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That's hot damn

basic needs | jjk, myg

title: basic needs

pairing: jungkook x f!reader, yoongi x f!reader

rating/genre: m, smut, roommates au

summary: missing sex while being stuck in your apartment with your two roommates during quarantine is being the worst nightmare you could've imagined. fortunately, you're not the only one who's touch starved.

warnings: sexual tension, getting caught during sex, voyeurism, edging, dirty talk, protected and unprotected sex (pls be safe y'all), creampie, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), cum eating, finger sucking, hair pulling, praising, begging, reader gets called a whore once, a little yoongi x jungkook 👀.

wordcount: 6k

note: okay... i don't know where this came from like i didn't even know i had all of this in me 🧍🏻‍♀️ i kept gasping at my own writing, i think i got too carried away haha i just hope you like it. also pls keep in mind english is noth my first language !! let's go !

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yoongi has been in his room all afternoon, something about working on a new track, and jungkook is currently taking a shower so you have the living room for yourself, some old sitcom playing on the background but you're paying more attention to your phone. that's until you hear footsteps coming into the living room from the corridor.

"hey, loser." jungkook greets you as he ruffles his damp hair from the shower with his hands.

you hate yourself for pausing to look at his toned body, the fucker walked out of the bathroom shirtless. you blame it on your lack of sex.

"what are you watching?" he doesn't seem to notice or care about you looking at his abs, his eyes narrowed towards the tv while he puts on the shirt he was grabbing.

"i'm not really watching anything... you can play whatever you want." you try to act unbothered when he decides to grab both of your legs and raise them a little to sit on the couch to then let them fall on his lap, letting you stay lying down. his warm hands on your bare legs make you get goosebumps and you pray he doesn't notice.

what the hell is happening to you? get it together, it's just jungkook.

"wanna watch a movie?" jungkook looks at you and starts to run his fingertips through your legs in a soothing way. you're gonna go crazy over how nice it feels after being touch starved for so long.

"sure." you shrug, trying to focus on your twitter timeline and not on his hands caressing your legs.

one of his hands moves away from your legs to grab the remote on the armrest of the couch and soon after he's opening the netflix app on the tv. you turn your head to look at him when you feel his free hand starting to caress your skin again while he looks through the movies catalog. he's not looking at you so you take the opportunity to really look at his hand.

the inked hand looks strangely nice against your pale skin. his hands are actually really nice, they're big too, you wonder how they would feel–

"anything in mind?" his voice thanfully brings you back to reality and you panic, quickly looking up at his face. he's still not looking at you.

it's impossible he knows you were staring at him, right?

"what?" you mutter with wide eyes and he finally throws you a quick glance before looking back at the tv.

"any movie you'd like to watch?"

oh.

"uh... i don't really have any in mind, you can play what you want."

"sure there's not any cheesy romantic movie you want to watch?" he's teasing you now. it's not the first time he's complained about you always watching romantic movies.

"shut up, i know you like them too," and he does. you've caught him tearing up that time you watched the notebook together. "just play something already."

"i don't know what to play, though." he keeps scrolling through all of the movies.

"okay. keep scrolling and close your eyes, stop whenever you want to and open your eyes. we'll watch that." you propose and he narrows his eyes as if he's thinking about it but ends up nodding. "close your eyes then."

you see him closing his eyes and hear the sound of the scrolling on the tv so you keep staring at him in case he cheats.

"that one." jungkook stops and opens his eyes just at the same time you turn to the tv.

"i don't know that one." you mutter after reading the title.

"a romantic one, you won." he teases again while he silently reads the synopsis and you sigh, rolling your eyes back.

"c'mon, play it."

you're pleased when the movie turns out to be kinda good. it's just another really cliché romantic story but you love movies like that. jungkook is enjoying it too even though he tries to act it out. you smile each time he makes a comment about the movie, he can never shut up when watching something.

"stuff like that doesn't happen in real life." he says and you let out a chuckle.

"it's a movie, kook." tou reply and try not to think about his hands still caressing your legs. it's been like that during all the movie, maybe he hasn't even noticed he's still doing it.

it's nothing new that jungkook is a really touchy person, he's always been touchy with you and even with yoongi, he likes to cuddle, likes to touch your hair. but this time it feels so different because of the lack of touch you've been having. it is so embarrassing to admit how nice his hands feel on you.

never in two years living with him would you have imagined jungkook could be quiet during a movie until a sex scene comes up. he suddenly goes quiet. his hand stops moving.

it's awkward. it's always awkward to watch a sex scene with someone else. if you were watching the movie with your best friend it would be totally different, but this is jungkook, your roommate, your roommate you don't have any type of relationship outside this apartment.

you feel tense, your whole body feels tense, and you pray that he doesn't notice. but you flinch when his hand squeezes your thigh a little too hard.

"oh shit, sorry." he apologizes quickly with a chuckle that seems way too forced.

good, you're both tense and awkward.

"don't worry." you reply just as quickly and he nods before turning back to the tv. he looks so focused on the movie, like he's holding his breath. you only realize you've been staring when he looks back at you.

"you okay?" jungkook is looking at you with a soft smile but also with something in his eyes you've never really seen on him.

"y-yeah," you wanna punch yourself in the face for stuttering but manage to move your legs off his lap to stand up from the couch. "i need something to drink, you keep watching the movie." your bare feet are already guiding you to the kitchen when you hear him humming.

maybe you end up spending too much time in the kitchen. you chug down a glass of water as soon as you get there but when you're finished you leave the glass on the sink and then you lean back on the isle, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down.

you hate how you can still feel jungkook's touch on your legs, how he looked so immersed in the movie, how you can't stop thinking about him squeezing a little too hard when the girl in the movie let out a loud moan, how his gaze was so dark when he looked at you, how you needed to feel his hands on you again.

god, you really need to have sex.

the door creaking open makes you snap out of your thoughts and look up. you quickly straighten up and clear your throat. jungkook is right there by the door looking at you.

"hey," he says nonchalantly and walks to the fridge. "you okay?" his voice is quiet as he grabs the bottle of orange juice.

"yeah! perfectly fine." you nod while he takes a sip of the juice.

he hums and closes the bottle. "you were taking too long, you're gonna miss the rest of the movie."

"yeah, i-"

"i'm not dumb, y/n. you can say you were uncomfortable because of the movie." he chuckles and you feel so stupid.

"no! i wasn't uncomfortable.. it's just- i-" you struggle to find the words and just feel even more stupid

"what is it?" he arches an eyebrow and walks to stand next to you, leaning back against the kitchen isle too.

"i just... fuck, i need to have sex." you snap and run your hands through your hair in frustration. "i'm gonna go crazy if i have to stay inside this house one more fucking day. i haven't had sex in three months."

"we've been quarantined for a month." jungkook points out looking at you with narrowed eyes like he's about to say something else.

"i know, shut up." you stop him before he dares to tease you for it.

"i get it." he says after a few seconds in silence and now you're the one frowning and looking at him.

"huh?"

"i need to have sex too."

oh.

"i get your frustration, sometimes i feel like i'm gonna go crazy too." he looks forward, avoiding your stare.

"oh yeah, i'm sure you're not used to not having a girl bouncing on your dick every single night." the comment was meant to tease him but you just end up feeling your heart start beating too fast at the thought of bouncing on a dick too.

you place your hands on the isle right behind your back and jump a little to sit on top of it, hissing a little because of the cold surface on your exposed thighs.

"hey, it wasn't like that before quarantine!" jungkook whines and pouts like a child and it causes a chuckle to escape your lips. "i wish, though."

"you're gross."

"as if you didn't want to bounce on a dick every single night." he looks at you with an arched eyebrow and a little smirk.

a weird feeling between your legs makes you close them instantly and you swear you can see jungkook looking down really quick before turning and walking back to the fridge to leave the juice bottle back in. when he turns around again you have to fight back a gasp at the sight of the tent he has on his sweatpants. jungkook is hard.

it's embarrasing how bad you need some dick now, it really is, but you look down and close your legs even tighter.

"i should... go to sleep, it's kinda late." you mutter and as soon as you're gonna hop off the counter there's a hand right next to your thigh on the counter.

"wait." jungkook says and you have to look up, he's standing right in front of you.

"yeah?" your voice is just as quiet as before.

"did you get worked up watching the movie?" he asks with a little knowing smile and you want to die from embarrassment.

"no!" you lie, pushing him back a little. "i didn't." you shake your head but he only chuckles, your head is lowering down again.

"it's okay, y/n." his hand brushes against your exposed thigh from where it's placed on the counter and you shiver.

"i didn't." you insist even though you know you're being so fucking obvious.

"open your legs."

a whine escapes your lips at the simple words and you're so embarrassed you wanna die, your face feels so hot.

"jungkook..." you don't want to look up at him but he just moves even closer.

"i know," he coos like he's sorry for you. and it is hot. "it's been so long since someone has talked to you like this, right?"

you just hum in response and shiver again when he pushes one of your strands of hair behind your ear.

"you need someone to take care of you, right?" he purrs, his lips softly brushing against your ear.

"fuck." you sigh and finally look up. "jungkook."

"you need it just as much as me." he says looking right into your eyes. "if you let me..."

"please."

you can't even think straight anymore.

"please, what?"

you don't answer, just spread your legs. he closes his eyes and exhales through his nose.

"y/n."

"please, touch me." you don't think you've ever heard your voice come out so whiny but jungkook seems to like it because he's immediately taking the last step forward he can take and gets between your thighs, placing his hands on your thighs.

"say that again." he says, looking down at your lips.

"touch me." you don't even think about it, because that would probably fuck everything up. it's better this way.

jungkook looks down between your bodies and one of his hands goes up your thigh until it reaches the fabric of your shorts, then it goes up to the elastic waistband. you keep your eyes on his face while he slips his hand under your shorts and finds the wet patch in your panties with his fingers. the groan that leaves his lips when he gets to feel how wet you are is louder than the moan you let out at the same time.

"holy fuck, you're so wet." his fingers start moving slowly against your clothed folds.

"fuck, kook." you sigh and move your hips even closer to him, trying to chase the feeling of his fingers on you.

"mhh... i know," jungkook coos again and you know you're gonna go crazy if he keeps taking to you like that. "feels good, right?" he hums and you're about to respond when he pushes your panties to the side and really touches you.

"fuck." you throw your head back as he runs his fingers through your wet folds.

"god, you're dripping. making a mess down here." jungkook groans and looks up at you. you must be a blushing mess already, your cheeks are burning and you literally feel lightheaded even if you haven't even done anything yet. "please, let me kiss you." he almost begs and you suddenly feel like you're gonna melt right on that counter.

before he can ask again you're throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a desperate kiss. you don't know if you're really fucking turned on or if he's just a really good kisser but you melt into the kiss. jungkook swallows the moans that escape your lips when he slips a finger inside so easily and starts fucking you with it.

"kook..." you moan against his lips. it feels so good to be touched again that your legs are already shaking.

"pretty." jungkook says and starts moving down, leaving a couple kisses on your jaw before kissing and sucking on your neck.

"jungkook- fuck." you sigh, tugging at his hair desperately. "seriously, it's been... it's been so long."

"i know." jungkook hums against your neck and sucks a mark on it as he adds another finger inside you.

"feels so good." you moan and a little squeak slips out of your mouth when he curls his fingers inside of you and finds that sweet spot. "it's so... fuck, it's so soon but i'm gonna cum, kook." you don't even have the mind to be embarrassed about it. it feels too good.

but jungkook suddenly stops kissing your neck and pulls back completely, his hand moving away from inside your pants. the complain about to slip out of your mouth dies in your throat when you see him sucking on his fingers and groaning.

"fuck, so sweet."

you're gonna go crazy.

"your feet on the ground, and turn around." he orders and you're so desperate you obey right away, jumping from the counter and turning around to give him your back. "you need to tell me if you really want this because it's gonna be easier to just stop now." one of his hands finds your waist and he pulls you against his body, you moan at the feeling of his clothed hard dick against your ass.

"yes, fuck, yes please." you breathe out and feel his hands on the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down immediately along with your panties. "wait, wait."

"mh?"

"yoongi, he's home." you mentally applaud your brain for being rational enough to remember you're not alone in the house.

"he doesn't leave his room for hours, don't worry about." he shrugs and you can see him pulling his sweatpants down.

"but- ah!" you whine when he pushes one of your feet further to the side so your legs spread a little more. "jungkook..." you want to insist on the fact that you're not alone but his fingers find your pussy again.

"you're fucking dripping." he sighs and easily slips two fingers inside, making you put your hand on your mouth not to be loud. "fuck, so tight."

you can't help but bend down on the counter, pushing your ass towards him to chase his fingers. jungkook straight up moans at the sight.

"please, need you inside." you whimper when he adds a third finger and starts fucking you with them at a pace that drives you crazy.

"what was that?" he asks and moves even faster. the fucker is teasing you.

"kook, need you to fuck me."

he doesn't seem to think about it twice before he reaches for one of the kitchen drawers where a box of condoms is hidden and takes one out. you can notice he's trying to hold himself back and take his time with you but he's just as eager as you, so he can't slow down now.

"you sure about this, right?" he asks. you're looking at him over your shoulder as he rolls the condom down his cock.

"i'm fucking dripping, kook. of course i'm sure." you're starting to get anxious, you wiggle your ass just to let him know you're ready for him.

a little sigh leaves your mouth when jungkook rubs his tip against your folds, just when you think he's about to slip inside he just rubs it again.

"fucking tease." you mutter with your cheek pressed against the cold surface of the counter. "just fuck m- oh!" you can't help the moan that leaves your mouth when he slips inside all the way.

"shit, so tight." jungkook hisses behind you and you whine, your walls clenching so hard around him. his hands grip on your hips so hard you're sure it's gonna leave a mark.

"it's been.. too long- fuck." you remind him as he pulls back a little just to thrust inside again.

"yeah, me too, i'm not gonna last." He warns and you almost giggle because at least you're both equally desperate.

"i don't care, just make me cum." you beg through a moan when he thrusts inside again.

"come here." one of his arms wraps around your waist and straightens you up so your back is arched against his chest, keeping you in place. you're both still wearing your shirts and your pants and underwear are just pooling by your ankles, so horny you didn't even waste time to get undressed.

"holy fuck!" you gasp when his thrusts hit a different way in the new angle and soon after, jungkook's hand is over your mouth.

"want every fucking neighbor to hear you?" he whispers against your ear and you feel your walls clenching around him again. "fuck, y/n, keep doing that and i'll cum in two seconds." his hand drops from your mouth to your neck, wrapping his fingers around it but not adding any pressure, just keeping you in place.

"so big." you whimper helplessly, your hands still flat on the counter because you feel like your legs could betray you right now. "you feel so fucking good."

you feel his hand closing a little around your neck and your eyes roll back at the feeling, he starts fucking you even faster. there are drops of sweat rolling down your forehead already but you don't care, not when you're finally having a cock inside of you. and god, he's fucking you good, so good that you don't feel embarrassed at how close you feel already.

"feels good?" jungkook hums and you can only whine in response. "fuck, your pussy is swallowing my cock, y/n, doesn't want me to leave." he groans and his thrusts are so hard that you're starting to see white dots. "you're so good, y/n."

"f-fuck... please, need... need to cum." you must sound pathetic right now but you can't bring yourself to care. "touch me, kook, make me cum."

his free hand is moving quickly, finding your clit again and rubbing fast circles that almost make you start crying.

"gonna cum, baby?" you feel his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers. the pet name makes you clench even harder around him. "wanna cum on my cock?" he sounds so gone too, you know he's close too. if you knew he was gonna fuck you this good you would've actually taken your time with him, but you let it pass for now because you're both needy and just need to get off.

"yeah." you unconsciously let out the most pornographic moan you've ever heard from yourself and jungkook start giving sloppy thrusts, you're both so close. "kook, i'm gonna cum." you manage to let out and right after your mouth can't even make sounds anymore.

"fuck, y/n."

you're so close. you're gonne cum. so fucking close.

but the door creaks open and you both freeze, not being able to contain your moans at the feeling of jungkook bottoming out once again.

"yoongi!" you scream at the boy standing by the door at the same time as jungkook screams 'hyung!'. you try your best to cover yourself by pulling your shirt down. jungkook's hand drops from your neck to rest on your waist.

"oh, don't stop." yoongi shrugs as if he's just caught you chopping vegetables.

"huh?" jungkook mutters behind you and you can feel it about to move away but you reach for his thigh with your hand to keep him there.

"kook, please." you don't know what got into you. you're so desperate to cum you don't even mind yoongi being there in front of you.

"see? she wants you to keep going." yoongi's voice is so calm as he slowly walks towards you, leaning back against the counter, just right next to where you both are.

you look down as your cheeks start burning and you clench around jungkook. why the hell are you getting turned on by being watched by your roommate while getting fucked by your other roommate?

"fuck, y/n." you know jungkook is hissing because you got impossibly tight around him and you can hear Yoongi's little chuckle. "you're just gonna stand there?" the younger asks his friend.

"i don't think she minds." yoongi replies and you can almost see the smug smile on his face even if you're staring at the counter.

"y/n?" jungkook mutters behind you but you don't answer. you're so close, so embarrassed and so turned on that you're scared your voice will come out in a pathetic whine.

"y/n," yoongi's deeper voice calls for you too but you don't reply either. "look at me, y/n," he speaks again and you bite your lip not to let out another moan because you're sure you're currently creaming jungkook's cock. "pull her hair so she looks at me, jungkook."

your breath hitches then the youngest does just as yoongi says and a moan finally escapes your throat as he tugs at your hair and brings your head up, turning it a little to the side so you can face the boy beside you. he's handling you as if you were a doll. and the second you lock eyes with yoongi you feel numb. his eyes are so dark, you've never really seen him looking at you like that. a little smirk grows on his face as he looks all over your face. you probably look a mess.

"do you want me to stay?" he asks with an unusual soft voice that makes your legs shake.

"hyung." jungkook says with a warning tone, his cock throbbing inside you. he needs to cum too.

"shut up," yoongi gives jungkook a quick look and turns to you again. "y/n?" the words don't even leave your mouth, you can't speak. "what? jungkookie was fucking you so good you can't even talk?" he speaks with a condescending tone, like he's sorry for you. you close your eyes as you clench around jungkook again.

"fuck, y/n." jungkook's free hand squeezes the flesh on your hip.

"keep fucking her, kook," yoongi finally says. "let's see if you can make her talk again."

jungkook doesn't need to be told twice because he lets go of your hair and starts moving again without even questioning him. your head stays in place for yoongi to see you but your eyes are still closed. you must be going crazy because you don't think you've ever felt this good during sex and it is just a quick fuck in the kitchen with your roommate while your other roommate looks at you.

after a specific thrust that hits just where you need it you arch your back until your head falls on jungkook's shoulder, you throw one of your arms behind you so you can reach jungkook's hair and keep him close. your fingers tangle with the soft locks while he fucks you at a brutal pace.

"right there, kook..." you moan.

"like that?" he whines, fucking whines, against your ear as he keeps thrusting against that sweet spot inside you and you nod frantically. one of his hands stays on the counter right next to yours and the other sneaks under your shirt and finally cups over one of your boobs, a groan hits your ear.

"s-sensitive.." you warn him but he squeezes your boob anyway. you cry out. you're so close again, so fucking close.

"stop." yoongi says and jungkook halts his movements immediately as if he was under his spell.

"fuck, yoongi." you choke on a moan. when you open your eyes you can see yoongi looking down at where your bodies meet, then he looks at jungkook.

"jungkook," yoongi says and jungkook hums in response. "you got tested when i did, you're clean." he tells him and then he looks at you. "are you clean? and on the pill?"

"yeah," you nod. "yes to both." you suddenly feel shy again. they both sigh at your answer and you gulp, watching yoongi turning to jungkook with an arched eyebrow.

"then why are you wearing a condom?" yoongi asks. and he's not wrong. you usually didn't risk it, you always use to have protected sex, but now that you see it like this you wonder why you didn't ask jungkook if he was clean from the start.

"hyung... i don't know if she-" jungkook mutters like he's not sure but you can clearly feel his cock twitching inside you.

"do you want him to wear the condom?" yoongi asks you, his voice still calm and his look unbothered.

"y/n, you don't have t-"

"take it off." you cut Jungkook off and yoongi smiles. you feel so nice after seeing his reaction that you wonder if you're doing this just to make him feel proud. it feels good.

"pull out, kookie," yoongi says and walks towards him, you turn your head to look back at them. jungkook obeys quickly, your walls squeezing him like you want to keep him inside. "good," yours and jungkook's breaths hitch when yoongi himself takes the condom off of his cock and goes to throw it on the trash. "you leaked a lot, damn." he say through a breathy chuckle when he comes back and decides to stand right behind jungkook.

"hyung."

"she must feel good, right?" yoongi is suddenly resting his chin on his shoulder and looking down. your eyes follow yoongi's and then roll back when you see yoongi's hand wrapping around jungkook's cock and slowly stroking him to spread the precum on his tip all over his length.

"fuck, hyung." the boy moans and your pussy throbs.

god, this is so fucking hot you could cum if they kept that going for a little longer. but yoongi drops his sticky hand and looks at you tilting his head and lightly raising his eyebrows.

"open your mouth." he says and you don't question him, just open your mouth and welcome two of his fingers inside.

you moan around them as you suck and swallow jungkook's taste off them while yoongi stares at your lips, his tongue licking the corner of his lips.

"clean my hand." his fingers drop from your mouth and you stick your tongue out, one of your hands wrapping around his wrist while you run your tongue all over his palm and fingers, cleaning jungkook off of him.

they're both looking at you like they want to eat you up and you feel so powerful yet you can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs by this point. yoongi drops his hand when you've cleaned it completely and then looks at jungkook.

"c'mon, kookie, fuck her now." he says really close to jungkook's ear and the younger obeys instantly, slipping inside you and groaning at the feeling. "good boy." yoongi chuckles as jungkook bottoms out.

"so good." you moan, already feeling the clear difference in having him inside with nothing in between. a whimper is forced out of your mouth when jungkook starts thrusting into you again.

"that feels good, right?" yoongi asks and moves to stand beside you again, to watch it all happen.

"mhm..." you moan. "please... jungkook- please."

"so pretty when you beg." yoongi puts his fingers under your chin to make you look at him. "such a pretty whore."

"oh my god!" your eyes roll back. you feel yourself just a second away from coming. "gonna cum... fuck..."

"yeah, i can fucking feel you." jungkook breathes out. "fuck." his thrusts become sloppy real fast. he's close too.

"jungkook..." you completely bend over the counter again because your arms can't support your weight anymore, your cheek gets smushed against the cold surface. "i'm- shit... i'm coming." you whimper.

"then cum." yoongi's voice is all you need to get there. a shocking wave of pleasure runs through your whole body while you clench hard around him.

"shit, so tight." jungkook mutters behind you and one of your weak arms reaches behind to grab at his thigh. "so close, y/n."

"please." your whole body is shaking with oversensitivity.

"want me to pull out?" jungkook asks.

"no... please," you beg. "come inside, baby." you cry out.

"c'mon jungkook, cum." yoongi says and that seems like enough for jungkook too, because you feel his throbbing cock releasing inside of you.

"fuck," jungkook mumbles. "y/n, come here." his hands are on your waist again.

"i can't." you let out a weak chuckle but jungkook is suddenly wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up.

"need to kiss you." he says and you immediately turn your head to find his lips. you kiss him slow, nothing like the kisses you shared before, and it feels good to kiss jungkook like that.

he's the one that breaks the kiss and when you try to chase his lips again he just chuckles and gives your hip a soft slap.

