

"Hello, beautiful," He coos, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Hi," You reply, giving his lips a kiss.

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you now. Is that alright?"

His word choice makes your thighs tremble as they wrap around his waist. You nod at him, situating your arms under his shoulders securely for what's to come. When Namjoon says he's going to fuck the shit out of you, he's gonna do it with all he's got.

"Alright," He smiles before giving your forehead a quick peck.

He rubs his tip up and down your cunt a few times before sliding in with a sharp jerk of his hips. He fucks you hard after that — so damn hard and so fucking fast, brutal in his pace. You can feel him hit your cervix while the heat of friction burns your walls. You know you're not going to be able to walk properly for the next few days, but it feels way too good to ask him to slow down. You don't want him to slow down.

"How are you still so damn tight after I've fucked you for so long, huh?" Namjoon pants above you. His hands harshly grip your hips, pinning them down to the cushions as he fucks you deeper.

You're a moaning mess beneath him. Your husband never relents in the bedroom and you love it. You love it so much, it has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and sweat cascading down your face and chest. "Eight years and every time — fuck — every time it's like I'm fucking you for the first time."

"Ahhh—Fu-J-Joon!" You cry, wet tears forming at the corners of your eyes. Namjoon responds to you with a grunt as he quickens the movements of his hips. His pelvis claps against yours with every thrust, filling the room with lewd noises.

"Aghhh, baby, keep clenching like that," He demands. Like you can even help it at this point. You're so close to your high, your legs literally shake against his hips.

"Joon, I'm gonna cum!" You shriek, digging your nails into his back.

"Not yet. Don't cum until I say so," He instructs, biting your shoulder as he struggles to keep his release inside his balls. As badly as he wants to cum, he wants to enjoy this more. He gets to see you every day. He gets to shower with you and cook with you and go on walks with you and fuck you every day. But he can never take a moment with you for granted. He wants to savor all of it, just like he has for the past eight years, and just as he will for the rest of his life.

You squirm beneath him, trying your hardest to keep it all in. But he's so good. He feels so good, and you don't know how much longer you can control your orgasm.

"Namjoon," You whine, scratching at his neck and back.

"I know, sweetheart. Just a little while longer," He compromises.

"I can't...!" You gasp. Namjoon grabs your thighs and hikes them over his shoulders before ramming into you again. The couch is scratching against the hardwood, moving with him as he fucks you in this position. He hits you in all the right places, fucking you just as hard, fast, and deep as before. But this time, you can't control it. This time, the man on top of you looks fuzzy, and you wonder why he moans your name over and over again as your neck falls back against the pillows. You can definitely feel his dick twitching, though. And the unnecessary amount of wetness pooling at your core and thighs.

There’s a moment when nothing registers to you. You're just harshly breathing as all you can see is white, until Namjoon's voice wakes you out of your trance.

"Baby...y/n," He calls your name. But you're too exhausted to give a response.

Namjoon kisses your cheek as he slides a hand under your neck. He tilts your head up at him.

"Look at me," He demands, and you do. He's clearer now, but your eyelids feel like bricks as you attempt to blink. "You just squirted. All over me."

You laugh at that, as does Namjoon. He presses his sweaty forehead to yours before giving it a firm peck.

"Fuck, that was so hot. I love when you do that," He chuckles. "I love you," He says, showering your face in kisses.

"I love you, too," You sigh, finally able to catch your breath and look at your husband properly. God, yes, you do love this man.

"No, but really," He says, gathering his t-shirt from the ground and wiping up your thighs with it. "What kind of pasta did you have?"

----

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

pink sapphire

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 11k

glimpse: having jungkook for a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he’s easy to love. your relationship’s perhaps become so easy that jungkook doesn’t think sometimes — and that’s what makes it the easiest for you to hate him.

alternatively, you and jungkook married each other for business, but the both of you stay for love.

[ angst, arranged marriage au, fluff n really wholesome scenes (it cancels out the angst i swear), Jungkook Tries Hard (affectionate), miscommunication, jealousy, self-deprecation, sexual innuendos (no actual smut here!!), did i already say that jungkook tries rlly hard and is remorseful the whole time ]

notes: my year-ender fic for 2022 :) thank u for being here — i’m grateful for all ur love n support!! i’ll see u in the next one <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Keep reading

A Time Just for Us

Summary: You are desperate for a baby. (Behold my attempt at impreg kink)

Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

Rating: EXPLICIT. No minors allowed.