"kiss yoongi too." he whispers just at the same time as you feel a hand wrapping around your neck.

yoongi's lips are on yours as soon as you turn around. you hum through the kiss and bring one of your hands up to his cheek, tilting his head a little to deepen the kiss. he swallows your moan when jungkook's cock finally slips out of you and you feel his cum spilling out. yoongi breaks the kiss when jungkook mumbles something you can't really hear.

"shit..." you close your legs when you feel jungkook's cum spilling out and dripping down your thigh. "it's so messy."

"not for long," yoongi suddenly grabs you and brings you to the fridge, making you lean back against it as he drops to his knees in front of you. you stop breathing for a second. "i'm gonna clean you up."

"hyung," jungkook calls him as he puts on his sweatpants again. "you're gonna-"

"do you think this is my first time tasting cum?" yoongi throws him a quick glance and you swear you see jungkook blushing for a moment.

yoongi turns to you again and grabs one of your thighs, throwing it over his shoulder and diving in with no warning.

"yoongi, fuck!" you throw your head back as one of your hands goes to his hair. he hums against your pussy and laps at your entrance, from where jungkook's cum keeps spilling out.

"that's so fucking hot." jungkook sighs but you can't open your eyes to look at him, you keep them closed.

"yoongi, you're gonna- gonna make me cum again." you mumble, your only leg supporting you starting to shake but yoongi keeps you steady with one hand on your waist and the other on your thigh over his shoulder. and the warning that you're gonna cum only makes yoongi push you further to the edge, sucking on your clit and basically burying his face on your pussy like he's starving for you. "yoongi, oh my- fuck, oh my god!"

you don't know what to do with your hands anymore, one of them stays on his hair while the other ends on your mouth to try and stop the pathetic noises from coming out. though one hand is suddenly grabbing that arm and pulling it down.

it's yoongi. he detaches his mouth from you to say, "i wanna hear you." and suddenly slips two fingers inside you.

"sensitive..." you mumble, your legs shaking again and threatening to close even if yoongi's head is between them.

"gotta clean you well," yoongi says. "jungkookie had a big load for you, huh?" he chuckles again.

you've never heard something so hot in your entire life. jungkook must think the same because he groans somewhere in the kitchen, you don't see him because you're too busy holding yoongi's eye contact.

"you like me cleaning jungkookie off your pussy?" yoongi asks you and gives your clit another little lick as he fucks the cum out of you with his fingers. "dirty girl."

"please, yoongi."

"love hearing you say that." he smirks as he pulls his fingers out of you and brings them to his mouth, cleaning them with his tongue.

"hyung, jesus fucking christ." jungkook sighs while yoongi goes back to eating you out like he's wanted it for months.

"i'm gonna cum, yoongi- ah!" you throw your head back against the fridge again when yoongi sucks on your clit and starts fucking you with his fingers again. "oh, right there!" his fingers keep brushing against that sweet spot and you're sure you're gonna cum soon.

it doesn't take long for you to cum on his mouth and fingers, yoongi gives your pussy one last kiss before placing another one on your thigh still on his shoulder and finally puts it down.

"you're okay?" yoongi asks you as he stands up and cups your face with his hands to check on you.

"yeah," you nod. "just a little dizzy."

"i'm sure you're tired." he brushes his thumbs on your cheeks affectionately and your eyes close on their own. "i'll go prepare a bath for you, okay?" he says and kisses your forehead.

and holy fuck, you never thought that thing people said about feeling butterflies in your stomach was real but now you can feel them because as soon as yoongi pulls away, you feel another kiss on your cheek from jungkook.

"you were amazing." he tells you and you have half a mind to smile.

"wait," you turn to the door where yoongi is already making his way to the bathroom. "yoongi!" you call out for him and he quickly turns around.

"yeah?" he asks and your eyes go down to his crotch. he's hard. of course he is.

"do you... want help with that?" you ask shyly but he just waves a hand dismissively.

"don't worry about it, you're completely spent, you should rest now." yoongi replies sincerely but then looks to jungkook. "unless you're ready for another round." he cocks an eyebrow.

you look at jungkook and a giggle slips out of your mouth when you see him shocked, his cheeks tomato red. yoongi chuckles too.

"i'm just teasing you," the older says. "i'll go prepare a bath." and he leaves the kitchen.

then you're alone with jungkook again. you grab your clothes from the floor even if you're not really gonna put them on now.

"what was all of that about?" you dare to ask and you know jungkook understands what you mean but you still push further. "yoongi and you...?"

"it was nothing." he quickly replies. you're not dumb, he's getting defensive.

"okay..." you mutter. "calm down, i wasn't judging."

"i know," jungkook says and oh he looks troubled. "it was just nothing."

"okay," you nod and give him a reassuring smile because he looks more tense now than before. "just... if you've got some thoughts you need to let out... i'm here, or whatever..." you try not to make things real serious but you just don't want to see jungkook like this.

"i'm okay." he replies.

"mh, good." you end up putting just your shorts on again because it might be a little weird to have this conversation while being half naked.

"by the way, that was short but it was amazing." jungkook says out of nowhere and you giggle, slapping his arm.

"yeah, you were not bad either." you say and squeeze his bicep twice before walking out of the kitchen.

and when you're left alone in the corridor everything you just did hits you like a truck.

what the hell have you done?

–

–

–

A/N: hope you enjoyed it !! i'm not 100% satisfied with this one, i know i could've done a lot better but yeah :) thank u for reading ! have a nice day <3

Kinda cute

sanguine slumber

╰┈➤ synopsis — So tempted by soft slumber, you just want to sleep. But Yoongi seems to have a present for you and it isn’t exactly ideal. 

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!cat-hybrid!suga x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 650+

╰┈➤ content warning — SPOILER!!!! dead animal (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; happy birthday yoongi!! i've been missing him too much lately

A soft rumbling sound brings you out of your sweet slumber. A warm weight lays across your back. A heat that grows hotter as Yoongi rubs his hands alongside your abdomen. Up and down, repeated, and teasing at the bottom of your sleep shirt.

The rumbling seems to be coming from Yoongi himself. A low purring that lays deep in his chest. The sensation mixed with his short puffs of breath touching your ear almost send you back to sleep. Almost.

Yoongi’s hands redden with a roughness as his claws peek out enough to delicately graze your sides. Sharp nails scratching along the surface, not enough to significantly hurt you, but enough to leave pink lines in their path. You squirm underneath him from the discomfort and let out a groan.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Yoongi huffs out as if he isn’t already half asleep himself. “I have a present for you.” While he speaks, he shifts his head to turn away from your face and stuff into your hair. He nestles himself deeper into the space between your neck and the pillow. A bad decision since a strawberry smell threatens to take him out. 

Yoongi keeps his focus on decorating your neck with lingering kisses in order to stay awake. His tail tangles itself around your waist in a lazy fashion. The tip twitching from every small breath you let out.

You only groan into the pillow and ignore him. A fuzzy haze begins to settle beneath your eyelids until a pinching pain erupts from your neck. “Hey, hey no biting,” Your words are slurred and down-slide into silence.

Yoongi, with his teeth still lodged into your neck, pouts a little before peppering pecks onto your pinkening flesh. He huffs in disappointment at your still sleepy self.

“Wake up, I said I have a present.” Yoongi raises himself onto his arms the slightest bit so he hovers over your face. He breathes short puffs of air through his puffed up cheeks and pouty lips. He watches as the wind makes your eyelashes flutter and causes your eyelids to twitch. He moves his tail up higher to rest at the base of your chin, tickling you in an annoying way. 

You continue to stand between the sinking state of slumber and the surface. You stay stubborn and still underneath his body. Yoongi’s purring stops and he almost starts to sulk. Instead, two hands turn you upwards to face him. You grimace at the sunshine that peeks around him and squint your eyes. 

“Stop being stubborn.” He sits up so he straddles your waist. Yoongi huffs and furrows his brows in frustration. He leans down again and puts more pressure into his kisses. He presses his plush lips onto your rosy cheeks. He leaves fluttering kisses across every inch of your face. Blue butterflies burn in your stomach. 

When his kisses drag down onto your jaw is when you notice how warm they are. Warm and… wet? You peek open one eye and fight against the blinding light. Your foggy gaze comes into focus and that’s when you see how red his lips are.

You reach out to grab his jaw, nimble fingers tighten around the bone and draw his face downwards. He reaches a hand up to hold onto your wrist and a second scarlet stain appears. You panic to pull yourself up off your back, bucking Yoongi downwards off your hips and onto the space beside you. 

Feathers (definitely not from the pillow) cover the bed while a few float in the air from your rapid movement. You turn to face Yoongi and he parts his lips in a scarlet smile. He spits out a feather and brings his hands out from behind his back.

A bloody bird sits in the middle of his palms. The wings stick up in two impossible directions. The head, hanging on by a single tendon, snaps off and rolls onto your lap.

“Do you like it?” A shy smile shines on his blushing cheeks. 

You wipe the sides of your face before responding. Ruby red rolls off onto your hands. “Oh, Yoongi.”

© cybsoo2 2024, all rights reserved

Illicit Favors | MYG | Oneshot

Pair: Min Yoongi x f!reader 

Summary: When your editor tells you to re-write the chapters of your book because the sex scenes are weak, suggesting you write them from experience, what do you do when you lack any kind of sexual experiences in general? You go to your friend and ask him for help with it.

Genre: ONESHOT. Fluff, tiny angst, smut, non idol au. Friends to Lovers. 

Warnings: Producer Yoongi, virgin and inexperienced reader, teaching-sex au. From Yoongi’s POV. Yoongi is relatable and slightly overthinks and is a little socially awkward, but he’s whipped for her and cute as fuck. There’s lots of smut in this. Long hair Yoongi. Side pairing Jikook. Some text messages edited, but not a smau. 

A/N: Happy birthday to our favorite cat boy! The love of our lives, the man who gets proposals on the daily! 

WC: 29k.

MAIN MASTERLIST I If you want another Yoongi Oneshot

SEPTEMBER 18TH | 19:35

Ever since Yoongi met you at a coffee shop four years ago, when you simply asked him to look after your computer while you used the bathroom, coming back with an orange muffin for him as a ‘thank you’, visiting him in the studio wasn’t a rare feature in itself for you. But Yoongi knew those eyes. 

Even in emoji form, the pleading, puppy-kitty eyes told him you wanted something from him. And, chances were, you’d get it. No matter what it was. From picking you up in the middle of the night because you were craving convenience store corn dogs, to going to the bulk supermarket with you once a month because the prices were better and he could reach things you simply could not. 

It didn’t help that he had a spring in his step as he got up from his rolling chair and walked to the door of his production studio, quickly typing out the code that unlocked it. And there you were, standing in the slightly dark hallway, heavy backpack thrown precariously over a shoulder –even if he always told you to put on both straps, lest your back get crooked–, a pout on your lips and the perfect copy of the aforementioned pleading eye emoji. 

You were already stepping out of your shoes, knowing Yoongi didn’t like them inside his space, and throwing your arms around his middle as you hid your face on his chest. Now that wasn’t a common occurrence at all. Yoongi didn’t like people in his personal space, a fact you very much knew and respected. Then again, you weren’t just people. 

“What happened?” he asked, arms wrapping around your smaller frame almost instantly, resisting the urge to sniff the top of your head.

“Kibhamun.” was your muffled reply, making him chuckle. 

“What was that?”

“Kim Namjoon.” you corrected, pulling away from him to step into the studio properly, placing your bag on the floor as you dropped to his couch. 

Ah, yes, Kim Namjoon. 

Yoongi’s best friend, the chairman of a family run publishing company. 

Call it nepotism, but Yoongi had introduced the two of you and put in a good word for you, so that his dongsaeng would read your manuscript; the one you had been working on on that fateful day at the coffee shop. To this day, Yoongi still insisted you got a publishing contract –and now had three books out in bookstores of South Korea– all on your own. 

Namjoon took every opportunity to tease Yoongi about his obvious crush on you, which was a small price to pay for not only the friendship that blossomed between you and Joon, but for the fact you were able to kickstart your career as a writer. 

“I'm trashing my book.” you said with the jutting out of your bottom lip, folding your arms on your chest and your legs under you. 

“What–why? You were so excited to hand in the new chapters last week.” Yoongi sat down on the couch beside you, with one seat cushion still between you. His brows were knitted together as he wondered just how wrong your meeting with your editor had gone down this afternoon. 

“Yes, but your best friend changed that.” you grumbled with a tiny shrug of your shoulders, leaning sideways against the couch to lay your head on the backrest. 

With a sigh and the tilting of his head to mimic yours, Yoongi asked: “What did he do now?”

“He said my new chapters are shit.”

“He did not say that.” Yoongi reasoned. 

He was the blunt one of the two, there’s no way Namjoon would ever say something of that nature to you. If your chapters were bad, he’d give you pointers and ways of making them better. But you were resolute. 

“Not with so many words, but the sentiment was there!” you complained with a pretty pout that made Yoongi’s gaze flit to your plump lips. 

“What happened, doll?” he asked, a little softer, knowing how to work you into telling him what really happened. 

You sighed dramatically, back straightening as you looked down to your hands on your lap. Yoongi followed the movement, watching how you fiddled with the ring on your middle finger of your left hand; it had belonged to your grandma once, he knew, and you always wore it when you needed that little extra pick-me-up. 

“Apparently I can't write smut.” you told him so quietly he barely heard you. 

Your new book, the one you’ve been working on for the past three months, had adult scenes in it. Not necessary essential to the plot but not gratuitous fucking either. Just something to spice it up, to open up to a different market. You were never scared of trying something new and Yoongi admired that. 

Yoongi himself was the kind of person that never even changed his coffee order, sticking to it forever when he found the one he liked. You were brave and adventurous, while Yoongi liked his routine and comfort zone.   

“What makes you say that?” he asked you once you didn’t elaborate. 

“Joon said I got many things wrong. I believe his exact words were 'it doesn't happen like that, that's not how it tastes, or how it feels’–” you said with a roll of your eyes, which made Yoongi bite back a chuckle. But then your fire was aimed at him: “You've read the chapters! Why didn't you tell me it was shit?!”

“It wasn't shit–”

How could he tell you the reason he didn't notice some things were off was because when reading your smut, all he could do was picture you? And him. In the various situations you wrote in rich descriptions. Like a fucking creep, he got off to his friend's writing.

“Yeah, well, I'm a fraud.” 

“You're not a fraud, doll.” the pet name he had for you came out a lot more natural now than the first few times he blurted them out on slips of the tongue, but it still made his neck flush. 

“No, no, Joon is right. I know he wasn't trying to hurt me, and I don't want to publish something bad either.” you insisted, quieting the fidgeting of your hands after turning the ring on your finger a few times. “Just... he said I should write from experience.”

“Oh. Yeah, that usually helps when writing lyrics, too.”

Yoongi felt cold sweat clinging to his back as he wouldn’t want to read about your sex adventures, if you started writing about them in your new book. Some of the things you wrote about were pretty wild, Yoongi could only imagine what you were up to in your private life. You never really told him about it, but he guessed it was something you shared with your girlfriends. Or Jimin. Not with him.

“That’s the problem.” again, you spoke too quietly. “I don't have them.”

“Don’t have what?” he asked with the nervous nibbling on the inside of his bottom lip. 

“The experiences to write about.” you supplied with a small grit of your teeth, as if you were pretending you weren’t the one saying those words. 

“Sure you do. I'm sure you can change a few things to make it fit the plot–”

“No, Yoon.” you interrupted, crestfallen, rubbing your hands on your thighs in what should be a self soothing manner. “I haven't... Done anything.”

The weight of those news was shocking to him, but Yoongi tried not to let it show in his face. He watched you for a while, too, trying to decide if you were joking or trying to pull one on him, but your pink cheeks of embarrassment were too real and you weren’t that good of an actress. 

It just didn’t really make sense to him. You were a few years younger than him, but not by much, and you were so pretty and clearly attractive. Whenever he agreed to go to a night out with your group –most likely being dragged out by a lying Hoseok that told him it would be chill– guys hit on you all the time, much to his own chagrin.

“Ever?” Yoongi hushed with a frown. This whole conversation had his forehead hurting from how confused he was. 

“Ever.” you shook your head, a stray piece of hair moving out of place and Yoongi’s fingers flexed in want to fix it. “I'm not ashamed of it, okay? I'm also not saving myself for marriage or anything. I just never had a boyfriend and I didn't want to just hook up with a stranger for a night.”

“Yeah, no, that's... dangerous.” he agreed with a single nod of his own. 

“Mhm! I mean, I thought that would happen with Jungkook the night we met. He was nice enough and just my type.” you said, not meaning much by it, but damn if it didn’t feel like a punch in the gut. Ouch. “But he turned out to be gay and only chatted with me to get to Jimin.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” Yoongi was there the night Jungkook showed up in their lives and would later become part of their small group and subsequently Jimin’s boyfriend. 

“I don't know what to do, Yoon. I had so many hopes and plans for this book!” you cried, a hand running through your hair in frustration.

“I know, maybe... maybe you should read more smut? To be able to write it better?” he tried, but it only made you huff. 

“If you look at my search history you'll think I’m a sex addict that should get an intervention.” you shook your head. “I’ve read it all.” 

“Didn't Joon give you some advice? Isn't that his job as your editor?”

Yoongi might need to have a chat with his bestie, as his job was to help you out, not leave you feeling lost and defeated. Yoongi knew first hand how happy you were with your latest project, all of the twists and turns you had planned for it. And here you were, sulking on his couch, questioning whether or not you should throw it out. 

“He did, and I'm starting to think he's right.” you said, and it gave Yoongi a glimmer of hope, giving up on scolding Namjoon. At least for now. 

“There we go, what did he say?”

“He said that if I don't have any experiences to write about, then I should create some.” you avoided Yoongi's eyes as you said it, which didn’t help his choking on air. 

“He said what–”

“It makes sense.” you insisted, gathering your courage to finally look at him. 

“It does not– you can't possibly think that going out to find someone random to be your first is a good idea!” Yoongi couldn’t help how worked up he was getting over this. The mere hypothesis of you getting out there to find someone to lose your virginity to just for the sake of experiences was making his blood boil. “It's dangerous, and borderline traumatizing, and you can't expect to write well after that–”

“No, that's not what he said at all!” you waved a hand in the air, reaching for his arm with the other. Your touch was firm, but gentle at the same time. As you wanted to make sure he understood. “Joon didn’t mean I should find someone random.”

There Yoongi went, with the choking again. Because your eyes… Those eyes that were the front door to your soul. They told him so much. And Yoongi was slightly scared to read what they were trying to tell him at that moment. 

“He said I should consider talking to a friend.” you continued after Yoongi didn’t say anything, but your hand stayed in his arm. “Someone I trust, someone I know won't use me, and that won't let things get awkward after.”

Okay, Yoongi would have to have that chat with Namjoon afterall. He could just about imagine his best friend sitting in his suburban house right now, with a drink in his hand, chuckling to himself, thinking he was a mastermind. 

Of course he planned all of this. Namjoon knew of Yoongi’s feelings for you, and he knew that he’d be the one you’d come to with this. He just hadn’t decided if Namjoon was trying to play cupid or pull a prank on him. 

“You're considering it?” Yoongi asked, not wanting to believe what was happening right now. 

“I've decided. I'm either doing that or throwing the whole book away and starting something else.” you sounded so sure of yourself that Yoongi really started to worry. “Which would just be stressful, because I'm already way into the deadlines. So what's it gonna be?”

“Wha-why are you asking me?” Yoongi’s heart was going a mile a minute inside his chest, and it most definitely wasn’t the caffeine he’d been drinking all day. 

“Are you going to make me say it?” you pleaded, squeezing his bicep just once.

“Yes, because I don’t know what you want from me.” he wheezed. 

“I trust you.”

“No, you're not serious. You want me to–” 

“Teach me, yeah.” you assured him, tugging on the sleeve of the cardigan he was wearing. “Or at least have those experiences with me so that I know how things work.” 

Yoongi was about to start hyperventilating. Maybe he had drunk so much coffee all his adult life that it didn’t work on him anymore and he fell asleep on his desk and this was all a dream. Because there’s no way in hell that the girl he had a crush on for the past four years –yet wasn’t brave enough to do something about it– was asking him to–

“Are you even attracted to me?!” his voice came out more high pitched than he wanted, making him cough behind his fist.  

With a deadpan, you stated: “I have eyes, Yoongi.” 

“And also a nose and a mouth, what does that have to do with anything?”

“I think you're hot!” you specified with a giggle and Yoongi went back to the dream axiom. “Especially ever since you decided to let your hair grow long. And I like your face.”

“Thanks.” it should have come out as sarcasm, but his face was too red and the word sounded too breathy. 

“And you’re... strong and tall.” you continued, eyes obviously settling on the width of his chest. 

“Hoseok is taller, why didn't you ask him?” Yoongi didn’t mean to ask that, not one bit, not for a second. It was just one of those things that came out of his mouth when he was nervous. 

“I can. I'll go to him after I leave here, if you really say no.” you were clearly taken aback, hand finally dropping from his arm as you pulled back just a little further away from him. You blinked a few times before offering him an awkward smile. “Which you're already doing. Yeah, sorry, no, I just assumed that you'd be up for it because, after Jimin, you're my closest friend. But I guess being close to someone doesn't mean you're attracted to them? God, this is awkward, I don't know why I just assumed that.”

You were getting up and Yoongi was panicking. Because he didn’t want you to think that he wasn’t attracted to you, and he didn’t want to offend you. But, above all, he didn’t want you to bring this to Hoseok. 

Because Hoseok might say yes. 

Honestly, not many people he knows would ever say no to you. 

“Wait, that's not what I meant.” Yoongi insisted as you were already standing and on the way of going after your backpack. 

“No, Yoon, it's fine!” you waved him off, as if trying to take the burden you had dropped on him off. “Might be better to do it with someone I'm not that close to, anyway. I'll try Hobi.”

“Doll, stop, hang on.” Yoongi reached for your wrist as you walked in front of him and you stopped your stride. “Let me consider this.”

“You don't have to.” you repeated, but didn't take your wrist from his grasp and didn’t walk away. 

“What is it you want, exactly? And please be honest with me, so we both know what we're getting ourselves into here and so there's no misunderstandings.” if he was even entertaining the idea of saying yes to this crazy plan, then he needed you to be as straightforward as possible. 

“I haven't thought this far? But I guess we could do stuff.”

“I said to be specific.” Yoongi pressed. 

You huffed and, dare he say, squirmed, as you sat down on the couch again, this time closer to him. “I mean, would you fuck me? You know, so I know how it works? And, uhm. Stuff?”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, we should probably start with, like... Kissing. Handjobs? I'd like to suck you off if you're okay with that?” 

Nevermind his dreaming theory, Yoongi might have died and this was his personal version of heaven. Or maybe hell, depending how long it would take for you to start laughing in his face, saying that Namjoon was right and he would fall for it. But that wasn’t like you at all, too sweet and nice for your own good, and –despite his little hours of sleep and caffeine intake– Yoongi was pretty healthy to have died all of a sudden. 

“You can't be serious.” Yoongi was still incredulous. 

“I am! And I can ask Hobi, you don't have to feel pressured.” you told him as the wrist he was still holding on to finally slipped from his grasp, but just so you could hold his hand instead. “Even though this is all Namjoon’s fault and you're the one who introduced me to him and so this is also your fault, and I think you should fix it.”

There it was, the arguments, the innocent guilt trip, your special little way of getting Yoongi to do what you wanted, while not actually forcing him to do anything he didn’t want. And this? You? This was something he wanted. For a really long time. This might not be the way he ever thought he would get to be with you, but if anything, Yoongi was an opportunist. 

And he wasn’t about to let you walk into the studio next door to ask Hoseok to do this favor for you. He’d never forgive himself if he let you walk away now, if he handed you over to one of his closest friends. You might fall in love with each other, get married, and make Yoongi give a speech during the ceremony. You might even name your first born after Yoongi. 

“So.” you squeezed his hand, looking at the difference in size of your palms. “What do you say?”

“You're crazy. But if you're gonna do this anyway.” his shrug was supposed to be nonchalant. 

“Yes! Yoon, thank you! Okay, so what do we do? I promise I'll pay attention!” your excitement made him chuckle, despite the weight of reality slowly sinking in, and untamed butterflies going haywire in his stomach. 

“Calm down, we're not starting right now.”

He needed time to let this new reality settle and tame his anxiety and the voices in his head that were screaming at him. Besides making a list of everything that could go wrong by having agreed with this. 

“Right, I should probably shave down there.” you said with a side pout, as if you were thinking hard about what you had to do to prepare. 

“You– that's not a problem.” Yoongi wanted to make sure you understood you were perfect, just as natural as you wanted to be, but he couldn’t just say that. “Just do what you feel comfortable with, this is not about me. You shouldn't have to worry about things like that, unless you want to.”

“Okay. I should still get on the pill, right?” you asked him, too innocently for the type of conversation you were having. 

“I mean... maybe? You should talk to your doctor about it?” he had no idea really, as that question made Yoongi wonder just how much you needed help with. “There are side effects and long term commitments with that kind of stuff, that you shouldn't put yourself through just for a few experiences? And I'll get tested too, just so you're sure I'm clean.”

“I trust you, Yoon, I don't want you to go through that trouble.”

“It's no trouble, really, I've been meaning to do it anyways, just to be safe.” not that his own sex life was a particularly crazy one at that, and he always wore a condom. 

“This is exciting. Nerve-wracking but exciting.” you giggled, looking at him as your fingers gently traced his knuckles. 

This was the longest you had ever touched each other, even if it was just a simple hand holding. And his insides were already churning and he felt like he could pass out at any given moment, blood wasn’t reaching all the way to his brain apparently. He couldn’t even comprehend what it would be like to be intimate with you. 

“I'm glad you think so.” he said with a low chuckle. 

“Now we just... set up a time and place?” 

“Mhmm.” he nodded, as there wasn’t much else he could do with how mentally frozen he was. 

“Okay, but I really want to start fixing these chapters, so can you give me something today?” you asked sheepishly, fingers tightening around his. 

“What?” 

“Can you show me how to kiss?” was your request, and Yoongi’s eyes fell to your mouth on command.

“You've kissed before.” it wasn’t a question, but an affirmation. In fact, Yoongi had seen you kiss someone before. 

It was years ago, during a stupid game of truth or dare –which was Jimin’s idea– during one of Taehyung’s house parties. Namjoon had thought it would be a good idea to make the two of you play, no doubt another ploy to get something to happen between the two of you. But luck was never on Yoongi’s side and you were dared to kiss another guy; some dude named Seo-joon that Tae knew from acting class. 

“Yeah, but it was never satisfactory and I lack skills.” you told him, bringing him back to the present. “Besides, it might be good to break the ice. Make sure things don’t get awkward between us after I leave.”

“Why would things get awkward–”

“Are you saying you’re not going to overthink everything that just happened as soon as I walk out of this studio?” you challenged with a little grin and Yoongi rolled his eyes. “That’s what I thought.” 

“Alright, I’ll kiss you.” he agreed, and there’s no way he ever thought he’d be saying those words to you. 

“Gee, Yoon, thanks.” you were giggling as you got up from the couch to stand in the middle of the studio. “Try to pretend to be into it, at least.” 

If you only knew. 

Yoongi got up on wobbly legs, but pretended to stretch his back to get his body work properly. Walking the two steps it took to reach you was the most nerve wrecking course he ever had to take. But at least you looked as nervous as he felt, even if you were doing your best to mask it. 

You stood in front of each other, awkwardly staring at one another, hands on your sides. And Yoongi knew he had to move. He had to take the lead, he was the one meant to be showing you how things worked, of course you wouldn’t take the first step. And unless he wanted you to change your mind and actually go to Hoseok instead, he had to act fast. 

“Do you need a step by step guide?” he asked in a low voice, as if sharing a secret. 

“I know how it works, I’m not that inexperienced.” you giggled, hitting his chest playfully. 

Yoongi took your wrist as your hand landed on his chest in your pillowy light attempt of provoking him, bringing your hand up to rest it on the back of his neck. He didn’t miss the way your breath hitched, or your giggles replaced a soft gasp as his other arm circled your waist to bring your body flush against his, or even how your fingers softly threaded through the long hairs at his nape. 

A lot was on the line when it came to this kiss, Yoongi realized wearily. It would be your first kiss together, something he only ever daydreamed about before. And it would set the tone for your future interactions. You could just as well change your mind after it, and it would not only be a blow to his self-esteem, but also his pride. 

“It’s just me.” you said in a meek voice that did nothing to calm his nerves. 

“I know.” 

That’s the problem, he wanted to say. 

Yoongi’s free hand touched the side of your face to tilt it up towards him, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. With a teeny sigh, your eyes fluttered closed and Yoongi took that chance to study your face, as he had never seen you so up close like this before. Even if you changed your mind later, he still committed your every trace, every little detail about you that he possibly could. 

From your dark, long lashes that kissed the apples of your cheeks, to the outline of your cupid’s bow and your plump bottom lip. As you were about to open your eyes again, Yoongi pressed his lips to yours and you pulled back. Not enough for your mouths to part, but with a little surprised reaction. Thankfully, and before Yoongi’s anxieties could settle in, you moved closer to him again, pulling him towards you by the back of his neck. 

Yoongi’s lips started moving against yours, hesitantly, but his second guessing went out the non-existing windows of his studio as you followed his lead and moved yours along with his. 

Your mouths moved together slowly, his tongue sliding between his lips to lick between yours and you crooned; a small sound that Yoongi didn’t want to focus on, unless he wanted all of his blood to run south. 

“Relax your jaw for me.” Yoongi mumbled, not wanting to go too far. 

Your hand tensed on his neck as your breath grew a little heavier and you did just as he requested, lips parting wider so his tongue could finally slip into your mouth. Yoongi cradled your face by your jaw, feeling it move as your tongues brushed together. 

He could taste your peach flavored lip balm and right then he decided it was his favorite flavor in the world. Your other hand was resting on his chest and Yoongi wondered if you could feel just how fast his heart was beating as you tipped your head sideways so he could deepen the kiss. 

It made his own hand slip to the back of your neck, hold turning firm as he kept you in place to lick around your mouth, exploring it as if he wanted to map it out. 

You pulled away first, having a hard time breathing, which did wonders for Yoongi’s swelling pride, but he wasn't ready to let you go just yet, acting on instinct and taking your bottom lip between his teeth. 

It was worth it as your surprised gasp turned into a moan, making the man smirk. It eventually made him let go of your lip and he watched as your eyes opened; as blown out as his probably were. 

“That was… Good, right?” you asked in a breathy tone that Yoongi wanted to hear more of. 

“Really good, yeah.” he nodded, so close to your face, hands still holding you close. “If the rest of it is anything like this, you don’t have anything to worry about.” 

SEPTEMBER 23RD | 17:41

Yoongi’s apartment wasn’t the biggest one, but his producer salary allowed him to have enough room to fit all of his friends comfortably whenever they decided to use his place as a hang out spot. Is not that he hated to have friends over, if anything Yoongi really enjoyed hosting and cooking for everybody. But the bunch could get rowdy, and Yoongi was left cleaning up the aftermath alone most of the time. 

The group-chat had decided that their Saturday plans should include movie night at Yoongi’s place, just because of his soundproof walls and surround sound system that matched his big flat screen TV. Yoongi enjoyed few things in life, not really one to flaunt his status as one of the most sought out Korean producers of present times, but he was proud of his entertainment set up. 

A light rain was falling outside, the pitter patter of the drops of the early autumn falls being drawn out by the music video playing on the television as he and his so-called-best-friend organized the living room before the rest of the group arrived. 

“I don't know why you're mad at me.” Namjoon was saying as he pulled out the seat cushions of Yoongi’s dark gray couch to make it just a little longer and more comfortable to be laid on for the duration of the movie. 

“Really.” Yoongi deadpanned from the kitchen as he rummaged through his food cupboard in search of the kind of microwavable popcorn you liked.  “You have nooo idea?”

“I mean, yeah, sure, I might have acted with mischief, but I meant what I said–”

“In what world did you think that telling her to find someone to have sex with was a good idea?” Yoongi finally snapped, letting the popcorn packets drop to the kitchen island with a smack. “What if she went after some rando at a club?” 

“I see your point, hyung, but she didn't!” Namjoon tried to apologize by doing a better job of fluffing the cushions. “She went after you!”

“Thank fuck for that.”

Namjoon stepped away from the couch to look at his OCD-friendly set up, making sure the decorative cushions were symmetrically parted from each other and the wool blankets Yoongi always had laying around were folded in perfect squares. Yoongi liked his apartment to be a little on the colder side, and he wasn’t ready to let go of summer just yet, but he also got cold easily. 

“Shouldn't you be thankful that you got to kiss the girl of your dreams?” Namjoon turned to his older friend, walking to the kitchen to inspect the snacks that were already littering the dark marble island. “And you'll be doing a lot more than that–”

“I don’t know if I am.” Yoongi confessed with a sigh, which picked Namjoon’s curiosity. 

“Why not?”

“She– It’s been a week and nothing else happened.” Yoongi shrugged, as if trying to downplay it and mask his disappointment. 

“Haven’t you seen each other again since that day at your studio?” Namjoon leaned over the island to read the label on the honey and mustard chips, but his attentive eyes always went back to him. 

“We have. We were never alone, though, because Jimin and Jungkook were there when we had takeout, and then everyone was at Jin's on game night.” Yoongi recalled all of the times he managed to see you during this past week. 

“True, but you did look closer during game night.” Namjoon offered, but Yoongi scoffed. “I'm serious! She was always touching your arm, sitting closer to you... hugging you when you scored a point.”

“She's always like that with everyone, I'm not reading into it.” Yoongi refused to see things where there weren’t, because he knew that he would be the one broken hearted at the end of whatever this was. 

“Yeah, but she wasn't like that with you.” Namjoon pointed out. 

“Because she knows I'm not clingy like the rest of you.” Yoongi rebutted. 

“She picked you to be on her team, and you're a bad player!” 

“Hey!”

“Am I wrong?” Namjoon arched an eyebrow, dropping the bag of chips back onto the counter, which made Yoongi flinch, thinking about the broken snacks. “Didn’t think so. She usually goes for Kook because that kid is good at everything.”

“Of course, just something else I come second in.”

Yoongi didn’t mean to sound so bitter. He didn’t even intend on speaking out loud in the first place. But he did, and Namjoon raised an eyebrow at him. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” his friend prodded, and Yoongi had no choice but to turn his back and pretend to be searching for something as he replied:

“She said Jungkook is her type.”

“Really? So... gay af, pouts like a baby, dresses like a hobo most of the time?” Namjoon chuckled fondly of the maknae of their weird friend group. 

“I think it's more like muscles, piercings and tattoos.” he couldn’t sound more dejected if he tried. 

“Is that why you're wearing your hoops again?” Namjoon’s laughter grew louder, pointing at his own pierced ears as he looked at Yoongi’s. “And why are you going to the gym again?”

“No– how do you know I went to the gym?”

“Hobi told me he ran into you. It's cool though. I’m not here to judge.” 

Namjoon better not judge him, as he was the one to get Yoongi in this mess in the first place. Yeah, he had unrequited feelings for you, and yeah, he imagined plenty of what if scenarios where he grew the balls to ask you out, or make a move on you. But was this the way his friend had to help him out? By planting ideas in your head and making you offer him something like this? 

Yoongi’s heated thought process was interrupted as his phone started to buzz inside his pants pocket and his heart skipped a beat when he read the name on the notifications.

“Oof, that friendzone gotta hurt.” Namjoon said, over Yoongi’s shoulder. His height gave him an advantage that was almost as annoying as his nosy tendencies. 

“I swear to fucking god–” Yoongi rasped, shutting his phone and shoving it in his pocket. 

“Hey, at least you might get a handy today, huh?” the younger man wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, running away before Yoongi could throw a bag of chips on his head. “And clearly your kiss can't have been that bad, if she's coming to you for help again.”

“Not helping, Joonah.” 

Your text did light him up a little bit, and Namjoon wasn’t all that wrong. If you were asking him for help with whatever it was you needed, you didn’t change your mind about this, and you didn’t go to someone else for it; friend or foe. 

You didn’t specify just what you needed help with, but Yoongi took a longer shower just in case, scrubbing his body from top to bottom, brushing his teeth just a little harder, blow drying his hair just a little fluffier. Just in case. 

You might just ask him questions and not actually want to do anything, but on the off chance that you did, Yoongi wanted to be ready for you. 

He wasn’t proud to say that he spent just a little longer inside his decent sized closet deciding on what to wear. Yoongi didn’t want to try too hard, as it would make things too obvious, but he also didn’t think sweats and a white t-shirt were good enough either. But then again, if Jeon Jungkook was your ideal type, maybe he could grab oversized black clothes and call it a night. 

“Everyone is already here, hyung.” Namjoon said from the outside of his door, and that’s when Yoongi started to rush. 

He ended up picking a pair of jeans with holes on the knees, but that was nicely fitted on his hips, and a soft blue sweater with some green at the end of the sleeves. Hoping he didn’t go too hard on his favorite cologne, Yoongi left his bedroom to find the seven of you already taking over his living room and kitchen space. 

Jimin and Taehyung were being disgusting on his couch, giggling as they looked over something on the former’s phone. Jungkook and Seokjin were sitting on the floor, looking up at the TV as they clearly searched for something to watch tonight. Hoseok and Namjoon were in the kitchen, helping you make popcorn. 

Microwave popcorn shouldn’t be so hard that it took three people to make it, but you had a routine. You hated it when you took it out too early, meaning half the corn didn’t have time to pop, but it was even worse to leave it in the machine for too long so that it burned. So it took one of you sniffing for any hint of burnt popcorn, another one to pilot the STOP and ON buttons, and a third one listening in for the popping sounds. 

And, of course, it took giving you a good look over to almost stop Yoongi’s heart altogether. 

Just because you had no business looking so damn pretty all the time. 

Today you were wearing one of Yoongi’s favorite styles on you; a lilac suede overall dress that made you look like a cute gardener with a long sleeved shirt under it. Your hair was falling in soft waves, as if you had taken the time to style them before coming, which made Yoongi wonder if you had the same thought process as he had. 

“Hyung! There you are!” Hoseok announced his presence for everyone to hear, in that chirpy way of his, and Yoongi’s ears burned a little as the attention of the room landed on him. “The popcorn is almost– wait, wait, stop!” 

“Stopping!” you announced, clicking on the button to pause the microwave. “That was a close one, commander.” 

Yoongi couldn’t help the little chuckle he let out while watching you and his two best friend’s dramatics, shoulders shaking a little, gums probably out for the others to see. 

“Have you gotten from here, Joon?” you turned to the taller man, who nodded while taking the last popcorn packet from the microwave. 

You turned towards Yoongi again, who seemed frozen in place until that very moment. You grabbed the three tubs of popcorn that were already ready and took them with you to the couch, nodding your head for Yoongi to follow you. And he was a little socially awkward by nature, but he didn’t think he made a fool out of himself as the others knew he was more on the quiet side most of the time. 

“Alright, who let the maknaes choose the movie?” you were saying as you stepped on the soft black rug that took over half of the living room. 

“Who are you calling a maknae–” Seokjin threw a glare over his shoulder, one you answered with a scrunch of your nose. 

“What’s wrong with our movie taste, noona?” Jungkook asked you, about to pout. 

You handed Jungkook and Seokjin a tub of popcorn, and another one to Taehyung and Jimin, keeping the last one for yourself as you sat down in the middle of the couch, having to scoot a little awkwardly as if your overall-dress made it hard for you to move. 

“The problem is not your taste in movies, but you never agree on anything.” Yoongi supplied, making you nod in agreement. “Jungkook-ah is going to either pick a superhero movie that we’ve all seen before, or a horror movie, and hyung will be too scared to watch anything with serial killers or ghosts and shit.” 

“That’s because I live alone and have an old man's bladder and don’t like having to run from demons on the way back from the bathroom, in the middle of the night, thank you very much!” Seokjin complained in that rushed way of his, making you giggle. 

Namjoon and Hoseok joined the rest of you in the living room, with the last tub of popcorn. The packs of chips and other snacks were already on the center table, alongside glasses of soda. 

Yes, Yoongi was still standing, but that’s because he always had to be the last one to sit down. Everyone always complained that they didn’t know how to work the lighting system of his smart home, and Yoongi had to be the one to dim the lights low enough so the television was the focus point, but not dark enough that they couldn’t see anything else. 

When Yoongi finally made his way to the couch, everyone was already paired up and laying down with their snacks of choice. 

Jimin had exchanged his best friend for his boyfriend and was now sitting between Jungkook’s legs, resting against his chest. Tae was still sitting beside them, never minding the third willing. You were right in the middle of the couch, where it was your preferred spot. Hoseok was right next to you, followed by Namjoon and Seokjin. 

Before Yoongi could walk to the edge of the couch, to join the hyung, you spoke: 

“Hobi, can you scoot over a little?” you asked the man with little taps to his thigh. “Come sit next to me, Yoon.” 

The living room was silent as everyone stared at Yoongi once again, just another proof that the only person oblivious to his feelings toward you was, well, you. But at least Yoongi wasn’t completely awkward when it came to you; there was no stumbling, no hesitating, no fumbling around as space was opened on the sofa so he could sit between you and Hoseok. 

You handed him the popcorn you were about to share as you unfolded one of the wool blankets and threw it over your legs, more concerned about covering your legs and getting comfortable than actually escaping the cold. While the younger boys bickered over the final movie choice and which sound configuration was best for the settled genre, the three other guys started a heated discussion over something political they heard on the news.

When Yoongi looked at you, you were already looking at him. 

“I like your ripped pants.” you said with an easy smile, reaching to slip two fingers inside the wide holes on his knees. “Didn’t know you had things like this.” 

“That’s because hyung’s fashion sense only includes either a blazer and white shirt or dress pants and a hoodie.” Jimin teased from the other side. 

“I’m sorry I’m not into Chelsea boots and skinny jeans.” Yoongi scoffed, which wasn’t really a jab at Jimin’s fashion sense. Even Yoongi could admit the blonde man knew how to dress better than most. 

“You’re forgiven.” Jimin was grinning, which was noticeable even in the dimmed atmosphere of the room. 

Your fingers were still tracing random patterns on his knee as you said: “Don’t listen to Jiminie, I like your style.” 

“Thanks. I like yours too.” he said, which somehow made you giggle. 

“You don’t think I look like a little girl?” you asked in what must have been a moment of self doubt. 

“Nah, just cute.” 

You smiled appreciatively at him, throwing half of the blanket over Yoongi’s legs so you could share. He handed you the tub with popcorn and the movie finally started; the thumping of the bass from the intro not the only thing making his heart accelerate. 

The group ended up deciding on a new movie with a few known actors, like IU –the only woman Jungkook would ever turn straight for–, no demons to scare Seokjin, and no blood to make Taehyung queasy. 

The drama wasn’t Yoongi’s particular cup of tea, but he wouldn’t be paying attention to it anyways. Not when you felt so warm sitting so close to him, smelling so good. And not when his brain was filled with the possibilities of what was coming next, after everyone had left. 

You and Yoongi shared the popcorn, hands brushing every now and then as if you were in a teen movie. You didn’t seem to notice it, however, engrossed in the movie. You had tears in your eyes during some of the more emotionally heavy scenes, but held them in pretty well. 

While you could. 

Thirty minutes into the movie and the popcorn was over, the tub resting somewhere on the floor, and you were aggressively wiping tears from your eyes with your sleeves. 

“Just let her keep her baby.” you said under your breath, moving your arm under Yoongi’s so you could hug it like a safety blanket, cheek pressed hard against his shoulder. “They will be okay, right?” 

“Mhm, yeah. Everything is going to be fine.” 

Yoongi had no way of knowing that, especially when it came to this kind of movie. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try to soothe you. You nodded softly in response, snuggling into his arm a little harder, pressing your body to his completely. You were exactly like this, Yoongi told  himself. You’d be clinging to whoever was sitting next to you, and it just so happened to be him. 

That was okay, he told himself as he quietly sniffed your hair, because, at least right now, it was him you were clinging to. 

SEPTEMBER 23RD | 22:15

It wasn’t surprising the way Yoongi was a lot more relaxed by the end of the movie, but it was a little shameful that he grew more and more at ease as his friends started to take their leave. Yoongi dealt better with smaller groups of people at a time, even if he loved every one of his friends; yes, even Jungkook and all his piercings and tattoos. It wasn’t the maknae’s fault that you were apparently so attracted to him when you first met. 

Hell, even Yoongi caught himself gawking at Jungkook whenever he put a little more effort into looking good; like when he combed his hair off his forehead, or wore the black jeans that may or may not belong to Jimin. 

“You guys can leave it, I’ll do it.” Yoongi insisted as you and Hoseok continued to clean up the living room. 

“It’s alright, hyung, I don’t mind.” Hoseok told him as he knelt on the rug to pick up stray pieces of popcorn and chips that eventually made it to the floor. “We’ll just finish it up and go. I’ll drive you home when we’re done.” 

“Me?” you blinked, as Hoseok clearly meant you, eyes moving to Yoongi as you silently asked for help. “Thank’s, but I’m not going home yet.” 

“Oh.” Hoseok nodded. Then stopped. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second and his neck almost snapped with how fast he turned to Yoongi’s direction, sending him a sly grin. “Ohh.” 

Yoongi was shaking his head at Hoseok, with wide eyes and behind your back, telling his friend to cut it out as you picked up the empty boxes of pizza. Hobi winked in slow motion and sent Yoongi a thumbs up, which made him sigh. 

The job of tying it up the living room and kitchen was a lot easier now that he had more help, and fifteen minutes later, the dishes were washed, the couch was clear of any mess, and Yoongi was walking Hoseok out of his apartment. 

“So.” Hoseok spoke quietly, which Yoongi appreciated, but it still made him cringe a little on the inside as his friend teased: “You two, huh?” 

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Yoongi stated, holding the front door open while the younger man put his shoes on. 

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.” Hoseok squinted his eyes, but his knowing smile was enough to make Yoongi’s ears burn. 

“I can assure you.” Yoongi chuckled, as there was no way his friend would ever be able to guess why you were staying longer tonight. “Night, Hobah.” 

Hoseok waited as the elevator dinged and walked in after the automatic doors opened for him, singing: “Goodnight, hyung. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” 

And, just like that, he was gone and Yoongi could breathe a little easier. And, just like that, you were alone together after what felt like ages. 

Yoongi found you sitting on the couch, looking a little tired, eyes still a little red from when you cried at the end of the movie. He mustn’t look so hot either, social battery on its lowest setting. At least he never felt like he needed to try hard with you, surprisingly. There was never a need to be entertaining, to talk more than he wanted to, to constantly search for something to do. 

He could just sit next to you and do nothing, and it didn’t feel awkward, you were never bothered by his quieter moments. You also had a way of bringing out his other sides, too; the joker, the one with the weird noises and funky dances, and also the deep one that could talk about music for hours and had random facts to spill. 