Genre: idol!au, established relationship, dad Yoongi + mom OC

WC: 5.4k

Warning: cursing, oral (f receiving with some implied m receiving), unprotected sex, ass slapping, hair pulling, a bit of choking, a bit of dom Yoongi, a bit of begging, impreg kink, Yoongi is the best husband period. 

A/N: Writing this little piece for the lovely @sugasbabiie​ as part of the @thebtswritersclub​ fic exchange project. I hope this fulfills your request! 💜

~Part of the Domestic Yoongi series~

You vibrate in anticipation. 

You and Jimin, your partner in crime, have been planning this for days. It doesn’t help that the group’s schedule has picked up, with the new song launching soon and all the promotional activities that come with it. And you know your husband too well- the busy schedule fuels his adrenaline and he is bound to lock himself up in his studio until he’s transformed all his creative juices out into beats, harmonies and raps. 

You love his passion, but again, you are desperate. The timing is right, and who knows what will happen next year. It has to be this year and it has to be done today. 

Jimin, your confidante, was too willing to help. He had been leaking the group’s schedule to you and helping you to find opportunities to corner him. It was very annoying however, despite all the scheming, how the universe always allowed Yoongi to slip away- last minute revisions, unscheduled meetings, and Namjoon always barging in to discuss lyrics. (You love that gentle giant but come on!). 

So finally, you decided to rope in the other maknaes. Jimin and Jungkook were tasked to pick up your daughter, Soojin, for a sleepover at the boys’ dorm - which she loved anyway so it was no problem at all to get her out of your hair for the weekend. Meanwhile, Taehyung was responsible to prevent Yoongi from entering the new Genius Lab at all costs.

“I’ll just say it’s the code or whatever,” Taehyung had suggested, “it’s a new building, an error is normal.”

Keep reading

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t

WC: 11k

Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)

Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Rating: NSFW - minors DNI

Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love 

A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic! 

I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!

Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!

“Anything new with you? How’s work?”

You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies. 

You admit to being a little bit on edge. 

You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world. 

Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.

Until this year.

No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.

You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.

You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.

“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”

“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”

“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.

She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote. 

“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”

“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings. 

“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out. 

There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below. 

Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately. 

“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.

You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.

“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”

“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”

“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”

Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk. 

“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye. 

You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.

You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker. 

He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money. 

He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. 

He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks. 

Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”

Five years. But who’s counting? 

“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?” 

He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”

“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”

He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”

He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.

You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.

“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.

“Do what?”

“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”

Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble. 

He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

Maybe that used to be the case. 

The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”

He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”

He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell. 

“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”

Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”

That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard. 

“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”

He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.

Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle. 

“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”

“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.” 

“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”

You flip him off, smiling. 

Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”

Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”

“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”

Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”

When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair. 

The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.

That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list. 

Like it didn’t hurt him at all. 

None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?

You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone? 

No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.

You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.

That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace. 

The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”

“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”

“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.

“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”

“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.

Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone. 

Not here, in front of him. 

Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list. 

The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.

From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself. 

“Good,” Taehyung says seriously. “Don’t leave me.”

You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.

“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly. 

Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.

You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”

You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”

Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”

You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”

“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest. 

“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party. 

“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”

He refuses to look at you. 

After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app. 

In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia. 

You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.

“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”

“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly. 

“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”

“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”

You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.

Or maybe you are.

“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”

“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive. 

You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?

He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”

You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address. 

“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address. 

The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.

“Did your family move?” you ask finally.

Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.

“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.

He mumbles something, still not looking at you.

“What?” you snap. “You what?”

“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor. 

“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”

“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored. 

Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.

But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot. 

Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.

Reasons five through whatever, moot. 

You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies. 

“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”

What life? You wonder. 

The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.

It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones. 

Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that. 

You always break your own rules for him.

The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you. 

“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.

Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks. 

He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.

You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.

And he’s back, Yoongi is back. 

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.

“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry. 

Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.

“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”

“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”

“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.

He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”

He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time. 

You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to. 

Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again. 

“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past. 

“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”

“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it. 

You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly. 

He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”

“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It’s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”

“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”

He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom. 

When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering. 

It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.

“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”

“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”

You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.

You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. 

“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”

He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”

He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.

“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.

He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.

You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.

You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.

A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.

The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”

“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…

He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently. 

It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.

Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.

He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.

“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”

You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”

Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”

He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”

You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.

He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”

“You know I do.”

He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”

You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?

Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.

“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”

You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?

He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly.  “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”

You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”

He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”

You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”

He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.