“Movie nights are fun, but you always look a little dead after.” you giggled, and it wasn’t even an insult. Yoongi felt a little dead as he sat down next to you, relaxing into his couch cushion. 

“I know I’m not that much older than them, but sometimes I feel like I can't keep up.” he chuckled with closed eyes, basking on the quietude that was only ever broken by your giggles.

“Okay, grandpa. Do you want me to leave?” you offered, which made Yoongi open his eyes and look at you. 

By now, the mood lights in the living room had been put into a brighter setting than during the movie, but not uncomfortably so. Yoongi could still see the blush on your cheeks, the hesitation in your eyes and the way your fingers fiddled with each other. 

Yoongi didn’t want you to leave, however. No matter how tired or drained he felt, this was the first time he had a chance to be alone with you all week. And when the last memory he had of a moment like this came along with the feeling of your lips on him, he really wanted you to stay. 

“Not really.” he replied, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought he saw you breathe a little easier. “You, uh, needed help, right?”

“Yeah, but I can just come back another time, I don't mind.” you assured him, always one to worry about his boundaries and need for the occasional alone time. It warmed his heart, in more ways than one. 

“I promise I'm fine, doll. You said something about your book?” Yoongi wasn’t trying to push, in case you changed your mind, but your eager nod as he mentioned it made him sit up a little straighter on the sofa. 

“Okay, so, I was reading chapter eleven again and I really agreed with Joon's notes on it.” you said as you turned a little more to the side, so you were facing him. 

“Which were?”

“It wasn't realistic, the, uh, sexy scene.” you explained with a nibble on your bottom lip, the blush was dusted on your cheeks again. “Just because there are things that I don't exactly know how they happen.”

“Okay. You wanna ask me about it?”

“Sure. But I was hoping that showing me might work better?” there it was, the hesitation again. Your words were already causing something to stir in Yoongi’s lower belly, but he kept his cool. “Maybe. If you're okay with that.”

“You need to tell me what it is first, doll, or I can't tell you that.” he chuckled, hoping it would help you relax a little more around him. 

Not that Yoongi wasn’t having a little moment of nervous anxiety himself, this was you, he didn’t think he’d ever be completely cool about any of this. But he wanted to help you, and he wanted to be good for you. Even if the only chance he ever got to do that was purely platonic. 

“Right, right, just... I feel kinda bad now that we're here.” you said with a frown, reaching out on instinct to thread your pinky through his. 

“Did you change your mind? Because that’s okay, too, we can just forget about it.” Yoongi had to swallow a lump in his throat, but he meant every word. 

“No, not at all... I just feel like I'm using you in a way.” you said, eyes downcast as you looked at your linked fingers. You let out a small laugh, but it was a bitter one. “This is ridiculous, right? I'm sitting here, about to ask you to show me how you get hard. And what do you get in return?”

Yoongi’s breath intake was a little harsh as he held back a groan, fingers flexing of their own accord. In what should be a joke to lighten the mood, but that immediately made him fluster, he said: “An orgasm, maybe?”

“Be serious.” you rolled your pretty eyes, but an even prettier smile broke on your face. 

“I am! Unless you want to see how it goes down naturally as well?” Yoongi really hoped you said no. 

“No, that's not part of it. There's something else I want, but–”

“Oh?”

“–we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” 

The possibilities were making Yoongi’s mind go a little hazy, butterflies that felt more like bats in the cave of his stomach, and his dick was already twitching in his pants. So much so that he feared  he might get hard before you even had the chance to actually see it happen. 

“Kay. How do you wanna do this?”

“Uh, I really didn't think this far.” you admitted sheepishly. 

“Do you wanna help?” Yoongi asked, wondering if you wanted him to pull it out and touch himself into full hardness, or if you wanted in on it. “I can guide you.”

“That might be better, yes.” you nodded, too cute for what was about to happen, and scooted even closer to him so your knees were pressed against his thigh.

Was he really about to do this? Was Yoongi actually going to drop his pants, show you his cock, and let you study him like a guinea pig? God, don’t let this get awkward, he was reasoning to whoever was out there listening. He didn’t want to scare you with it either, as it wouldn’t be good for your kinky-field-search, and even worse for his own pride, so he asked: 

“You don't want to start the chapter with the guy just pulling it out, right?” bringing it back to your book might be easier to set the scene for the two of you, too. “You wanna tease the reader as much as you wanna tease your character.” 

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“You might wanna start with some light making out?” he offered, words taking a turn and missing his brain filter altogether. 

Your eyes widened just a little, instantly dropping to his lips. “Should we?”

“We don't have to. I'm just telling you what might work well on a scene.” he lied. 

“What if I want to?”

Yoongi thought he might be dreaming again as you moved first, leaning closer to him to press your lips together just once, just a peck. Nervous eyes stared up at him as you pulled back but didn’t go all too far. 

“Is this okay?” you asked in a whisper.

“Mm. Shouldn't I be asking that?” Yoongi spoke as quietly as you, his hand reaching out to push your hair behind your ear. 

“I'm not sure.” you looked at his lips again, with a small nervous laugh as your hand rested on his thigh. 

“I’m okay with it.” he told you, holding back from lunging for your lips again. 

“Me too. Definitely.”

That was all Yoongi needed to slip his hand to the back of your neck and drag you into another kiss. This time it was longer, a little harder than the soft peck. He moved his mouth first and you followed suit, slightly parting your lips for his tongue to slip into yours. Your little breathy sounds, paired with the tightening of your hand on his thigh, were making Yoongi a little dizzy. 

You were melting into his kiss, following every lick and every flick of his tongue, allowing him to dictate the pace, deepen the kiss when he wanted. It wasn’t missed on Yoongi how much trust you actually put on him to have these experiences with, and he would make sure you never regretted it. 

Even if nothing ever came of this, he wouldn’t burden you with his broken heart, but continue to support you and be there for you regardless. 

As your hand started moving on his thigh, hiking up, Yoongi groaned against your lips and you swallowed the noise, replying to it with a tiny moan. Yoongi took your bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it gently, which made your hand squeeze at his thigh and he parted his legs for you in an invitation. 

You didn’t move it to where Yoongi wanted and when he let go of your lip and studied your face, he understood why. He could see how reluctant and shy you looked, eyes pleading with him to help you just a little more. 

“It’s okay.” he assured you, voice coming out raspy. “Give me your hand.” 

You put your palm in his and when Yoongi gently tugged it closer to his ever growing bulge, there was no pulling back, no halting. Just the fear of not knowing what to do. You let out a little gasp as Yoongi placed your hand over the outline of his cock, molding your fingers around it so you could feel all of him. 

“Oh my god.” you breathed out with a little laugh. 

“Too much?” he checked, loosening the hold on your hand in case you wished to pull back. 

But now that you were let go of, you didn’t retreat, but started touching him, over his pants, at your own accord. You squeezed a little, testing the pressure, tracing the length, and Yoongi’s head fell against the back of the couch, eyes hooded and stuck on you, reading your every reaction. 

Small sighs and groans left his lips each time you did something he really liked, which made you ask:

“Does it feel nice?” your whole hand was palming at his crotch and he had to suppress the need to push his hips into your hand, only managing to nod. “You look so good like this.” 

The praise was too much, and he didn’t want to cum inside his pants, just from this, so he chose to stare into the ceiling instead. It did little to quell his worries of not lasting long as you took it as an invitation to kiss his neck. Your lips felt as soft as they did against his and the way you let your tongue lick at his heated skin made him bite back a moan. 

“Can I see you?” you asked in a whiny tone, delivered to his ear, making his cock jump. He wondered if you could feel it. 

“Yeah.” Yoongi nodded and you moved your hand back to his thigh, leaving his neck with one last kiss under his jaw. It was his turn to become a little embarrassed as he said: “Uh, you should know, dicks are pretty different from one another, so.”

“I know, I’ve seen dicks before.” you giggled. “I’ve watched porn, Yoon.” 

Right. 

Yoongi cursed at himself, because of course you knew what a dick was supposed to look like. You might be inexperienced when it came to having practice, but you weren’t sheltered, you weren’t naive, and you clearly weren’t innocent; not with the type of stuff you wrote about. At least your giggle calmed him down a little, and his own embarrassment made his impending release recede. 

He pushed his sleeves all the way up to his elbows and pulled the hem of the sweater from the inside of his pants, revealing a small strip of skin of his lower stomach for you. Yoongi didn’t know what your little gasp meant, but he chose to believe it was positive. You adjusted yourself on the couch as his fingers reached his pants’ button and fly, squeezing your thighs together as he pulled them down. 

Not trying to drag this out or make a mystery of it, Yoongi lifted his hips to push his pants and underwear to the middle of his thighs; a quick pull off of a bandaid, so to speak. His cock jumped free, resting against his lower belly. Hard, leaking pre-cum, the tip a familiar shade of darker pink. 

He really regretted not masturbating in the shower before everyone arrived, because at least the edge would be off and Yoongi wouldn’t need to fear getting off the moment you touched him for the first time. 

You didn’t do much at first, and Yoongi was almost afraid to look at you and find disappointment in your eyes. Your eyes were a little glossy as your tongue poked between your pouty lips. When you noticed his gaze was on you, the spell broke and you reacted. 

“You– Uhm. That’s a big one, right?” you asked with a flushed face and neck. “I know I said I’ve seen them, and I know what it’s supposed to be like, but. I didn’t expect it to be so long? And fat.” 

Your choice of words made Yoongi laugh, an actual belly laugh, shaking shoulders and everything. It made your eyes widen as you blinked cutely, clearly embarrassed. 

“Thanks, doll.” he grinned as his laughter subsided. “And yeah, I’m a little above average.” 

“A little?” your eyebrow arched in suspicion as your eyes followed the movement of his hand as he held his cock, squeezing a little to alleviate some of the ache. “Since when are you modest?” 

“Alright, I have a big dick.” he agreed with a shrug as he took a leap of faith and kissed your cheek with a hot smack. 

“That’s more like the Yoongi I know and love.” you giggled, clearly oblivious to the way your words affected him. 

Yoongi knew you meant in a friendly kind of love, he felt the same way towards you. But his feelings went a little beyond that, which caused his heart to clench and expand in his chest as he basked in your love, however innocent and platonic it was. 

“Can I touch you?” you asked and Yoongi really wanted to say you could do anything at all to him. 

“Go ahead.” 

This is the part Yoongi thought would be weird. In his mind, maybe he pictured you poking him in the dick, giggling like a schoolgirl, maybe frowning or looking a little disgusted. God knows that he didn’t really know what to do when he saw a pussy for the first time. 

But you were gentle with the way your fingertips touched him, following the vein on the underside of it, using your thumb to spread the leaking pre-cum around his velvety tip. You were paying attention, yes, and studying him. But it didn’t make him feel under a microscope. If anything, it made Yoongi feel appreciated. 

Your small hand wrapped around his cock and Yoongi sighed, his free hand was resting next to you on the sofa and he had to hold back the urge of touching you. Your thigh was so close to his hand that he could feel the warmth emanating from you, but you hadn’t talked about it yet and he feared you might not like that. 

For now he had to appreciate the feeling of your hand on him, which was more than he ever thought he’d get. 

When you let go of him, Yoongi feared that might be it, all you needed from him tonight, that you’d tell him you gathered all the information you needed for the chapter. He missed your touch already and having to touch himself after you left would not only be sad, but a little pathetic. 

You were full of surprises, however, as you brought your hand to your lips and sucked on your tongue, letting your spit fall on your palm. You did know what you were doing after all, as he didn’t need to instruct you when your hand got back to his cock and you spread your spit all over him. 

There were things you were trying, Yoongi noticed as he let go of his shaft in order to allow you to take over. The more you touched him, the more confident you grew, tugging him a little harder, jerking him a little faster. When you fisted at his tip, your small hand wrapping around it and squeezing as your wrist flicked, Yoongi’s moan was too loud. 

“Oh, you like that.” it wasn’t a question, but an affirmation as you repeated it one more time before dropping your hand in a tight ‘o’ all the way down to his base. 

“Yeah, it’s uhm–sensitive.” 

Yoongi was breathing heavily as you tugged and stroked his cock. You were a little messy, a bit awkward at times, not really following a steady rhythm, but Yoongi found out that he liked that. 

“I can feel you pulsing.” you commented in awe, letting out small whines that were half the cause for that very throbbing you were feeling against your palm. “Does that mean you’re close?” 

“Not always.” he shook his head, not sure if he rather look at his cock disappearing and poking out from your fist, or your pretty face as you were obviously getting hot and bothered by this. “But I am.” 

That last information seemed to light a whole new fire within you, making your movements a little more firm and determined. You teased his slit with your thumb as the rest of your hand worked on the underside of his head, making him let out raspy moans, sweat starting to cling at his skin. 

It took him completely by surprise as your free hand dipped into his hair and you stared at his lips until Yoongi took the hint and leaned in the rest of the way to capture your lips with his. He couldn’t really kiss you properly, not in the way that he wanted to, and it basically meant that he was moaning against your lips and licking around your mouth more than actually kissing, but it was tearing whines from you either way, and your movements never stopped. 

“Gonna cum, baby–” 

The term of endearment was a slip, one that Yoongi would justify by being in the throes of the moment if you ever asked him about it, and not because he dreamed about calling you baby for years now. You didn’t complain, however, as you flicked your wrist in an upstroke, in that way you already knew he liked, and you squeezed at his hair just as he couldn’t hold back anymore. 

Yoongi felt his lower stomach tense, his cock throb as it felt impossibly hard and borderline painful. He let go of what was holding him back and allowed himself to enjoy the pleasure the girl of his dreams was giving him; thick ribbons of white shooting out of his tip as he groaned what sounded a lot like your name. 

You pulled away from his lips to look as the last strings leaked out, movements slowing down, but not completely stopping. 

“That was beautiful.” you said in that breathy tone that let Yoongi know you were affected. “You’re so beautiful, Yoongi.” 

“Stop that.” he chuckled, cheeks flustered as he watched you milk his cock of the last drops. “I’m the one who had an orgasm, you’re not supposed to be the delirious one.”

“I mean it.” you assured him, not an ounce of doubt in your words. “You’re incredible.” 

"You're the one who did all the work, doll." 

You giggled softly because you agreed, letting his softening cock go as you rested it against his stomach. Clearly you didn't know what to do next, and Yoongi intended on getting up to clean himself up, grab some tissues to clean your hand, he just needed a couple of minutes to catch his breath. 

Yoongi watched as you brought your dirty hand to your face to sniff his release and then swipe your tongue, licking at his cum. It made him groan and intake a breath, wanting to laugh at your childish curiosity. Your nose scrunched a little, obviously surprised, but you weren't gaging, which was a good thing. 

"That's stronger than I thought." was your conclusion. "Not horrible, though."

Yoongi wanted to tell you that the taste and the way cum looked changed a little,  depending on how many times and how often people with dicks had sex or masturbated, but that would include telling you that his sex life was practically nonexistent and even his solo time was cut short by his long studio hours. 

"Can I wash my hands on your sink?" you asked  already up from the couch and walking a little funny as you tried to play it cool. 

"Sure."

Yoongi could only imagine why you were walking like that, wondering if your panties were so wet with your arousal that you were a little uncomfortable. Of course that would mean that you actually enjoyed yourself while jerking him off, that it wasn't purely for your research. 

And then again, didn't he already know that? He saw the way you looked at him, he heard your little mewls and moans and you didn't have to kiss him like that but you still did. 

When you got back to the couch, your hand was clean and you were offering him a paper towel so he could clean himself too, realizing then that he was just sitting there, pants still around his thighs and cock out. He felt a little silly, but took the paper and wiped himself as best as he could before tucking himself back into his underwear and buttoning his pants in place. 

"I had fun tonight." you told him, in what should be a way of saying goodbye, but it didn't match the way you settled on his couch once more, folding your legs under you  

"Yeah? You seemed to enjoy the movie." Yoongi turned toward you after bunching the paper towel in a sticky ball and throwing it at his center table. 

"I mean with you." you half whispered, tapping your bottom lip as an irrational movement, which inevitably dragged Yoongi’s eyes to them. "I'm glad I came to you with this."

"So you haven't changed your mind?" 

You shook your head, lighting up with a smile as you said: "I'm excited to try more." 

"Like what?" Yoongi had suggestions of his own, but this was about you so he didn't want to project his own wishes and wants on you. 

And, thankfully, you were pretty good at telling him what you wanted, despite how shy you got while at it. 

"Maybe you could do something to me next time?" you offered, Yoongi nodded. "Like… whatever you feel like."

"Want me to eat you out?" 

"Are you offering or asking me?" you replied, eyes a little wide, breath a little dragged. 

"Same thing, doll." 

"Okay." 

You agreed softly and it was all Yoongi needed to pull his legs up and crawl to you. Your eyes only grew as you watched him approach, hands resting on his chest as he began laying you down on his couch, gazes stuck to each other. 

“Y–you mean n–now?” you stuttered and even that sounded cute to Yoongi. 

“Is that okay?” he paused, nose an inch away from yours. 

“Yeah.” you sighed, letting your back fall against the couch, head resting on the arm of the sofa. 

“Stop me anytime you want.” Yoongi told you, leaning forward to peck your lips. “Or tell me to keep going when you like something.” 

“I’m convinced I’ll like everything coming from you.” you admitted with a shy chuckle, hands on each side of Yoongi’s neck as you kept him there to kiss his lips a little longer. 

“I sure hope so.” his laugh was easy, as was everything when it came to you. No matter how complicated his feelings were. 

Yoongi dragged his lips against your skin, from your jaw and down to your throat. Your legs parted for him to fit in between them and as your hands got lost in his long hair, making him grunt appreciatively each time you pulled, it felt like an invitation for him to touch you, to feel you. He trusted that you would stop him if you didn’t want any of it, and you never did. 

This didn’t feel like an agreement, didn’t feel like he was doing you a favor by showing you how things worked, making you feel things for the sake of gathering experience for your book. So it was easy to forget that’s all it was, and even easier to feel like you were lovers. 

Yoongi’s hands were roaming your body, touching your sides until he reached your thigh. His mouth was opening and closing against your neck, tongue licking at your skin as you squirmed under him, letting out the prettiest moans. More than anything, he wanted to bite you, leave a pretty bruise on your skin, mark you as his. 

But you weren’t. So he couldn’t. 

“Yoon, please.” you pleaded, so sweetly that it made his cock stir inside his pants. 

Yoongi could never deny you, he wasn’t about to start now. Pulling back from you to kneel between your legs, he was slow with the way he raised the skirt of your overalls, just enough to let him see your bottom half, the softness of your lower stomach and your cute belly button. He didn't want to seem too greedy and raise it up too much. 

Even though he was. 

You were wearing black panties, a little sheer, delicate fabric, with tiny lace frills around the elastic band and an even tinier bow at the front. It wasn’t the kind of underwear one wore if no one was about to see them. It made him wonder if you picked those for him. 

Did you wear them just in case? Did you worry about him liking it? 

The way you were staring at him expectantly let him know that you did. 

“I like these.” he told you and you smiled with pink cheeks. “Were you thinking of me when you chose to wear them?” 

“I bought them for you.” you admitted with a squirm, threatening to close your legs, but his body was on the way. “I didn’t really have any reasons to own lingerie before.” 

Does the top match? He wanted to ask, but refrained from it. All in due time. 

Yoongi touched your knees, thighs, feeling your smooth skin under his fingertips, all the way up your hips to hook his fingers on the elastic bands. “Is it okay if I take them off?” 

“Uh–” you hesitated, which made Yoongi worry. He started to retrieve his hands when you held onto his wrists to keep them there. “Yeah, it’s fine, just– What if you think I look weird?” 

“You could never look weird, doll.” he marveled. 

You huffed in a ‘how would you know’ way and chided: “I hope you know you’ll be the first to see me like this.” as if he didn’t know. As if he wasn’t fucking proud of that. “Well, you and the brazilian lady from the waxing place yesterday, but I don’t think she counts.” 

“I can live with that.” 

He could also live here. With you under him. On his couch. Sharing his space. Your laughs filling the silence of his home, your touches filling the empty spots of his heart. 

When you let go of his wrists and lifted your hips, Yoongi pulled your underwear down your legs, trying not to stare, but unable to look away as you were revealed for him. You were perfect, but he knew you would be. Soft lips, looking a little puffy as your arousal clinged to you, making you all shiny and delicious. 

You spread your legs a little wider, opening yourself to him, inviting him in. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, there was no question about it. Yoongi had never been rendered speechless like this before, hands resting on your legs as he just… Breathed. 

Hard. 

Heavy. 

You reached out for his wrist, squeezing it, thumb caressing his skin in a way that was soothing, as if he was the one that needed reassurance. It was enough to make him snap out of whatever trance he was under and lean down to lay on the couch, between your legs, and start to kiss the inside of your thigh. 

“Oh, fuck.” 

He had never heard you curse like that before, and it made him greedy to hear more of that. Yoongi trailed kisses on your skin, moving closer and closer to your pussy until he reached it. Yoongi didn’t want to overwhelm you, but he couldn’t really go slow, not when he was dying to taste you. 

His tongue slipped out of his mouth and dipped between your folds, licking a stripe all the way up. Your moan was worth it, your taste was better than he could have expected. 

“How’s that?” Yoongi checked in with you, peppering kisses all over your lips before moving his tongue up and down your soaking cunt. 

“That–shit, I– my god, Yoongi!” 

“That good, huh?” he chuckled close to your pussy so you would feel the vibrations and it made you arch your back. 

“Can you just– keep going?” 

Yoongi looked at you from between your legs, noticing the lip worried between your teeth, your half lidded gaze, the hands resting on your lower stomach as you squeezed the suede fabric of your dress. 

His hands slipped under your thighs and he pulled you down with strong arms, making you squeal and cry out as his mouth latched onto your pussy and he ate you like a man starved. Yoongi was good at it, if he said so himself, and he was about to prove it to you. 

His tongue was quick and purposeful as he explored your pussy, teasing your hole with little circles, only to drag all the way up to your clit. He was drinking from you, swallowing hard, using his lips and tongue to make you feel good. You weren’t able to stay quiet, it seemed, hips starting to rock at their own accord. 

“You taste so fucking good.” he told you, and it was true. 

“You feel really good, too.” you admitted with a long, dragged moan. 

His lips formed a pout around your clit and Yoongi held it there, sucking softly with rhythmic movements of his tongue around it. That’s when your hand grabbed onto his hair and you held on for dear life, keeping him there. Not that he would dare move as your moans and the clenching of your cunt under him were telling him you were close. 

It was more than a little exciting, to know he was the first to taste you, the first to make you unravel like this, the first person to make you cum. In a way, even if nothing serious came out of this, Yoongi would still forever be your first. He hoped you’d always remember him like this, with his face shoved between your legs. A more selfish part of him hoped no one would ever be this good to you, no one would make you moan and cry so loud that the neighbors might hear. 

Yoongi could worry about those implications later, for now he would focus on making you cum on his tongue. 

“Oh fuck, I’m so close, please don’t stop, please–” 

Your pleas and moans were desperate, making Yoongi almost start to hump his own couch just to find relief for his bulge that was already swollen and begging for attention. The sting on his scalp was painful, but he loved it, especially because it meant you were enjoying yourself. 

Yoongi’s sole focus was on your clit, drawing quick circles with the flat of his tongue, until a cry of his name made his ears buzz and his eyes roll to the back of his head as you started trembling underneath him, your orgasm washing over you. Your thighs closed around his head, keeping him there, and he continued to lick you through your climax, a little gentler this time, so that you could enjoy that feeling for as long as possible. 

Only when your hand dropped from his hair and your legs fell open, did he stop. 

You were both breathless when Yoongi pulled away to lay down next to you. He was so drunk on you and your taste on his lips that he didn’t let his overthinking get the best of him. Yoongi simply pulled you into his chest, and you willingly clung to him, laying on your side, as you tried to regulate your breathing. 

“If that’s how it always feels, I’m really fucking mad at myself for not doing this before.” you giggled, but it was muffled by his chest. 

“That’s how it always feels with me.” Yoongi pointed out, letting himself brag. “Unfortunately, most guys out there don’t know where anything is.”

“Oh.” you looked up at him with somewhat wet eyes and red bitten lips. “Well. I might just keep coming back to you, then.” 

“That’s fine with me, doll.” 

OCTOBER 11TH | 16:05

If one wanted to find Min Yoongi, chances were, he’d be in his studio. His workspace, located in a tall building in Yeongsan, was where he spent most of his days, including weekends. The studio, affectionately named Genius Lab, had everything Yoongi needed; his desk filled with the best equipment for recording and producing, a couch where he could nap whenever he was too tired to function properly, a mini fridge where he kept a few drinks and quick snacks, and dark decor and lighting that made the space entertaining and homey enough. 

On a good day, he’d be in the zone. So focused on whatever he was working on that day that the world could be falling to pieces outside of his soundproof walls, there could be a zombie outbreak, and Yoongi wouldn’t even notice it. 

But then there were days like today. 

Yoongi had been going over the same verse for what felt like the thousandth time and he simply did not like how it sounded, his metaphors weren’t good enough, the flow was weak. And the producer, lyricist and rapper wasn’t the kind to just easily move on to the next project, come back to this later with a clearer mind. No, Yoongi would obsess over something and only actually move forward once he fixed what needed fixing. 

His back was killing him from being hunched over his keyboard for the last however many minutes, his neck felt stiff, and he was stressed. Grabbing for his phone on his desk, Yoongi noticed two things. 

Firstly, it was the middle of the afternoon already, when he thought it was just after lunch, so maybe he was stuck on this one song for longer than he hoped. 

And, secondly, Yoongi missed you. 

Now, he didn’t have it that bad for you that simply looking at the time reminded him of you, no. But your face was the image that greeted him when he awoke his sleeping phone, staring back at him, right on his screen background. Again, he was that obsessed to have made you his wallpaper, you had done it yourself, just five days ago, in what he was sure was supposed to be a joke, a lesson to not leave his phone unattended next to you. 

Yoongi just didn’t have the time to change it back to the picture of his family dog just yet. 

Things between the two of you had been going steady for the past few weeks now, almost a whole month ever since you walked into this very room and asked him to help you learn things for your book. You saw each other a few times every week, either with your friends or just you and him, but something always happened. 

Either hidden kisses and stolen moments behind the boys’ backs, or you’d go to his apartment over the weekend and stay the night. Your sessions usually involved a lot of making out, some heavy groping, handjobs, fingering or he’d eat you out. You always had lots of questions for him, which he did his best to answer with examples and practicing time. 

Yoongi wondered if you were as affected by it as he was. Sometimes he asked himself if your yearning eyes, long lasting touches and sweet kisses even after you were done meant something to you as much as they meant to him. He didn’t think you were a cruel person to pretend not to notice how infatuated he was with you, but there were only so many times one could call another person baby or fall asleep holding each other, before one starts to wonder if there’s something more there. 

As Yoongi’s phone turned dark again, he wondered if you were busy. You lived fairly close to his work, everyone in the building pretty much already knew you, so he wouldn’t get in trouble if you came over. He could use a distraction, maybe you could have something to drink at the coffee shop downstairs, it’s been a while since you met there for an afternoon snack. 

To say that escalated would be an understatement. Yoongi didn’t message you with those intentions in mind, but after reading the text conversation again, he could understand how he sounded. The man was slightly awkward when it came to texting, much preferring calls or talking in person. You were always full of emojis and funny ways of communicating, which he thought was cute. 

But then again, Yoongi thought everything you did was cute. 

And he had exactly twenty minutes to get his shit together and stop acting like such a simp, as that was the time that it took for you to walk from your apartment to his studio. A little more than that if you were in your pajamas and had to change before leaving the house. 

At the knock on his door, Yoongi got up to unlock his studio and let you in, but before he could even say hello, you were throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his. Just a smack of your lips, but still enough to surprise Yoongi. 

“Hi.” you whispered with a little smile. You had never greeted him like this before, especially not in the middle of the hallway, where anyone could see. 

“Hey–” Yoongi finally snapped out of it as you slipped your shoes off and walked into the room, going straight to the couch. “I swear this isn’t a booty call.” 

He didn’t really know why he felt the need to reiterate his pure intentions, lest you think that’s the only reason he had to want you over. 

“I know, I was just messing with you.” you giggled as you folded your legs under yourself and Yoongi took a breath of relief. “I just guessed you either wanted to show me something new or a distraction from your genius creations.” 

Yoongi scoffed lightly as he walked back to his chair, dropping down onto it with a squeak. “Got nothing genius to share today, I’m afraid.” 

“New project giving you a hard time?” you asked, leaning forward and tilting your head as you watched him. 

“You could say that.” Yoongi nodded, bringing a thumb to his mouth to bite and pull at the little piece of skin that had been bothering him for the past hour. 

“Is it for the important meeting you have next week?” you asked as you pulled his hand away from his mouth and brought it to your own lips to kiss at the corner of his finger as you noticed how red it looked. 

And this shit right here, this is exactly what he meant. There’s no way you didn’t feel something for him, when you did things like these, right? Wishful thinking or not, it made Yoongi’s heart swoon and his cheeks feel hot. 

“Not at all, so I guess I have two reasons to be worried.” his laugh was void of amusement and filled with self-deprecation. 

“Oh, no.” you scrunched your nose, only now letting go of his hand. “Honestly, Yoon, you have no reason to worry at all. Not about the meeting, not about whatever project is being annoying. You’re great. You’re more than great, you’re the best producer I know.”

“Do you know many producers?” Yoongi challenged you with a cocked eyebrow, and this time his laugh was a little more real. 

“At least two.” you pointed out in a matter of factly way. “And don’t tell Hobi, but you’re my favorite one.”

“How can I be sure you don’t tell him the same thing?”

“I guess you’ll never know.” you grinned, white teeth behind a dark lipstick smile. Now that autumn was in full swing, your wardrobe and seasonal makeup were changing, it seemed. “Is that for Agust D or someone else?”

You were nodding at his computer screen behind him, which was still opened in the latest mixing program he used to add his vocals to the melody he already had.  

“That’s mine, yeah.”

“What’s the problem with it?” you got up from the couch, walking to the desk and leaning over it with your hands flat on the wood top. Yoongi turned his chair to face you, smiling at the lines on your forehead as you tried to figure out what all of the lines, splits and soundwaves meant. 

“Not sure I like it.” he told you with a long, dragged out sigh. 

“Can I hear what you have so far?” you asked as you turned to him instead of the monitor. 

And, the thing was, Yoongi never let anybody hear his songs before he was 100% happy with it. Not Hoseok. Not Pdogg. Not even Bang PD and that was his boss. But you were looking at him so expectantly, and you were always so excited to be one of the firsts to hear his music that he couldn’t say no to you. Ever. 

Yoongi nodded and your sweet smile was already enough to calm his nerves and ill intended feelings towards his music. 

Yoongi rolled his chair a little closer to you, so he could reach for his mouse and move the song back to the start so he could play it for you, but you took it as an invitation to sit on his lap. Not that he wouldn’t actually invite you if he thought it was an option. Which he didn’t. But he was glad that it was. 

The producer was also glad for the way that you so naturally fit there, sitting on his leg, one arm naturally circling his shoulders as his wrapped around your waist to make sure you were balanced. 

“What is it called?” you were asking, looking at him from so close that he could see the little freckle on your eye. 

“People.” 

Yoongi pressed the right button with the mouse and adjusted the volume of the song so you could hear everything as one and not be deafened by the bass that he was working on previously. The song sounded a little different from what he was used to putting out, like ‘Agust D’, ‘Give it to me’ or ‘The last’, which was probably the reason he was feeling so weird about it in the first place. 

It’s not that he didn’t like the song itself, but he was worried that it was not what people expected of him. 

You were nodding your head as you both listened to it playing, trying to school your features in an attempt to not let it show how you felt about it. But when it got to the chorus, you couldn’t hold back the smile that was pushed onto your lips as you heard him sing. 

Yoongi avoided looking at you after that, as his own smile was difficult to contain. 

When the song came to an end, you turned to him with the biggest grin, and Yoongi’s cheeks were puffed as she smiled at your reactions; internally rolling his eyes at himself and his inability of keeping a straight face when it came to you and his music. 

“So, what’s wrong with it?” you asked as the hand that was around his shoulders touched the back of his neck, nails scratching at his nape. 

“I–” Yoongi sighed, almost purred, relaxing into your touch, forehead resting on your cheek as he couldn’t help himself. “Don’t remember.” 

“That sounds more like it.” you giggled, wrapping the other arm around him as he did the same to your middle. “All you needed was to get out of your head a little, huh?” 

“I guess.” 

And you. He definitely needed you. To wordlessly assure him his song was good, to enjoy listening to it, making him laugh and breathe and stop overthinking. You barely did anything at all and yet it felt like so much. 

“Glad I could help.” you were smiling. Yoongi could feel it even if he couldn’t see it. 

“You always do.” 

“I can… You know?” you started softly, almost hesitantly, and Yoongi pulled back enough to look at you. Explaining, you said: “Help you.” 

“You just did.” he insisted, but Yoongi could read it in your eyes that there was something more. 

“No, I mean… This arrangement doesn’t have to be just for me.” your eyes dropped to his lips and Yoongi licked at his bottom lip on instinct, something inside him stirring into life. “I’m here if you need me. For whatever.” 

“Doll.” 

It was a warning, but Yoongi wasn’t sure of what. Was he warning you that he might say yes? That he might be falling for you? At this point it felt like it was too late to warn you about that last one. 

“Would you let me?” you asked, a little more steadily, hand touching the side of his face, thumb running across his cheek. “Let me take care of you.” 

“Okay.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Yoongi nodded, even if you didn’t even have to ask. This was dangerous, at least for the man, as kissing you was easily becoming one of his favorite things to do. He hugged you a little tighter as you started placing tiny kisses against his lips, just because. And then your mouth pressed against his, properly this time, and it stayed there for a while longer. 

You were dictating the pace and the intensity of the kiss, and Yoongi let you. He wanted to see how far you would take this, how you intended on taking care of him, so he followed your lead, moving his lips against yours only when you did so. Your tongue slipped past your lips to lick at his and Yoongi parted his mouth and chased yours.

Only for you to pull back with a teasing little smile and playful eyes. 

“What a greedy boy.” you whispered, the hand on his nape slipping into his hair. 

“Baby, please.” Yoongi heard himself saying, avoiding your eyes. 

“Hm. I like that.” with a stronger hold of his hair, you made his neck bend backwards. 

Yoongi gasped in surprise and asked: “When I say please?” 

“When you call me baby.” 

You were smiling against his neck as you kissed just under his jaw, teeth nipping at his skin and Yoongi wanted you to claim him just as much as he wished he could claim you. 

Yoongi’s hands were around you, squeezing you, pressing his fingertips as he tried to feel more of you. Your sweet smile was the last thing he saw when his eyes fluttered closed and you kissed his lips. Really kissed, squeezing his long hair between your fingers once more, slipping your tongue past his lips to lick at his. 

Your lips moved in sync, dragging over each other’s, with so much more familiarity than the first time you kissed, but the bat-like butterflies were still there. Yoongi knew the taste of your lips, and he knew you liked it when he sucked on your bottom lip or pushed his tongue deeper into your mouth to take control back.

Your little, breathy moan was swallowed by Yoongi as his hand dropped to your ass and he squeezed. 

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you, babe.” you said with a little whine and Yoongi’s body twitched with the new pet name. 

“How are you planning on doing that?” he challenged, staring at your swollen bottom lip, taking it into his mouth before you had the chance to reply. 

With a new moan, eyes closing shut, your hand slid down Yoongi’s body, between his legs, to palm his growing bulge. Yoongi hissed and let go of your lip, spreading his legs wider and shamelessly so you’d have more space to work with. 

“Let me show you.” 

With one last press of your mouths, you left his lap and sunk down to the floor, sitting on your feet between his legs, thighs pressed together as your small hands rested atop his. Yoongi’s breath got caught up in his throat as this was a sight he longed to see for longer than he’d ever openly admit. 

Up until this point in your arrangement, you hadn’t yet done what you were so clearly hinting at. You hadn’t reached that part of your book just yet, but it was just another proof that today wasn’t about your book, but about Yoongi. As long as you wanted it too, so he checked:

“You know you don’t have to, right?” his hand landed softly on top of yours as he caressed your smooth skin. 

“I want you, Yoongi.” 

The way you said those words made Yoongi believe in much more than what you were about to do right now. It gave him hope that, maybe, one day they would be true the way he wanted them to be. 

You scooted just a little closer to his legs, cheek rubbing on the inside of his thigh as you laid your head there, staring up at him with uncertain eyes that told him you weren’t quite sure what to do. But Yoongi didn’t hurry you, more than okay with following your pace, letting you explore and experiment. 

Just as long as he could keep looking at you like this. 

A gentle hand touched your face, tracing the curve of your nose, down to the shape of your cupid's bow, pulling gently on your bottom lip to see it part. You closed your eyes as you basked in his caresses, mouth opening to lick at the pad of Yoongi’s thumb making not only his breath grow heavy, but his dick twitch in his pants. 

“My pretty girl.” Yoongi’s words left him without much thought. 

“Yeah?” you sighed, eyes fluttering as your face pulled away from his legs and your hands reached for the waistband of his pants. “Are you claiming me?” 

Yoongi felt hot all over, in his cheeks, in his chest, toes curling inside his studio slippers. You had no idea just how badly he wanted to claim you, in every sense of the word. 

He lifted his hips higher as you pulled his trousers down his legs; not sure if this was the best day to not wear anything else under his soft cotton pants. It made your job easier and it cut back on the teasing, but when his cock sprung free, already hard and ready, your eyes widened slightly with overwhelming. 

You tried not to let it show, or maybe you were just a little more eager to see him bare, letting the pants fall around his ankles as he spread his legs just a little wider. Yoongi was past the point of feeling self conscious about showing himself to you like this, letting your curious eyes roam all of him, but this was a new angle for you, and he wondered what you were thinking. 

You held his cock from the base, raising a little on your knees to reach his tip. Your hand wrapping around him was familiar, he knew your grip, the feel of your smooth fingers. But the feeling of your lips dragging up his shaft was brand new, as was the wetness of your tongue as you licked at the tip. 

Yoongi pushed the backrest of his chair a little further back to recline it, hands holding tightly onto the arm rests on each side of him. Suddenly his shirt felt too hot as it started clinging to his chest, but removing it felt like too much for right now, even for him. 

You teased the slit of his cock with the tip of your tongue, swirling it around the crown, hand moving up and down slowly, as if you had done this a million times before, as if you knew what Yoongi liked. The slide of your hand was a little dry, so you pulled away from him to spit on your palm and make it better. 

Yoongi’s breath hitched and came out as a slow moan as you wrapped your lips around his tip once you returned to what you were doing, looking up at him as if asking if it was okay. 

“You’re doing so well, baby.” he told you in a raspy voice that made your eyes flutter. “Keep going.” 

You nodded, seemingly forgetting you had a cock in your mouth, which made it slide just a little deeper into your mouth. It made Yoongi moan a little louder as he felt more of the warmth of your mouth, and you liked that, sinking down just a little further until you both felt the moment he hit the back of your throat. 

You sputtered with surprise, pulling off of him as you held back a cough with a hand over your lips. 

“Easy, baby. Don’t want to hurt you.” he assured you with a fond smile. “You’ll learn to deepthroat with time.” 

“Wanna make you feel good, Yoon.” you pouted, bringing your lips to his cock again. 

“You are.” he nodded through half lidded eyes, fingers twitching on the arm rests as he controlled the urge to hold you by the hair or back of your head. “Just put it in your mouth. Suck a little.” 

You did exactly that, wrapping pouty lips around the tip, moving your tongue around it inside your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you gave it experimental sucks. You hummed as his pre-cum dribbled out of him and onto your tongue, and Yoongi’s eyes rolled as he heard you audibly swallow. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” he cursed low and heavy. 

A little more confident, your lips dragged down his cock, pushing a little more of him inside, sliding on the flat of your tongue. Whatever you couldn’t fit inside –which was a lot–, you worked with your hand in tugs and strokes. You looked so perfect like this, spit coming out of the corners of your mouth, tears brimming your eyes, jaw probably aching to accommodate his girth. 

When you pulled out again it was in search of air, breathing as hard as he was. Your hand stroked Yoongi’s cock in that way you already knew he liked, closing a fist around the head as you twisted your wrist and pumped up and down. You were mouthing on his shaft, licking and sucking on his skin, tracing the engorged vein. 

Instead of making it up to the top again, your lips dragged down and down and Yoongi’s heart was in his throat. Your mouth was hot and wet as you took one of his heavy balls into your mouth, eyes on his face as if to ask if that was okay. 

“Shit, that’s nice–” he made sure to tell you, no longer able to control his hands on his sides. 

He held you by the back of your neck with a firm hold, squeezing  your nape to encourage you to suck a little harder, which he instantly regretted as it made his lower stomach tense. Yoongi tugged gently on your hair to pull you off his sac and it should be illegal how innocent and wide eyes you looked during such an act. 

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” you asked with a scratchy voice, which made you frown and Yoongi chuckle. 

“No, doll, that was too good.” he sighed a breathy gasp. 

“Oh.” you smiled, a little shy, hand never stopping the long tugs of his cock. With a giggle, you admitted: “I think I like sucking you off.” 

“Yeah?” Yoongi’s smile was still fond, despite the tension on his limbs and the sweat covering his body. “Think you can make me cum like this, hm?”

You nodded with vigor, not an ounce of doubt in your stance. Yoongi chuckled, but it would hardly be a challenge when you were getting him so close to his end already. 

A jolt of hot, white pleasure coursed through him as you mouth was on him again, fingers tightening on your hair as you covered your teeth with your lips as you sunk down and sucked harder as you pulled off. You started bobbing on his cock, pumping his shaft, fist connected to your lips to give Yoongi the feeling of being buried deep into your wet mouth. 

You started sinking lower and lower, not taking him all the way, but Yoongi felt your throat open and contract around him as you tried and tried to push him as deep as you could. Yoongi was a mindless mess, nothing else existed outside of his studio, nothing else mattered but the pure bliss you were inflicting on him. 

With droopy eyes, Yoongi watched you make a mess out of him, spit leaking from your mouth and covering your fingers and his cock. His cock was throbbing, painfully hard, twitching in time with his untamed moans that only made you keep going. 

Your free hand cradled his balls gently, squeezing as they felt heavier, drawing up as his lower stomach tensed. He wanted to hold your pretty face in place and fuck his cook deep down your throat, but it was much too soon for that. Instead, he just sat there, about to go insane with how good you were making him feel. 

Yoongi had no warning words for you, but you didn’t need them as you read the familiar signs of when he was about to cum; the pulsing of the fat vein on the underside, the twitches of his muscles, the groans and rough moans he wasn’t trying to contain anymore. 

Your lips stayed around his crown, tongue swirling and twirling around it with little sucks of your mouth as your fist twisted just under the tip. That and the harder squeeze of his balls was too much for him to hold back from. Yoongi felt his whole body flush, jolting with pure ecstasy that pushed him a little deeper, just as his orgasm hit him like a truck. 

He spilled inside your mouth with thick ribbons of white and you closed your eyes as you let him use your mouth. You were humming, he thought he heard it through his ringing ears, as you swallowed his load like a good girl. 

Some of it escaped from the corner of your mouth and you licked it clean after you pulled off of him once you milked the last drop of his release. Yoongi was breathing hard, with a stupidly proud grin on his face as you gave his softening cock little kisses. 

“Was that acceptable?” you asked with those innocent eyes again. 

“It was great, doll.” he nodded with a gummy smile, eyes closed as his hand dropped from the back of your head. “More than great. It was perfect.”

You were giggling as you stood up on wobbly legs, pulling Yoongi’s pants along. “I’ll believe you once you're not drunk on your orgasm.” 

“Ask me again in ten minutes then.” he laughed, settling his pants around his hips and reaching for you. 

“Does that mean I get to stay a little more?” you beamed, sitting on his lap, resting your red cheek against his shoulder. 

“You can stay all day if you want.” You could stay forever.

OCTOBER 19TH | 17:26

Yoongi avoided leaving his studio in the middle of his workday. Not only did he have deadlines he had to match, but it was his safe space. A place that more often than not felt like his home more than his own apartment. But he didn’t mind leaving Genius Lab if it meant he got to see you for an hour, share a cup of coffee in the place that meant so much for the two of you. 

The coffee shop across the street from the music company he worked for was the very place the two of you had met all those years ago. In an afternoon much like this one, where the autumn leaves were stuck to the wet pavement, a light rain was falling over central Seoul and the weather made you dress a little warmer. 

That day you had been searching for a change of scenery as you wrote what would soon become your first published book, and Yoongi was looking for a different background after staring at his computer screen all day. 

As he crossed the street, hands deep in his military-green jacket, hair partially hidden by a black beanie, Yoongi could already see you sitting at your preferred spot, by the big glass wall. Yoongi much rather sit deep into the shop, as the busy passers-by always posed a distraction to him whenever he tried to write lyrics outside of his usual set up. 

You, however, always said that you liked to watch people walking by, often getting lost in watching the life outside the café. You were both writers, he supposed. But while he wrote songs to sing or rap, you built worlds for people to get lost in. 

Yoongi could never do what you did. 

He was about to knock on the glass, wave at you to show he arrived and was coming in, but as a guy approached you and took your attention completely, Yoongi froze. He knew who the guy was, having been served by the man many times during his visits to the coffee shop. And he also knew that Kai had a not so secret and very obvious crush on you. 

Yoongi couldn’t blame the guy, he was in the same boat afterall, and you seemed oblivious to both of their infatuations with you. But it always rubbed Yoongi the wrong way, especially now. Even if he knew that this agreement you had going on gave him absolutely no claim over you whatsoever. 

In fact, it made Yoongi’s throat feel a little dry as he realized that he wasn’t just teaching you things you could use in your book, but you could also use in real life. With other guys. With guys like Kai. 

Not that hooking up with him –if he could even really call it that– would mean any great changes in your life. You were naturally flirty, but not obnoxiously so. And you were already confident, never afraid of speaking your mind, a social butterfly that made friends with anyone, anywhere. 

All Yoongi was doing was taking the pressure off. 

By sharing these experiences with you, all he did was make sure that your “firsts” were with someone you trusted, someone you wouldn’t regret down the line. Even if virginity was just a concept created by society to control and overpower women over the centuries and dictate their values, it was still kind of a big deal. 

But once you were done with that unnecessary pressure, you’d be free to have all of the one night stands and adventures that your heart desired. You said so yourself, you never had them before because that’s not how you envisioned your first time. 

Yoongi didn’t think that’s what you had in mind when you asked for his help, and he was positive you were focused on writing your book and that was it. But it didn’t mean that you wouldn’t realize this once you were done with the novel. Once you were done with him. 