“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”

“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”

You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.

He knows.

“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”

You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.

He says your name, still so soft, so quiet. 

“What?”

“Don’t cry.”

It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”

“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”

You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure. 

“But now?” you prod. 

He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”

You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning. 

He knows.

He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.” 

You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”

“Your city.”

“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.

He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?” 

You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in. 

“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”

Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?

But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already. 

He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek. 

His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours. 

Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.

His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.

You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip. 

He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet. 

He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly. 

Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.

“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile. 

“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter. 

“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do. 

“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes. 

It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side. 

“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”

He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”

“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband. 

It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale. 

He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.

You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.

And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.

He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside. 

Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that? 

He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.

You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.

“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”

“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”

He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.

He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.

You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.

When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.

“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor. 

“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys. 

You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.

“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.

“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”

“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?

Of course you do. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”

“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.

“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet. 

You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.

He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before. 

You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust. 

“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.

“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines. 

You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”

He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.

“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.

The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.

“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”

“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit. 

The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.

You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.

“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse. 

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.

“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.

“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”

“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different. 

“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.

You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together. 

You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts. 

“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him. 

“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.

“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you. 

You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.

“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”

“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.

You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.

You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going. 

It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“Hi,” he murmurs. 

“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.

You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.

“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”

You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.

“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth. 

You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach. 

You’re not sure where you go from here. 

You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you. 

You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.

Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.

You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair. 

You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.

“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys. 

“I just wanted to answer a few -”

“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold. 

“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”

He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.

“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it. 

You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”

He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses. 

You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?” 

It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you? 

And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.

“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”

You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs. 

“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.

“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”

Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.

You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing. 

“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.

“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.

Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes. 

“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.

“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”

“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up. 

He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees. 

He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.

“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.

You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.

“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”

You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv. 

“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice. 

He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”

“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.

He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”

You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”

He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”

You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top. 

Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run. 

Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now. 

Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”

“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)

Stockholm Syndrome | Chapter 8

Summary: You’d tried so hard to run away from your troubled childhood. Now in your final year at university you’re starting to feel like maybe what’s in your past will stay there. Then a beautiful stranger shows up and befriends you, but not everything about him is as it seems.

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: mafia/gang au; strangers to lovers; 18+ rating.

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Small amount physical violence, worried/insecure thoughts, sexual content, safe sex, male receiving oral, lots of feelings (maybe too much).

Authors Note: The final chapter. I hope you enjoy this final part, not going to lie it was tough to get to the end, but I’m so glad I did. Thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented, sent me an ask, or simply just read and enjoyed this series. As always, it means so much and sending you all the love :)

Series masterlist

You’re still trapped in the house, unable to leave the walls that surround you, but you no longer confine yourself to your room. After your talk with Jungkook where you both started to open up more, you find yourself joining the boys when they ask if you want to join them. A film in the evening, a game in the day, sometimes you just sit and read on the sofa with a book. It differs all the time, and it’s strangely nice.

You try not to grow to accustomed to it. You don’t want to fall into the trap of feeling at home here, because it certainly wasn’t home. But it was hard to remember sometimes when all the boys treated you so nicely. They involved you in everything, and for once you actually felt like you belonged.

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What if I love you too much?

Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut; single mum reader

Word count: 20.6k

Warnings: Single mum, small fights, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), safe penetrative sex, reader thinks Jungkook is cheating/playing the field, angst, but also fluff, child gets injured (though not seriously), talks of cuts and a small amount of blood.

Additional Drabbles!

Authors Note: Happy Saturday! Hope you’re having a nice weekend so far :) 

“Ask him to mow your lawn.”

“What? Rosie, why would I –”

“Because look at your lawn, Y/N,” she twists to look at you with a flat face before looking back out your front window with dreamy eyes. “And then look at him.”

You look at the man in question, every glistening, no-tee-shirt-on, tattooed sleeved, square inch of him. Ok, so maybe you get her point a little. Still, you’re not about agree with her.

“I can mow,” you defend yourself instead. “And my lawns not that bad.”

“But can you mow like him?”

“Anyone can mow like him. He’s literally just going up and down the grass.”

“Y/N. Please. Just look at that body.”

“I thought you wanted me to look at his mowing.”

You catch her rolling her eyes as you twist to sit properly on your sofa, no longer wanting to objectify your new neighbour. You don’t even know his name and yet you’re already ogling at the beads of sweat that roll down the many abs he’s sporting. The feminist in you is ashamed.

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