“Hey!” the knocking on the glass, coming from the inside, made Yoongi jump. You were looking at him expectantly with that sweet smile of yours, a little wave as you called him in. "Aren't you coming?"

"Yeah, yeah." 

By the time Yoongi walked into the neutral colored coffee shop, Kai was already gone and you were closing the lid of your laptop, waiting for him to walk to you. 

The smell of coffee and fresh pastries attacked Yoongi’s stomach, reminding him he had skipped lunch; a fact you’d definitely scold him for if you found out. He’d order something to eat in a bit, Kai never spent too long without an excuse to go back to your table anyway, at least he could do some work while blatantly flirting with you. 

“What were you doing out there?” you asked him with an amused smile, looking cute in your mustard-yellow knitted sweater. 

“Thought I forgot my phone for a sec.” he lied, patting the device on his pocket just to make sure he hadn’t actually. 

“I highly doubt you would, that’s like an appendage to you at this point.” you joked, pushing the plate with an orange muffin towards Yoongi. “Here. Eat.”

“How–”

“How did I know you didn’t eat? Call it an educated guess.” you jutted out your chin, resting back against your chair and taking a sip of your drink. You were having a hot chocolate today, which wasn't surprising as it was your drink of choice whenever the weather started to turn cold. “I like to think I know you pretty well, Yoon.” 

“If you really knew me, you’d have coffee waiting too.” Yoongi grumbled, using it to cover the fact that the knowledge you had of him and his habits made him a little giddy. 

“Nope, not until you eat. I don’t want you developing stomach problems with the amount of caffeine you already drink.”

You shook your head, blowing on your hot chocolate before taking another sip. Yoongi listened to you, as he always did, and plucked pieces of the muffin to take into his mouth. This was his favorite baked good from this coffee shop, something he had never tried before you showed up in his life. 

Now it was his usual order, his guilty pleasure to indulge in whenever he had a craving for something sweet. It didn’t have anything to do with you, he always tried to convince himself, it was just another one of his habits. 

“Were you writing?” Yoongi asked as you seemed distracted watching a woman walk a small dog outside. The dog was wearing even smaller rain boots, which was no doubt the reason for your delighted smile. 

“Mhm, I’m making progress, thankfully.” you nodded, attention moving back to him. “Thanks to you.”

“You’re the writer, I’m not doing anything.” he shrugged noncommittally, swallowing the last piece of his muffin.  

“We both know that’s not true.” after noticing he was done eating, you looked at the counter of the shop, lifting your hand in a thumbs up that made Kai nod in the distance. “You’re helping me in an unconventional way, but you are.”

“As long as it’s really helping.” 

Not even a minute later, Kai was back at your table, greeting Yoongi with an ‘afternoon, hyung’ and placing a coffee in front of him. One Yoongi hadn’t ordered or paid for. You had a proud little smile pulling on your berry-lipstick-lips, raising an eyebrow as if challenging Yoongi to say you didn’t know him again. 

“I think I managed to fix most scenes.” you got back on the subject, leaning forward on the table with your elbows, holding the hot chocolate mug between your hands. 

“Already?” Yoongi was surprised to say the least, but he knew what it was like to be under pressure to make through deadlines. 

“Yes, but the first chapters are pretty tame, so.” you justified. “Nothing I really need to delete and start over.”

“Good.” 

Yoongi got a little lost on the way you brought your drink to your lips, watching as your lipstick left a stain on the rim of the mug. He wondered how good that color would look staining his skin instead; his lips, his neck, his chest. 

“What about you? How did that meeting go yesterday?” you asked him earnestly, reaching out to hold his hand on top of the table and Yoongi felt little shocks where your hands met. 

“Ah, it went well, yeah. Pretty well, actually.” a tight lipped smile turned into a gummy one as he said: “I’m going to be working with Jae-sang sunbaenim.”

Your scoff was pained as you frowned: “I’m sorry, am I so out of the loop that I don’t know who that is?”

“You know him as PSY.”

The squeal that escaped your lips was high pitched enough to catch the attention of the table next to yours, but you never minded that and this time Yoongi didn’t mind the looks from strangers either. 

“What?!” you hissed, a lot more contained this time. “No way!”

“I’m pretty excited about it, actually.” Yoongi let out a small sound of his own; one that sounded like a squeak as he wanted to get up and do a little dance. But he didn’t. 

“You should be! That’s huge!” your hold on his hand was a little firmer, smile a little brighter. 

Yoongi had worked with famous musicians many times before. The main part of his job was writing and producing for other artists, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own mixtapes, and his own collaborations with stars that be admired; like IU –much for Jungkook’s delight and Jimin’s panic–, Suran, MAX and Lee Sora. But none of those had the potential of really making it internationally as this collab with PSY had. 

“He wants me to feature on it, too.” he told you, and your jaw dropped. 

“Yoongi! That’s amazing!” your other hand reached for his and you held it between yours. “You deserve it so much. I’m so proud of you, I hope you know that.”

“Thanks, doll.”

“We should do something to celebrate.” you stated before he had the chance to deflect. 

With a shrug, and the desire to hold onto your hands for the next three hours, he said: “We’re having coffee at our spot, that’s good enough.”

“Not for a collab with PSY it’s not.” you sounded almost offended. “I’d say we should go to Serendipity, but you hate clubs.” 

“Please don’t make me go there again.” his laugh was one of suffering and despair, which made you giggle. 

“Oh! I know!” you chirped, letting go of his hands in order to clap excitedly, just once. “I’m going to cook for you!”

“I thought you wanted to do something nice–”

“Hajimaaaa!” you complained with another laugh, one so contagious Yoongi found himself mimicking. “Maybe I’ll order something from Jin’s restaurant then, and put it in pans and dishes, so you think I cooked.”

“Sounds good, doll.” Yoongi agreed, which was the easiest thing to do. 

“Perfect! It’s a date then.”

OCTOBER 21ST | 18:03

By the time Yoongi made it to his car, he had already opened and buttoned up his shirt all of five times. He did trust Jimin when it came to fashion choices, but not when it came to mischief. And that group chat screamed ‘dongsaengs up to no good’. But the two boys did make Yoongi feel good about his choice of clothing, how he did his hair and the little bit of makeup he added to his lids just to make them pop. 

He could only hope you didn’t think he was trying too hard. 

Even though he was. 

Even if this wasn’t a date. 

Yoongi’s routine each time he sat in his car was always the same: Sit down, make sure the mirrors were all in the right position, start the car, connect his phone to the bluetooth sound system, pick a playlist he was in the mood for, seatbelt, drive. But this afternoon as he drove out of the parking lot of his not-so-modest-building in Hannam, the soundtrack for Yoongi’s drive was the beep of a connecting call. 

“Hyung!” Namjoon’s voice was the one fill his car as the call was connected. “You know you’re the only person who even makes calls these days, right? A text would have been fine.” 

“I’m driving, can’t text.” Yoongi provided as he leaned a little further front to see that his road was free and he could go. 

“Oh. Ohhh, are you going to see our favorite writer for your celebratory date?” Namjoon’s all knowing tone made a tiny smudge of heat taint his cheeks, but at least he wasn’t there to see it and tease him about it. 

More to himself than to his best friend, Yoongi felt the need to clarify: “Not a date, but yeah, I’m on my way.”

“And you called me to get tips on her latest chapters?” on the other line of the call, Yoongi could hear Namjoon’s voice turning a little clearer, as if he’d closed the door of his office. “I just read the edited ones and damn, hyung! Who knew you had that dirty mouth–”

“That’s not– She doesn’t write what we do word by word.” Yoongi panicked for a second, thinking about not only Namjoon, but the rest of the world reading what the two of you had been doing. With a whisper, he hissed: “Right?”

“Don’t worry, I’m just messing with you.” Namjoon laughed and Yoongi shook his head, fingers relaxing on the steering wheel. “But she’s been doing well, I don’t have any new pointers for the chapters. She’s a lot happier too, it seems, and I don’t think the book is the only reason why.”

“You know, that right there is the reason I’m calling you.” Yoongi scoffed for no one to see as he drove out of his neighborhood and into the busy roads of Seoul. So much for avoiding rush hour when the capital was hustling 24/7. 

“What did I do this time?” Namjoon sighed on the other side. 

“Not this time, still the same thing.” he said. “Why did you put this crazy idea into her head?”

“Hyung. It's been weeks.” his best friend sounded tired, as if they went over this time and time again. And they had. 

“Over a month and I already regret this–”

“Do you regret accepting it? Or do you wish she never asked you?” Namjoon had a way of using hard phrases and poetic analogies sometimes, the perks of being an editor and a published poet, no doubt. 

“What's the difference?”

“Well, in one scenario you realize you work better as friends, and in the other it means you got it bad.”

“I got it so fucking bad is not even funny.”

Admitting that to his best friend was easier over the phone. Even if Yoongi knew Namjoon and all of their other friends also knew about it. It was a miracle that you didn’t, at this point. Unless you did, but had been ignoring it in order to not make things awkward. 

If that was the case, Yoongi wasn’t sure if he should be thankful or worried.

“Ahh, I see. So your feelings are growing impossibly fast and you're starting to feel bad because you don't think this means the same for her as it means for you?” Namjoon summed it up as Yoongi stopped his car at a red light. 

The trees were in full autumn colors, all shades of red, yellow and orange. If Yoongi rolled his windows down, he was sure he could smell the pumpkin spice and cinnamon in the air, which always brought him a nice, warm feeling inside.  

“Was this part of a master plan to get back at me for senior year?” Yoongi asked after a lightbulb moment.

“What?”

“You know, Jiheun?”

Jiheun was a girl Namjoon had a massive crush on, back when they were both in High School. And Yoongi might have read the signs wrong and told his best friend that the girl liked him back. Only for poor, string bean, bowl cut, awkward Namjoon to ask her out and get rejected in the middle of the school cafeteria. 

“Wha- hyung! Of course not, it's been years I’m not that petty.”

“Okay, okay.” not that Yoongi thought Namjoon would do something like this as they were both adults now, but his anxiety-filled-brain still asked stupid stuff sometimes. 

“Besides, I have a simple solution to your problem.” Namjoon stated.

“Do tell, because I'm almost at her place.” not completely true, he still had one more stop on the way to your apartment. 

“Have you thought about confessing?”

Yoongi’s answer was the love child between a wheeze and a snicker. 

“If you're not happy about this agreement, but you still wanna help her, and be with her for real,” Namjoon continued, seeing as Yoongi was too gobsmacked to reply. “Then tell her how you're feeling.”

“What part of that solution is simple?” Yoongi asked with a glare directed to the panel of his car, hoping Namjoon could feel its heat. 

“It’s simple because it’s telling the truth.”

“The truth that could ruin everything. Her book, our friendship–” Yoongi argued, being interrupted by his best friend:

“Are you so afraid of rejection that you would rather keep hurting yourself? You know this arrangement won't last forever.”

“I know.”

“And maybe she feels the same way.”

Yoongi’s fingers tightened against the steering wheel just a little harder as he said: “That’s a big fucking maybe.”

“Didn’t you say she’s been calling you babe and shit? And you like… cuddle now?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Those are good signs, hyung!”

He knew that, it’s been plaguing his mind for the past couple of weeks. But to hear someone else say it, someone as rational as he was, made him feel like maybe it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part. 

As if the universe was on his side for once in his life, Yoongi found a parking spot right in front of Maybell Bakery. You had promised to cook for Yoongi tonight, but he said he’d bring dessert. And you really liked the double layered, pumpkin pie that was only sold during the month of october and was extremely overpriced, so he placed an order and paid a little extra for it to be done by the time he was able to pick it up. 

“Alright, I’m here. Gotta go.” 

“Okay. Call me if something happens, I’m invested in this.” Namjoon said and Yoongi could picture his little grin that would most likely poke a dimple in his cheeks. 

“You better be, you’re the one who threw me into this mess.” Yoongi took his seatbelt off, but didn’t move, waiting for his friend to hang up. 

“You fail to remember that she’s the one who asked you, I didn’t tell her to go after you.” Namjoon pointed out in that know-it-all tone that fit him so well. “If I’m being honest, I thought she’d go for Hoseok hyung and not you.”

“What?!” Yoongi frowned at that new piece of information, hand freezing on the way to his key to turn off the car. 

“He’s more… Dom, you know? That seems to be more like her type.”

“Great–”

Yoongi did take control with you, and he had his moments in bed before, where he had girls and guys begging for him to let them cum, but he wouldn’t define himself as a Dom. Not the way Hoseok was, Namjoon was right about that. 

“But she still went after you, hyung! That counts for a lot.” Namjoon tried to backtrack but the damage was done. 

“I know, okay.” Yoongi took a deep, calming breath that didn’t do much to quell his nerves; of seeing you, of considering the ideas Namjoon was planting in his mind. “Nice going on telling the kids about this, by the way. Jiminie and Jungkook were teasing me about this date.”

“First of all, stop stalling and get out of your car already.” Namjoon laughed on the other side and Yoongi nodded to himself. “And second of all, I didn’t tell anybody.”

“Then how did they know–”

“Well, hyung. Have you ever thought that maybe she told them? And she’s thinking of this as a date?”

Yoongi had not, in fact, thought about that possibility. Not only were you a lot closer to the three younglings –who were closer to you in age– than Namjoon, you usually told each other everything, seeing as Jimin had been your best friend since way before he even met you. 

So to say it gave Yoongi all kinds of butterflies, the simple chance of you telling your best friend and his boyfriend that you were having a date tonight, officially, would be an understatement. 

“Go get your girl.” 

Namjoon’s encouragement was the last thing he heard before leaving his car to pick up your pie in the bakery. 

On the drive to your place, Yoongi’s nose was being attacked by the fresh baked goods resting on the passenger’s seat of his car, as his mind was plagued with the thoughts of you and him. 

You, who had walked into his life by mere chance, and stayed in it from your own insistence, as Yoongi hardly made new friends. You, who had the most expressive eyes Yoongi had ever seen. You, who owned his heart in a tight grip and you didn’t even know. 

You, who were already waiting for him at the front door of your apartment as the elevator dropped him off on your floor. 

“You don’t have to call me to buzz you in everytime, Yoon, you know the code to the gate.” was the first thing out of your pretty mouth as you walked him into your apartment. 

“So, what, am I supposed to just let myself in?” Yoongi’s smile was easy as he slipped out of his shoes. “Why don’t you give me the key to your apartment while you’re at it?” 

You giggled as you said: “Because then you might come in and steal all of my tangerines.”

Yoongi was rolling his eyes at your words, pink cheeks as you called him out on his small addiction to the fruit. You reached for him after you locked the door of your apartment, raising on your toes to kiss his lips in that way that made Yoongi feel like you were something more. 

“You look so handsome tonight.” you told him so, a hand smoothing the black silk shirt he was wearing.

“Thanks. You’re always looking pretty.” Yoongi told you in an unbribed moment of boldness, making you smile sweetly, hand still on his chest. 

You were wearing a black sundress with a tiny red cherries pattern that was too light for the weather outside, but perfect for the toasty ambiance you kept your apartment in. 

“Thank you.” you beamed, walking deeper into your apartment and leading him inside. “What’s that you got there?”

“Can’t you take a guess?”

Yoongi saw you eyeing the cardboard box with the pretty fall themed design when he walked in, and there was no way you couldn’t smell the festive pie. But you were still playing coy, as you usually did whenever anyone gave you gifts or did something nice for you; never one who liked to assume. 

You and him were pretty alike in that sense. 

“I know what I want it to be, but that would be impossible, because I’ve been calling Maybell and they keep telling me they are booked for the double layer pumpkin pie until next year.” you told him with a pretty pout. Yoongi had just felt your lips, but he wanted more. 

Focusing on the matter at hand, he placed the box on top of your small kitchen counter and pushed it closer to you as he said: “Why don’t you open it, then?”

You did so, pulling apart the dark orange bow to open the box, letting out a high pitched squeal as you saw the pie. Yoongi’s mouth watered at the sight, he could only imagine your excitement. 

“Yoongi!” you gushed with a small jump. “How the hell did you do this?!”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” he said, not really calculating his words and offering you a tight lipped smile as he realized how he sounded. 

“Cheesy.” you giggled, but reached out to squeeze his arm. “Thank you.”

“What smells so good?” Yoongi deflected. 

“That would be the bulgogi!” you chirped, pointing to the pan in the oven. “We can eat in a bit, and I hope it tastes as good as it smells.” 

“Well, you’re making it, so I’m sure it probably won’t–”

“Than–hey!” you laughed at his joke, huffing as you pretended to be mad, which made Yoongi laugh along. 

You shook your head and walked to the fridge, opening it to grab a wine bottle that Yoongi could recognize the label of. It was the brand and kind that he used to have at home, alongside his many bottles of whiskey. 

“Should we open this? It’s supposed to go well with the food, according to Naver.” you offered, and your eyes were pleading. 

“I’m driving, doll. If you had told me you wanted to drink, I would have taken a lift.” it hurt him to say that, and Yoongi didn’t like the way it made you bite your lip, uncertain. 

“You can spend the night.” you told him, avoiding his eyes as you placed the bottle on the counter. Not moving to open it, but not putting it away either. “Or you can leave your car here and I’ll drive it back to you tomorrow.” 

You didn’t like driving in Seoul, Yoongi knew that. You did have a license, and you drove whenever you absolutely had to, but it wasn’t something you’d offer lightly. Not only wouldn’t he put you through that, but the option of sleeping over at your place tonight was an inviting one. 

You had spent the night at his place before, shared a bed, so it wasn’t the end of the world and wouldn’t make Yoongi spiral. But this was the first time that you’d share your bed. And somehow that felt like a new step you were taking in whatever this was. 

Yoongi moved around you to take the bottle opener resting on the counter behind you and you smiled at his acceptance grabbing the two wine glasses you had already left out. 

Once the drink was poured into the glasses, you made the move to sit on the small couch of your modest apartment and Yoongi followed you closely. 

Your apartment was a small one bedroom unit, with a tiny kitchen and small living room. Enough for a single woman living alone in Seoul. It was filled with creams, whites and a few pops of color here and there. Yoongi could already notice the pumpkin shaped candle holder on top of your center table, and the cookie jar that looked like a ghost on your kitchen counter. 

“I see you’re getting ready for halloween.” Yoongi pointed out.

“Oh, those have been out since October first.” you smiled, following his line of vision. You pulled a maple leaf printed cushion and rested it over your legs to sit comfortably.  “You have to see my room, it’s really cute.”

Yoongi chuckled, because he could imagine the sheets that must be in autumn colors, maybe some bunting and pumpkin shaped fairy lights. 

“I’m thinking I want to do Halloween differently this year.” you started again, softly swirling the wine in your glass.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Jiminie wants to go to Serendipity for costume night.” you were nodding as you told Yoongi of the plans. 

“Of course he does.” he mused. “What are you thinking about dressing as? Sexy Anne Rice again?”

“Oh my god, that wasn’t supposed to be sexy!” you giggled with a cute blush on your cheeks, hiding your eyes behind a hand. 

“The fang marks on your neck made it sexy.” Yoongi hadn’t seen you dressed in the costume that was supposed to represent your favorite writer, that would mean he actually went to the halloween party last year, but he got many selcas and pictures of the night. 

“Well, it was an homage to her Interview With a Vampire world.” you explained and he smiled, because that was just so you. 

“What are you thinking of changing this year?” he asked and you moved a little on your seat. 

“I’m thinking about a couple's costume.” you said, not looking at him, and Yoongi’s blood ran cold. “Maybe I’ll dress up as Agatha Christie. Now I just need to find my Poirot.”

“That’s, uhm–” Yoongi nodded, gaining time to drink a few long sips of his wine. 

How was he supposed to answer that? You were thinking of going to a club with someone else? Wearing a couple’s costume? You knew Yoongi didn’t go to clubs or parties, so you obviously didn’t mean you thought you and him should go together. It was easy to wonder if you were talking to someone on the side. 

On the side of what? Yoongi asked himself bitterly. It’s not like you two were dating in the first place. It was easy for him to forget about it, but you clearly didn’t. 

“Are you thinking of doing anything?” you pushed as the silence grew too thick. 

“Nah. My building might have trick or treaters again, so I’ll just give out candy.” he shrugged, bringing the glass to his lips. 

“I can help you with that!” 

“I’m sure you’ll find your Poirot by then and will be too busy for your friends.” 

That was a jab at himself, a way for him to get it through his head that that’s what the two of you were. You were just offering him help to be nice, because you were really nice. So nice you’d have anyone wishing to go to a club with you as your date. 

Yoongi included. If you asked him. 

“Yeah, we’ll see.” you sounded a little disappointed as you sipped quietly on your wine, but that could have been his own projecting. “So how’s the collab with PSY coming along?”

As you both sipped on your wine, Yoongi told you all of what he knew so far about That That. He’d have a meeting with the artist again this following week, to talk about their expectations and schedules, but he was staying positive. 

You were so excited for him, hanging off to his every word, asking questions and being so supportive of him and everything he did that his hunched shoulders turned a little straighter and his breathing got a little easier. 

There was no need to be worried right now, Yoongi decided, the more wine he drank, the further away the lump in his throat got. No matter what happened tomorrow, he still had tonight. 

“I really hope he makes you dance.” you were saying as you brought the dinner to the small table, making Yoongi scoff. 

“There’s no fucking way I’m dancing.” he told you with a squint, following you with the last of the banchans. 

“Oh, come on, you’d be so good at it!” you told him without an ounce of doubt, giggling as you turned to face him. “I’m sure you can move those hips!” 

Yoongi had a bowl of kimchi in one hand and another of fresh cabbage slaw in the other, so he had no way of protecting himself when you held him by the hips, making him turn this way and that as if you were proving he could dance. 

“Hajimaaaa.” he warned you with closed eyes and a laugh on his lips. 

“Admit it, you’d be great at shaking that ass!” you continued to sway him, both of your laughs mixing together as he was just trying to put the food down. 

“I will do no such thing.” 

With each step forward Yoongi took, you took one backwards, until you both reached the table and he could place the banchans down. His hands were now free, so he could take yours away from his hips and pin them to his chest. 

“Hajima.” he repeated, a little lower this time, as he could smell the wine on your breath from close to each other you were. 

“Or what?” you challenged with a pretty, innocent smile. 

“Or I’ll have to stop you myself.” 

“I think Min Yoongi is the greatest dancer this country has ever–”

Yoongi felt your smile against his as his lips pressed against yours, softly, but determined. He let go of your hands in order to hold both sides of your face as his lips moved against yours, tongue licking between your lips for you to part them for him. You were holding onto his shirt, little gasps leaving you as his tongue swiped at yours. 

Yeah. At least he had tonight. 

OCTOBER 21ST | 21:17

As it turns out, Yoongi did not have tonight. 

Towards the end of the dinner –which was delicious, by the way–, you started to grow a little restless. Too stuck in your mind at times, not really answering Yoongi’s questions as if there was something worrying you. And Yoongi knew not to push you, you’d tell him whatever was bothering you whenever you felt comfortable to do so. 

He knew something was really wrong when he got up to take the empty dishes to the sink and you didn’t try to stop him, nor did you move to help. You stayed in your spot, looking at the top of the table as if you were reading something really important there. 

And then it came, the three words that made Yoongi’s stomach drop: “Can we talk?” 

Yoongi left the dishes where they were, too nervous and hands too trembling for him to attempt to wash any of them. When he turned to you, you weren’t sitting at the table anymore, but standing in the living room, looking over at the city lights outside your window, arms around yourself as if you were trying to self soothe. 

“What’s up?” he asked you, voice wavering. 

“I’m not sure how I feel about this agreement anymore.” you were blunt and straight to the point. The dinner and the wine were trying to make a comeback, but Yoongi held himself together. 

“Oh.”

“I mean, I did learn a lot–I am learning a lot. Each time we… do something, it’s fun and nice and I really enjoy myself.” this is when you turned around to face him and it wasn’t fucking fair that you looked this good while you were about to break his heart. 

“Okay.” 

“Maybe you were expecting to have sex tonight–”

Hearing this made Yoongi take a couple steps to close the distance between you, but stopped short of touching you. “No, doll. Stop, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, you know I’d never push you.”

“I know.” you nodded softly, avoiding his eyes, twirling the ring on your finger. 

“We can just drop everything, I told you from the start.” he assured you once more, having to stick his hands into his pocket to stop himself from reaching out to touch you. He’d never get to touch you again. Pretending this wasn’t hurting him, that his hands wouldn’t shake if they were out of his pockets, that the lump in his throat wasn’t back. “There’s no pressure. You’re free to walk away whenever you want.”

“Yeah, okay.” you sniffed, as if you were about to cry. Yoongi’s heart broke for a whole different reason. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” he shrugged, even if he was positive nothing would ever be right again. 

“It’s not. I really didn’t mean for this to happen… God, I’m so silly.” you chuckled, but it was a heavy one. You took a step back, both hands on your waist as you shook your head. 

“You’re not silly, you wanted to make your book better.” Yoongi supplied. 

He wondered if he should just count his losses and leave, walk away with the little bit of dignity he still had left, make this easier for you as well. And he couldn’t even drive home, not with how much wine he had. He could take a cab and ask one of his friends to come back for his car tomorrow; what annoyed him was that he couldn’t even have Namjoon do that as payback when the man didn’t drive. 

“Yeah, and what do I do?” you asked, obviously a rhetorical question as you laughed at yourself.  “I ask the guy I have a crush on to help me.”

“What–”

“As if that crush wouldn’t turn into feelings!” you continued, waving a hand in the air. 

Yoongi’s mind was a mess as he tried to make sense of your words. His voice came out as a high pitched sound as he asked: “Feelings?”

“I know I made this awkward. I’ll understand if you need me to step away for a little while.” you said, still not looking at him, still talking to yourself as you started walking from one side to the other, hands and arms making random gestures. “You know what, if anything, Namjoon made this awkward.”

“Doll.”

“He knows how I’ve always felt about you, and you know what he told me just this afternoon?” you looked at him then, but it was fleeting. “That I should just confess! As if that was so damn easy.”

Yoongi’s lips split into a grin and suddenly the weight was lifted. His stomach stopped turning, but the butterflies were still there. His cold sweat wasn’t of anxiety anymore and the trembling in his body was from excitement, not dread. 

“Doll.”

“Well, this is the last time I’m ever listening to that giant fool–”

“Baby.”

At the term of endearment your mouth closed and you looked at Yoongi with wide, sparkling eyes. He walked to you then, hesitance flying out the window. When his hand touched your face, you didn’t flinch or pull away from him, leaning into his touch. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked softly, eyes closing, bottom lip pushing out. “Shouldn’t you be running?” 

“I should be doing exactly this.” Yoongi pressed his lips to your forehead and you let out a shuddering breath. 

“Yoon, it will only hurt more when you leave.” you pouted, and the producer guessed it was a good time to let you in on a little detail you seemed to still be missing. 

“What if I don’t leave, hm?” he lifted your face when you avoided looking at him. “What if I have feelings for you too?” 

“Well, that would be great, but–” you were about to start spinning again when you gasped. “Do you?” 

“Thought it was obvious.” he chuckled, gums out and everything. 

“Nuh-uh!” 

Your jaw dropped and you blinked slowly, kinda like a cat, letting his words sink in, the small brushing of his thumb on your cheek that dragged down to touch your bottom lip. Then your lips kissed the pad of Yoongi’s digit, he looked at your eyes to find nothing but joy. 

“Will you take me out on a date, then?” you asked, hands circling his torso in a hug. 

“I think we just had our first date.” Yoongi looked over his shoulder to the table where your dinner had been perfectly pleasant until the moment you got in your head. 

But Yoongi understood now why you were so restless, why you sunk in on yourself and barely touched your food towards the end of the dinner. He could imagine exactly all that had been plaguing your mind, as the same thing was running through his. 

“But I’ll take you on a second one.” he said, kissing your cheek. “And on a third one. And fourth one.” 

You were giggling and squeezing him as he kissed all over your face, just to hear more of your sweet noises. “Does that mean you’re my boyfriend now?” 

“If you want me to be.” Yoongi nodded, pulling his face away from yours so he could look into your eyes as he asked: “Do you want to be mine?” 

“I’ve been yours, babe.” your arms unwrapped from his middle so you could hug his shoulders. “You have no idea for how long.” 

“Let’s keep it that way, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You were smiling as Yoongi held your face a little firmer, pressed his lips to yours a little harder. It was just supposed to be a celebratory kiss, really, one that marked the end of your arrangement and the start of your relationship. Until he swiped his tongue between your lips and you parted them with a moan. Your hands slipped into his hair, his dropped to your waist. 

The wet sounds of your mouths sliding together were turning Yoongi’s happiness and elation into pure desire, greed and desperation. You were his now. Properly. Truly. You were with him because you had feelings for each other, not because of a silly book.

With the way you were pressing yourself to him, as if trying to melt and mold the two of you into one being, he could guess you were feeling the same way. When you pulled your lips from his, they were red and slightly swollen, and your eyes were like a kaleidoscope, pulling him in, making him dizzy with all of your colors and shapes. 

“You wanna see my room?” you invited, making Yoongi’s stomach do a flip. 

“I do wanna see your Halloween decor.” he nodded with a grin. 

You smiled and took his hand with yours, palms and fingers slotting together as if they belonged just like that. You dragged him out of the living room, through the short hallway and into your bedroom, turning the lights on to let him see the space. 

Your bedroom followed the same color patterns as the rest of the apartment, lots of whites and creams, but the apricot orange bed sheets complimented the halloween decorations sprinkled here and there. Your double bed was pressed against the furthest wall, right under a high window. Your dresser was cluttered with makeup, an opened jewelry box, a few papers and your laptop. On the headboard of your bed, a string light with little white ghosts was hanging, which you turned on as soon as you walked into the room. 

Next to your bed, on top of the white nightstand, was a book, a case of wireless earbuds Yoongi had gifted you on your last birthday, and a printed picture of you and him. It had been taken months ago, by Hoseok and one of his many disposable cameras, but Yoongi didn’t know you had kept it. 

“Ah.” you said with a small laugh, wrapping your arms around Yoongi’s middle as you noticed what he was looking at. “I was hoping you might see that and realize I’m in love with you.” 

“You could have my face as a blanket and I still wouldn’t have realized that.” Yoongi chuckled, pulling you to his front and bending down to pick you up. “It’s nice to hear it, though.” 

You squealed as he lifted you with strong arms, biceps bulging in his tight shirt as you wrapped your legs around his waist and held on. Your gasp made him feel really good about himself. 

“Bed?” you offered with a smile and an eyebrow wiggle. 

“Bed.” 

Yoongi was nodding as he took the two steps to reach your bed, holding you with a tight grip until he sat down against your headboard. The little plastic ghosts clinked and poked him in the back of the neck as he settled with you on his lap, making you giggle. 

“Come here.” Yoongi urged and you complied. 

Your small hands were on his chest, sliding on the silk fabric until your fingers came in contact with the triangle of skin created by the three buttons he left open –per Jimin’s advice–. Each of your legs were on one side of Yoongi’s hips, straddling him as you sat right on top of him. 

“Did I tell you that you look pretty tonight?” you asked him as you dragged your nails on his skin, nose touching his, lips brushing together. 

“Did I tell you that you look pretty every night?” he countered, eyes closing as he took your bottom lip between his teeth. 

You mewled softly, chasing Yoongi’s mouth once he let go of your lip. Your kiss was heated, deep, full of tongue and little moans that grew louder and louder as you started to rock your hips back and forward, dragging your core on Yoongi’s erection, making it feel harder and harder with every slow sway of your hips. 

Yoongi’s hands were moving up and down your legs, slipping under your dress and growing bolder as you pushed into his hands when they settled on your ass. He squeezed the flesh, fingertips dragging on the tiny material that felt like lace under his touch. 

His hips flexed up at the same time that you pressed down and the pressure on your core must have felt good, for you to throw your head back with closed eyes and parted lips. Yoongi took that as an invitation to kiss down your jaw, covering your throat in kisses, choosing a spot at the side of your neck to latch on. 

“Yes, babe–” you breathed out, a hand slipping into his hair as if you were trying to keep him there. 

“Mine.” he growled against your skin. 

Yoongi licked your neck, as if preparing the skin to take his mark, sucking on the soft patch once he deemed it warm enough. Yoongi suckled hard enough to hurt, but you were lighting up with the sting, skin blooming with a red and purple bruise. 

“All yours.” you nodded breathlessly, moaning as your hips never settled. 

With one arm around your waist, Yoongi trailed kisses on the length of your shoulder, knocking the tiny strap of your sundress down. Your movement made Yoongi pull back a little to watch you push the other strap of your dress down, looking at him with an inviting bite on your bottom lip. 

He was looking at you, gaze boring into yours, as his hands moved from under your dress to climb up your ribs to touch your breasts. They felt so full and soft and perfect as he squeezed both on each palm, your lips falling open with a sigh as he pulled the top of your dress down. 

Your breasts spilled free and Yoongi groaned, looking at your pretty, perky and pebbled nipples, shade a little darker than your own skin. 

“My eyes are up here.” you giggled, but you weren’t able to mask your nervousness. 

“Mhm, and I love them too.” Yoongi nodded, but his gaze stayed where they were, watching the mounds of your breasts move as he cupped them both, rolling your nipples with his thumbs. You gasped and whined, which prompted the question: “Sensitive?” 

“Guess so.” you nodded shyly, nails scraping at his scalp. “My own hands never really did much, but guess your fingers–ooh.” 

You gasped, closing your eyes as Yoongi watched your face contort in pleasure as he pinched your nipples between his pointer fingers and thumbs. 

“My fingers?” he probed, just to hear more of your shaky tone. 

“I love them.” you mewled. “You have really sexy hands, did you know?” 

Yoongi chuckled, not thinking much as he said: “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

Your grasp on his hair tightened as you stared at him right in the eye, lines between your eyebrows as you frowned. 

“Only I can have them now.” you stated with a hint of possessiveness that made Yoongi shiver. “Just so you know.” 

“I know, doll.” he told you so with a little chuckle that didn’t last long as his mouth met the heated skin of your collar bones. 

“Yeah?” you whined, squeezing his hair between your fingers. 

“Mhm, I’m all yours.” he told you in hopes of quelling your worries, even though your jealousy was hot. “And you’re all mine.” 

You whispered a tiny ‘okay’ that turned into a moan as Yoongi kissed his way to your breasts, choosing a nipple to latch on. His lips wrapped around the bud and he sucked it into his mouth, dragging his tongue around it to hear you make more of those delicious sounds, just for him. 

Pushing your chest harder against his face, you resumed the rocking of your hips, making him groan around your nipple, pulling off of it with a pop. As Yoongi switched to repeat the same treatment with your other nipple, you started to unbutton his shirt, button by button, getting a little worked up when your trembling fingers took longer to pop one open. 

“Can you lay down for me?” Yoongi asked as his kisses changed direction and his hands squeezed your hips. 

“Are we really doing this?” you asked with a nibble on your bottom lip, which made Yoongi pause. 

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” 

“No, no, I do, just… Don’t want you to think I asked to be your girlfriend so I could get in your pants.” you reasoned, making him laugh. 

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?” he mused. “You’ve been in my pants, baby.”

“Ahh, yeah, okay.” you giggled sweetly, moving off of his lap to keel on your bed. 

“Cute.” 

Yoongi was smiling like a fool in love as he moved to give you space to lay on your pillows, in the middle of your bed. While he pushed his shirt off his arms and let it fall on the floor, you pulled your sundress off the rest of the way. Yoongi’s breath got caught as he looked at you like that, for the first time, only a flimsy pair of panties on, which you removed even before you laid down for him. 

He wanted to tell you that you were absolutely perfect, gorgeous all over, but the way you spread your legs for him, as your hands rested on your lower stomach, lip worried between your teeth, Yoongi didn’t know any words anymore. 

Except maybe ‘want’ and ‘now’. 

Yoongi was lowering himself between your legs, laying on his stomach as he kissed your inner thighs, sucking on the signs of your arousal that he found there. You smelled so good and looked so wet that he couldn’t resist bringing two of his fingers to your pussy, spreading your lips so he could see all of you. 

You mewled as your back arched off the mattress, spreading your legs even wider for him. 

“You’re so tight, baby.” he teased as the tips of his fingers circled your little entrance, watching as it clenched at his words. “How am I ever going to fit here, hm?” 

“Been wondering the same thing, if I’m honest–” you chuckled breathlessly, hands falling to grab onto the comforter under you. 

“I’ll be gentle.” Yoongi told you as his middle finger pushed deeper inside you, just the tip, pulling it out to bring it to your clit. “Stretch you nice and slow at first.” 

“Yoongi–” you moaned as he flicked your bundle of nerves. 

“Gonna have to fuck you over and over again, so your body understands you’re mine.” he told you so, fingers touching you all over as his lips met your lower ones. “That okay with you, doll?” 

“Mhmm, so okay.” 

Yoongi’s fingers dragged down to your clenching hole again and stayed there, teasing your entrance, collecting more of your wetness, pushing in slowly but retrieving whenever your moaning became pained. Yoongi didn’t want to hurt you, he wanted you to feel nothing but pleasure and love. 

The flat of his tongue met your clit, lapping slowly and repetitively, until your moans became those of enjoyment. Once he was sure you were relaxed and content, Yoongi pushed the fingers into you again. He could feel your walls stretch to accommodate the digits, cock complaining inside his pants for being so constricted as all he wanted was to be buried inside you. 

The more he sucked on your clit, the more you moaned and moved your hips in little circles, pushing his fingers deeper and deeper inside you. You were growing wetter and wetter and Yoongi was swallowing every sweet drop you gave him. 

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly, between rubs of your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

“Doesn’t hurt as much anymore… Better than I thought.” you told him with a little whine. “Want more, babe.” 

“Yeah? Think you’re ready for me?”

“Born ready!” you chirped with a little drunk giggle and the nodding of your head. “Please fuck me.” 

Yoongi hummed and left one last kiss against your clit, which made you squirm and squeal. He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, scissoring them apart for good measure, to stretch you around them so you could take his cock. 

You moved up a little on your pillows, from where you had slipped down with all your squirming, attentive eyes watching all of him, making him grow a little shy. Yoongi could read the desire in your eyes, you wanted him as bad as he wanted you and it was making him fluster a little, neck and chest feeling a little hot. 

As he pulled his wallet from his back pocket you asked: “Are you buying anything right now?” 

“I’m getting a condom, doll.” Yoongi laughed at your wide eyes as you understood. 

“We don’t need one.” you told him while sitting up to touch his stomach and chest, kissing his lower belly as your hands got to work on his belt and button. “I’ve been on the pill since we started this.” 

“A–are you sure?” his stammering was what made you giggle no doubt. 

With your little nod, Yoongi let his wallet drop to the floor where his shirt lay discarded and helped you push his pants and underwear off in one go, baring himself to you just as you were to him. You smiled sweetly and playfully licked at his tip, sending a rocking shiver all over his body. 

“Jesus–” he hissed, taking a finger under your chin to make you look at him. “Lay down.” 

“Be gentle.” you begged with a pout, which Yoongi kissed. “Go slow.” another kiss, one that became a dragged moan as your hand wrapped around his shaft. “And make me cum all over your big cock–”

“Okay, lay down, now.” 

Your giggle was high pitched as Yoongi pinched your sides and had you squirming away from him to lay down on the bed. The man pushed your knees apart so he could lay on top of you, between your legs, heavy, painfully hard cock resting between your warm and slippery folds, making you both moan. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, nails and fingertips dragging up and down his back as he pulled you into a kiss. Yoongi kissed you slowly, deeply, full of passion and want and need. Your lips moved together as your tongues clashed with one another, breaths fanning each other’s faces. 

When you started to move your hips back and forth, rubbing yourself on his cock, Yoongi moaned into your lips and you took his bottom one into your mouth to suck on and drag between your teeth. 

His hand ventured between your bodies to stroke his cock a few times, teasing himself, pumping him to make him drip beads of pre-cum on your lips. He brushed the tip between your folds to open you up to him, leading his cock to your entrance. You started breathing harshly, so Yoongi kissed your cheek and jaw to relax you, whispering praises that made you calm down. 

“I promise it won’t hurt as much as you expect it to.” he told you and you hit him with a snort that screamed ‘how would you know?’ which made him bite back a little smile. “I’ll be careful. You’ll be begging me to fuck you harder in no time.” 

“Fuck, okay, I like that.” you writhed under him as he pressed his thumb to your clit to distract you from the sting as he pushed his cock into you, just the tip, breaching you for the very first time. “Shit, that’s– a lot.” 

“Just breathe, you’re doing so well…”

Yoongi was holding himself up with an arm, chest pressed against yours, your body so small in comparison to his. Your small hands were on each side of his neck, your lips pressed against the side of his face as you let out the prettiest little sounds. 

He was gentle with you, just as he promised, allowing you to get used to him, while holding back from taking you as he wanted. You felt so warm and so fucking tight, wet as slippery as he pushed in little by little, listening to your moans and stopping whenever you showed any signs of discomfort. 

Yoongi could feel you clenching around him as his cock throbbed inside you and he made the mistake to look down, where your bodies met, and he saw the way your cunt was swallowing him, swollen clit and puffy lips. 

“You’re amazing.” he told you as an afterthought. 

“Pretty sure you’re doing all the work–” you managed to croak out. 

“I’m sorry it hurts, baby.” he leaned down to kiss the frown between your brows, the pout on your lips. 

“It feels good.” you whispered against his lips as they found yours. “Just feel so full, but it’s nice.” 

“Yeah? Can I move a little?” 

“Mhmm, you can.” 

With desperation, you parted your mouth to take Yoongi’s lips and he kissed you back, the hand between the two of you easily finding your clit to rub it in small circles as his hips pulled out and then fucked him back in, making you cry out. The more you moaned, the more he rolled your clit to distract you and little by little you opened up to him, making the slide in and out a little easier. 

Soon he couldn’t see any traces of pain in your pretty face, and that’s when he started to let go of his own restraints, starting to fuck you in a quicker pace that would catapult him into a different dimension with how hard you were squeezing him and how deep your nails were sinking in on his skin. 

Your body was rocking with each fuller thrust and harsher pace, little cries of yes, yes, yes! letting him know that it was okay and you could take it. 

“You feel so good, baby–” his voice was broken as his hips snapped back and forward. “I didn’t think anything could be better than your mouth, but–” 

“Good to know you liked my blowjob so much.” you bantered, a dopey smile on your lips. “I can suck you off anytime you–fuck, Yoongi!” 

Instead of fucking in and out of you, Yoongi tentatively rolled his hips, pressing deeper and harder, and you seemed to like that, wrapping your legs around him to keep him close to you. 

“Like this?” he gruffed next to your ear. 

“Yeah, right there–oh my god, the fuck is that–” 

Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh as his cock started to repetitively hit your g-spot with each new shallow thrust that was still enough to make you bounce under him, some so strong that it made the little ghosts on the headboard shake. 

“I’m gonna cum, babe, please–!” 

You warned but he already knew it. Could feel you squeeze him impossibly tight, walls milking him for his own release, but he wouldn’t get there before you did. His thumb rolled your clit in quick figure eight movements, despite the tight fit for his arm between the two of you, as his hips pulled almost all the way out, only to snap back in and roll against yours. 

The noises of the creaking bed under your combined weights and the skin slapping against skin only lost to your loud yelp as you let go and your orgasm washed over you. Yoongi’s mouth latched onto your nipple to suck and you trembled all over, twitching with the aftershocks as your climax lasted and lasted. 

Your cunt was clamping so tight, sucking him in so strongly that Yoongi couldn’t even pull out of you, he just stayed there, letting your pussy milk his orgasm out of him. You both moaned together, bodies sticking with sweat, hugging each other for dear life as Yoongi filled you up. 

As your breathing calmed down, Yoongi stayed close to you, peppering kisses all over your face. 

“I love you.” he finally told you, hearing your tiny chuckle of bliss. 

“I know.” 

“Do you, now?” he laughed, pulling out of you slowly to fall onto the bed next to you, trying not to crush you with his weight. 

“Mhm. You wouldn’t fuck me this good if you didn’t.” you grinned, trying to mask a wince as you were empty again, legs closing shut to keep his mess inside.

“You’d be surprised.” Yoongi joked, which earned him a slap to the chest. 

“Stop making me jealous!” you whined, but couldn’t hold onto your pout as you laughed. 

“I didn’t know you were so jealous, doll.” 

Yoongi got up from your bed, not bothering to put his clothes back on as he left your room to walk into your bathroom. There he found more makeup bits, perfumes he knew well, and a vampire soap dispenser that made him laugh. 

“You have no idea how many times I had to tell Kai you were straight.” you were saying as Yoongi looked through your cabinet to grab a clean towel, almost hitting his head on the marble top as he heard you. 

“Wait, what?” 

Once the small tower was wet, and his dick was properly clean, he made it back to your room to find your abashed little smile. 

“You know Kai, the guy from our coffee shop?” you said as if it should be obvious. “He keeps hitting on you, but you’re always clueless. So he keeps asking me what’s your deal and I always tell him you don’t like boys.” 

“You’re kinda right, I just like you.” 

Yoongi couldn’t help but be amused about this new development, but as long as Kai was into him, Yoongi wouldn’t have to worry he might be into you. And it offered many opportunities for him to make you a little jealous, maybe a little more possessive over him. 

Not that you ever had anything to worry about, as far as Yoongi was concerned, he’d belong to you for as long as you wanted him. 

He got back to the bed and helped you pry your legs open, just so he could clean the mess the two of you had made together, both choosing to stay naked as you pulled him back to lay down next to you. 

You were laying on his chest as you said:

“That was so good, Yoon.” 

“Yeah?” he squeezed you a little tighter against his chest, lips pressing to the crown of your head. “Better than the pie?” 

“The pie!”

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list of fan fic recommendations by AU

these are fan fictions that i've read / yet to read that i've organised so it's easier to find them. all the fics are super cool and non-cringe so you've definitely got to read em.

so far i've updated some of the jjk fan fics, there's more to update which i'll do later during this week. pjm and myg fics will also be updated.

and i'll be updating them at the end of every month when i come across new fics.

Jeon Jungkook fics

best friends/childhood friends AU

brother's bestfriend/bestfriend's boyfriend AU

single dad AU

enemies to lovers AU

exes to lovers AU

fantasy AU

fake dating AU

fuckboy AU

friends with benefits AU

idol/popstar/celeb AU

roommates AU

strangers to lovers AU

soulmates AU

teacher AU

yandere AU

Park Jimin fics

will be updating ...!

Min Yoongi fics

will be updating....!

Call You Mine [MYG]

Plot: "I never regretted the day that I called you mine..." 

A Min Yoongi/Agust D one-shot. 

That's it. That's the summary. I have nothing else to say. 

Happy Birthday Min Yoongi!

Rating: PG // SFW

Genre: fluff | romance | idol romance | one-shot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: None

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 1,912

AN: Wee. It’s late. I’m late. I’m always late. Who’s surprised? Not me. Happy Birthday Lil Meow Meow! All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

"Who are you?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Your breathing shifted just now."

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. That was how he always responded when you asked him that. Was it because you knew him so well? Or were you just anxious? Maybe it was a mixture of both. Either way, it was something you didn't want to admit aloud.

Not to yourself. Not to him.

"Does it matter?" he asked. 

Of course it mattered! 

You didn't respond, determined to get your answer first.

He flashed you a mischievous grin, a bit of his silver fringe falling along the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you guess?"

You felt your lips pulling into a pout, mustering what patience you had to not smack his bare chest with all the strength you could manage this late in the night. Even in the low light, he must have seen the disapproving look you were giving him. Lifting one hand up, he lightly poked your forehead and you whined at being teased. You knew he did this to get a rise out of you. He also knew how important it was for him to give you an answer.

It bothered you how much he always dragged his feet on this matter. The more logical side always reminded you to have patience. This was his own personal game that he liked to play with you. Sometimes he would win. Sometimes you did. 

No one was really keeping score anymore.

You didn't want to guess. You didn't feel like playing this game tonight. To showcase your intent, you roughly pulled from his side and flipped over on the bed to turn your back to him. This must have surprised him because he didn't start laughing at your reaction. In fact, the bed was absolutely still - your breaths barely audible in the dark.

Warmth touched the flare of your hip as he placed his hand there. You tried not to relish in his touch, but it was difficult. After everything you'd gone through to get to this moment, it was only self-inflicted pain to ignore him. Part of you knew to stand your ground. The other part was willing to give in to his advances.

Because you loved him so much. Because you loved all of him…so much.

“Hey,” he called softly, reaching over your stomach and pulling you close to his body, “remember when we first met? At that bar in that one town?”

You bit back a scoff. Like you could forget. He never made it easy for you to, even if you wanted to. 

You kept silent, not wanting to cater to his need to hear your voice. To hear how, even now, you found yourself in an endless loop of falling in love with him each and every single day. To him, you were a lifeline for survival. To you, he was the reason you pushed through your tiresome work week.

The bar was crowded that night. It was an average Friday evening. You were out with friends, hitting the town and it was the third bar on the stop of your group’s infamous “bar hops”. Nothing was special about that night. It was just the end of another long work week for you. Another end of being a faceless number down a long hall of cramped cubicles and endless phone calls. A moment’s reprieve from jittering printers and raucous fax machines.

Two days of escape from being a nameless paper pusher in a seemingly endless cycle of meaningless.

He walked through the doors with his entourage - exuding purpose and power. They were celebrating another successful performance and chatter about said performance was the first thing you heard as they burst through the door. You watched him go straight up to the bar and buy it out, saying everyone’s drinks for the rest of the night were on him.

You envied his smile. You envied his “can do” attitude that dripped from every square inch of his body.

But it was his freedom that made you jealous the most.

You weren’t wearing anything particularly fancy that night. A pair of acid washed jeans stuffed in combat boots, a loose sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. Hell, even your hair was in a messy up-do. After all, you weren’t looking for an easy score that night. Your plans to get laid were the furthest thing from your mind.

Yet there was no mistaking the way he zeroed in on you. Out of all the patrons in the bar, you were the one he decided to nail his focus to. You were the one who somehow managed to get his attention.

So, what should have been a night of blissfully getting toasted with your friends turned into something much different.

Feeling his lips against the nape of your neck, you felt your breath hitch slightly as his mouth moved to speak. “I asked you what you were doing for the rest of your life.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from your chest, causing you to curl up into a ball as you covered your mouth. It was one of the most absurd questions you’d ever been asked. Who even asked something like that in this day and age? What you were doing tomorrow? Sure. What you were doing next weekend? Of course.

The rest of your life, however, held a different weight altogether.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing tonight,” came your amused reply as you lowered your hands from your face. You still refused to look at him. “That’s what I said.”

The memories were flooding in quickly. His looks. The low dulcet sound of his voice. Even the cute little lisp he had when he spoke excitedly about something. His hair was a different color back then; jet black with an undercut. 

Everything changed in that one conversation. 

Despite his big spending at the bar, you knew he wasn’t well off. Not yet. But he had big dreams. He had drive. Money didn’t grow on trees and his dream would yield fruit if it prospered. Music, however, was such a shaky basket to throw all of your eggs into. But his passion and determination made you believe that he was telling the truth; that nothing would stop him from succeeding. He was determined and there was a small part of you that wished for his success. Somebody needed to grow wings and fly.

But the conversation didn’t take long to reverse back to you. On to your current occupation and your overall distaste with how things were going in your own life. It was a dead end road. You knew this. Somewhere along the way, you even accepted it. Some people were paper pushers and others were the stars that people could admire from afar. You had no place in that world. Your meager complaints and tiny goals could hardly hold a candle to the strength of his burning ambition.

That’s what you believed in the beginning.

You should’ve known better. 

After his friends and yours all got together to finish the bar hop for the night, your groups eventually wound up near the outskirts of town at a park. The drinking, laughter and flirting continued. He was never far from your side and neither were you from his. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, his hand found its way into yours, holding it close. Your lips touched soon after and it was a magical moment.

That was the beginning of the end for  you.

Days rolled into weeks. Weeks into months. You looked forward to the weekends not to escape the dreary worklife you found yourself trapped in, but to see his performances in underground venues and fringe shows. The energy he exuded from the stage was intoxicating and the cheers from the crowd as he pumped them up was contagious. It only took a few shows and you were screaming and hopping around like an idiot like the rest of them.

Afterward, your groups would meet again to drink and celebrate in the success of the show. It wasn’t embarrassing for you all to run through the streets, screaming and shouting as the thrill of the night cloaked you from head to toe. Bottles of beers in your hands, you ran through crowds and stumbled down stairs in hopes of catching the last train home. You both cuddled in a drunken haze together as everyone talked all over one another - wrapped up in their own conversations.

It was only then that it became apparent that the person you were slowly falling for had two personas. One for the stage and one for when it was just the two of you. Sometimes they bled into one another. Sometimes they were kept far apart from each other.

Agust D and Min Yoongi.

As his success continued to build, your anxiety mounted - worrying about where your place was in his life. More months passed and the venues started to change. You knew there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to go to a performance because it was in the middle of the work week. Or maybe it was too far for you to travel. You couldn’t risk taking off of work for something “trivial” like a concert performance. That’s what your managers would say. They would belittle you for inconveniencing the rest of your co-workers. 

You had an image to maintain.

When he showed up on stage with silver hair, you knew that it was time. Agust D was rising to a level of stardom you wouldn’t be able to compete with. Fans cheered and remained loyal. Fans who were willing to drop any plans they had to hit the road and support their idol. They’d been around far longer than you had; had been cheering for him during a time when you didn’t even know he existed. 

It was the life he’d chosen; one you knew was going to take wing.

How were you supposed to stay close beside him? How were you going to continue to nurture this thing that existed between you both?

Feeling his arms wrap around your bare stomach, he pulled you even closer. You could feel his heartbeat slowly bumping against your shoulder blades. Yoongi pressed a kiss behind your ear, one of your weak spots, before allowing his tongue to glide along the curve of your jaw. You resisted the urge to moan at how he made you feel, both in that moment and every moment before now.

“I never regretted the day that I called you mine…”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, blurring your vision. Part of you wanted to curse him for his words. For his way with words. But that was how he always was. On the stage or off, it didn’t matter. It was his answer for any worry that threatened to smother you into a dark pit of no return.

Slowly, you turned in his arms. Yoongi’s eyes peered at you, his brows furrowing with concern despite the smirk playing on his lips. 

“Do you know the answer?”

That was the answer to your question. It was always going to be the answer.

Lifting your arms up, you wrapped them around his neck and leaned in, your lips barely touching his. “You’re Min Yoongi…” This time, you could feel your own smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “...and you’re mine.”

Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 07: Oblivion

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: series | historical!au | fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04 05 06

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,414

Tag List: @luxekook, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @stillcopingxx, @taevkimchi, @aroseforyoongi, @vivpurple7, @happilystrongthroughthedark, @sw33tnight, @nikkitane, @mini-coop25, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland​ @hobigif-ficrecs​​

AN: Hmmm...the plot thickens... Yeah, I have nothing else haha. Enjoy? Love me? All of the above? 

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” - Oscar Wilde

“Cheers!”

Everyone knocked their wooden bowls together, causing some of the rice wine to spill from the brim. Hearty laughter and the overall bustle of the market served as the ambient backdrop to celebration. Yoongi waited for the other troupe members to drink before pressing his own lips against his bowl. The wine was sweet and went down smoothe, filling his chest and stomach with a warm feeling. 

Bowls of food were passed around and chatter quickly filled the absence of words in the middle of slurping down alcohol. A small measure of pride filled Yoongi’s heart as he watched his friends wrap their arms around each other, singing songs as they continued to fill their empty bowls. It was the first time he’d felt a sense of true accomplishment in his life. In terms of work, he contributed little. But the success was shared by all; the true feeling permeating throughout the group. 

When morning came, he hoped this feeling would remain with him.

But even amid all the celebration, Yoongi couldn’t shake the confusion that nestled itself deep within his heart. He hadn’t made any mistakes, but he almost did. That very moment when he faced the Royal Banquet table. The image shocked him to his core and he could only stand there frozen. How could he not?

Who would be able to think properly after seeing their own face staring back at them?

Yoongi wasn’t mistaken. Except for the lack of a scar on his face, the Crown Prince looked identical to him! But how was that possible? His father never mentioned that he had a brother. He assumed that he was the only child of his mother after she passed away. He’d heard tales of doppelgangers existing in the world, but those were just myths. None of it was real.

Unless there was something his father failed to mention to him, he had no other choice but to believe in said myths. Yet an even more disturbing question plagued the back of Yoongi’s mind. One he didn’t want to give voice to. But it was the only query that made sense.

After all, it was impossible for a doppelganger to be attached to the Royal Family.

He narrowed his eyes as he stared down into the empty bowl in his hand. ...does that make me the imposter?

He felt his body tip over slightly as Jungkook all but threw himself against Yoongi. He blinked, watching as his friend grabbed the wine jug to pour him another drink. “Hyung-nim, let me pour you a drink in your honor!”

Yoongi scoffed as his bowl was taken from him. Jungkook nearly reeked of wine. It was a miracle he could hold the wine jug and bowl in his hands as steady as he was. “The honor isn’t mine alone, you know?”

“Nonsense!” Hoseok sputtered a laugh, waving a cooked chicken leg in his hand. “We would’ve been in real trouble if you hadn’t stepped in for us when you did, Hyung-nim!”

Jimin drained his bowl of wine as the tavern owner reappeared with another jug of wine. “He’s right. The performance went as well as it did because you practiced so hard.”

A slight warmth touched Yoongi’s cheeks and he scratched at the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed. He didn’t think what he did was all that great. He just rehearsed the lines given to him and practiced the choreography that Hoseok taught him. All the credit belonged to the troupe. He was just happy to be able to fulfil his end of the skit to the best of his ability. 

“Though I must admit…” Taehyung lifted his wine bowl up to his face. “...something’s been bothering me.”

Everyone turned to look at Taehyung. He took a sip of wine, his eyes zeroing in on Yoongi’s face. The straw hat Jimin gave him was draped along his back, the string beads pressing against his throat. Yoongi shifted his gaze between each of his friends. Clearly there was something weighing on their minds. Only a blind man wouldn’t have been curious. 

Namjoon spoke first. 

“Hyung-nim?” He scratched at the hair beneath his headband. “Did you see it too?”

Yoongi remained silent. There were a lot of things he’d seen. That didn’t mean they all saw the same thing. He refused to speak on the matter that was currently plaguing his mind.

Suddenly, Seokjin was in his line of sight - practically touching nose to nose with him. Yoongi leaned back as far as he could, feeling uncomfortable at how abrupt his friend’s actions were. But instead of giving him space, Seokjin leaned closer - clasping his cheeks between his palms. Blinking wildly, Yoongi sputtered and tried to break free of Seokjin’s hold.

“W-What do you think you’re doing?”

“You both have the same face.” His friend’s eyes narrowed. “Except for the lack of a scar, your faces are exactly the same.”

It was like ice cold water from a well was dropped on top of him. Yoongi’s lips parted and, again, he tried to break away from Seokjin. Feeling his friend’s fingers digging into his cheeks, he knew there was no chance of escape. Instead, he lifted his gaze to the others and saw they were all thinking the same thing. Peering at him curiously, Yoongi felt a sense of dismay circulating inside of his chest. He was hoping that he was only imagining things. He prayed that it was just a trick of the light, or the last dregs of wine in his system from their pre-performance celebrations.

After what felt like a small lifetime, Seokjin let Yoongi go and the table was unusually quiet. Normally this was the time for Jungkook to chime in with some stupid joke. Or he’d perform some silly act to get everyone to laugh. But as he stared into his friends’ eyes, Yoongi realized just how heavy the atmosphere was.

Pressing his fingers into his forehead, he sighed. “I...I know.” It was the only answer Yoongi could give. 

Taehyung reached across the table to grasp his wrist. “Hey, we know you might be feeling a bit strange.” He chuckled. “It’s a little weird for us and it’s not even our problem.”

Hoseok hummed to himself, folding his arms across his chest. “I would say it’s a wonder that you went this long without realizing it. But considering where you live and whose face you share, I’m not all that surprised.”

“What do you mean?” Jimin asked the question before Yoongi could. 

Everyone peered at Hoseok, waiting for his reply. Had he managed to put one of the pieces of the puzzle down?

“Think about it.” He clasped his hand against the side of his neck. “Hyung-nim spent most of his life in the mountains. Away from the Crown City.” They all nodded. “And commoners don’t really get a chance to see the Royal family’s faces all that often. Even if they did, they wouldn’t know it.”

“Hoseok’s right,” chimed Namjoon, his brows furrowing, “and Yoongi Hyung-nim was just as surprised as the rest of us were.” He met Yoongi’s eyes. “Your father never mentioned anything to you? Not once?”

Yoongi’s immediate urge was to scoff, but even that action was lodged in his throat. He shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

He recalled Kali’s words and everything was horrifyingly clear. And now he understood why his father kept him from venturing out to the Crown City. Feeling a cold sweat form on his brow, Yoongi reached for the wine jug and began pouring more into his bowl. In that moment, he felt like the only thing he could do to chase this knowledge from his mind was to drown it completely in alcohol. Trembling hands lifted the bowl to his face and he swallowed the wine in three gulps. 

Jimin grasped for his hands, pulling the bowl and jug away from him. “Slow down, Hyung-nim!” He frowned. “You’ll make yourself sick!”

“Leave me alone! Let me get drunk, would you?!” Yoongi slammed his fists down on the table, forcing all the clayware to bounce up. Wooden spoons and chopsticks clattered to the ground, causing a few of the patrons to hush their conversations to determine where the ruckus was coming from. “I don’t know what the hell is going on! If I did, don’t you think I’d tell you guys?” He buried his face into his hands, feeling his fringe tickling the backs of his knuckles. “I don’t know how I’d even begin asking my father about this.”

Getting caned over traveling to the Crown City was the least of his concerns. 

“Then why don’t we get the answers ourselves?”

All eyes were on Taehyung as he flashed his boxy smile at them. Yoongi sputtered a laugh and he wasn’t sure if he was drunk or not. There was no way he heard him right.

“Come again?” Hoseok settled his hands onto his hips. “You want to do what?”

Scoffing, Taehyung canted his head slightly. “We’re actors, guys. Getting into the palace is a simple thing.”

“Simple in what way, Taehyung-ah?” Jimin gave an erratic gesture. “Don’t you know how heavy security is at the palace?”

“We don’t even have our passes anymore.” Namjoon tossed a bit of mackerel into his mouth. “We can’t just come and go as we please.”

The sly look that painted Taehyung’s features gave everyone pause. He reached into his tunic, fished around, and pulled out the item within. Dangling from a silk cord was a rectangular block carved from jade. Etched and inked on one side were characters in a language Yoongi knew most at the table couldn’t read. But he could. He recognized it for what it was. Yoongi nearly jumped from his seat, the table stopping him as his knees crashed into it. Everyone slapped their hands on the surface to keep it from toppling over.

“Have you gone insane, Taehyung-ah?!” Yoongi hissed as he rubbed his knees. “Where did you even get that?!”

Taehyung twirled the jade pass on his index finger, catching the block in his palm as he leaned forward. “Would you believe me if I told you I found it?”

“Yeah, right.” Seokjin smirked. “And I’m King Jumong of Goguryeo's reincarnated spirit.”

“Well, I did,” Taehyung said, ignoring Seokjin’s sarcasm, “and since I know we have a replica of a similar pass in our props, it won’t be difficult to get back into the palace.” He smirked. “But we’ll only have one chance to do this. Whatever information we can get, we have to do it all tonight.”

Yoongi’s chest hurt with how hard his heart was thundering against it. This was crazy. If any of them got caught, they’d be thrown in prison. Or worse: executed. But it would be a lie if he didn’t yearn for answers to the hundreds of thousands of questions circulating inside of his head. Why did the Crown Prince look exactly like him? Had his father known the reason behind it? And if so, who was the Crown Prince to him? Was Yoongi living the life he was always meant to, or was the Crown Prince?

Where, exactly, was Yoongi supposed to be?

“I’m going.”

Namjoon shook his head roughly. “No. That’s out of the question, Hyung-nim.”

He cut his eyes at him. “Why not?”

Hoseok hung his head. “Come on, Hyung-nim. Isn’t it obvious?” He gave a small smile. “Your face kinda sticks out a bit, don’t you think?”

Yoongi was aggravated. He didn’t want to be stuck depending on his friends to find the answers for him. They were going to willingly throw themselves into the flames just to sate his curiosities? He couldn’t very well ask them to do that. Not for him.

Jimn must have read his expression because he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright, Hyung-nim. We’re happy to do it.” He smiled, closing his eyes as he laughed. “We’re friends, right?”

Biting down on his lower lip, Yoongi felt his shoulders sag a bit. “Of course we are, but that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with putting you all in danger.” 

“Look, I know we’re all a little drunk, but let’s go ahead and map this out.” Namjoon reached into his satchel and pulled out a bit of paper and a small ink brush. He spread the paper out across the table so everyone could look at it. “Nobody ask me how I got my hands on this. I’m taking it to my grave.” 

“How much did this even cost you?” Hoseok looked down at the map and then back up at Namjoon. Yoongi was just as curious. 

Namjoon dipped the brush into a small ink block. “You don’t want to know. Every time I think about it, my eyes get watery.”

“Leave it to you to have this, Hyung-nim.” Jungkook’s expression was mischievous. “Don’t tell me you were planning on doing something criminal, hm?”

“Just having it is a crime!” Seokjin laughed as he covered his eyes. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Taehyung leaned forward, the excitement clear in his eyes. “So who’s going with me?”

“I am.” Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Mostly because I don’t trust you to stay out of trouble.”

He puffed one side of his cheek out and Yoongi smiled. “That’s harsh, even for you.”

Closing his eyes, Jimin turned his face away in defiance. “And because it was your idea to indulge in this madness, you’re wearing the dress.”

Taehyung balked, his jaw nearly hitting the table. “W-What?! That’s nonsense!” He pointed at Jimin. “I’ve already worn a dress once today! I’m not doing it again.” He put on a devilish smile. “Besides, you look more girly than I do. You should wear the dress!”

Jimin grabbed him by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. Yoongi reached out to stop him, but Namjoon prevented him from doing so. When he looked back at him, he smiled and shook his head while Taehyung continued to whine and gripe about the pain he was in. Once Taehyung gave in to Jimin’s “methods of persuasion”, everyone quickly crowded around the map. The hardest thing wasn’t getting into the palace. That would be easy.

Yoongi was more worried about how they were going to manage to get out. And do so in one piece.

Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 8: Another Today

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: series | historical!au | fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04 05 06 07

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 3.271

Tag List: @luxekook, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @stillcopingxx, @taevkimchi, @aroseforyoongi, @vivpurple7, @happilystrongthroughthedark, @sw33tnight, @nikkitane, @mini-coop25, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland​ @hobigif-ficrecs​​

AN: I really don’t know what else to say in these notes anymore lol. So just enjoy the ride!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“On today’s long road, even if I fall, I will walk again.” - Jung Jaeil

Few words were spoken between the Crown Princess and himself. Yoon didn’t mind. He preferred the quiet. It gave him time to mull over thoughts that circulated inside of his head. The expedition to Ming would not be a short one. He anticipated that he would be gone for a month. Maybe longer, depending on how things panned out as he fulfilled his duties as Joseon’s liaison. He wasn’t expecting anything problematic, but he wasn’t planning for everything to go smoothly either. Anyone could make an attempt on his life at any time. Worse, he could wind up as a hostage in Ming in order to twist his father’s arm to obtain whatever they wished and on their terms.

Yoon certainly wasn’t about to let that transpire. Not while he was still breathing.

“I’m happy you enjoyed the banquet, Cheo-ha.” The Crown Princess’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to look at her, seeing the gentle smile on her face. 

He reached out to take her hand in his and he watched a soft flush crown her cheeks. “I think it’s more important that you enjoyed yourself, Ping-goon.”

She nodded, making sure to match his pace as they walked through the palace. Their attendants followed closely, but were far enough away to give them some semblance of privacy. They continued to walk in companionable silence until they reached a bridge. Pausing for a moment, they peered over the edge to view the lake as it showcased the moon’s pale reflection. 

Thoughts of Kalina lingered in the back of Yoon’s mind. He wanted to be able to see her before he made his long journey. There was a greedy and gluttonous part of him that yearned to be able to feel her soft skin beneath his palms once more. But he knew what kind of person the sorceress was. She’d indulged him once and wished him a safe journey. That would be all she would spare; even for him. 

He hated that he couldn’t tether her to his person at all times.

“Forgive me for asking...” Chae-Ok lifted her face as he looked at her. “...will Your Highness stay with me in Magnolia Pavilion tonight?”

There was an unmistakable look of pining etched on her features. Yoon’s brows furrowed and he felt the Crown Princess’s hand gripping his own just a little harder. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he waited for her to continue.

She averted her gaze. “Please allow me to serve you.”

Again, silence. Yoon heard his heart slightly thumping in his ears. It was rare for Chae-Ok to be so forward. But there was also the duty that she had as a Crown Princess. She had to produce an heir in order to bring security to the royal household. As many times as they tried, they were unsuccessful. The royal physicians said she was healthy so there was no issue with her being able to bear children. The problem was most likely due to stress and timing. 

Yoon’s own heart was an issue as well. It wasn’t that his wife lacked the ability to satisfy him. Basic male urges were something that could easily be sated. It wasn’t like with women who, more often than not, needed to have an emotional connection with the person they shared a bed with. But even Yoon secretly held himself back when he laid with his wife. 

Was it because he wasn’t ready to be a father yet? Or to have the responsibilities that came with being a parent? He still felt so out of touch with the world and there was much that he needed to learn. He felt so inferior to his father and while the ministers in the court respected Yoon, he knew it was simply because of his title. That type of loyalty had a weak foundation and would crumble under his feet if he wasn’t careful.

Smiling, he reached out to pull Chae-Ok into his arms. She gasped, pressing her palms against his chest. Yoon rested his cheek along the side of her temple, breathing in the fragrant scent of rose petals. 

“Of course, Ping-goon,” he whispered, feeling her fingers curling into the front of his robes. Yoon chuckled when he thought he heard her smothering a sob. Patting her back, he pulled her even closer to him. “Forgive me, Crown Princess. I haven’t been very attentive to you, have I?”

She rapidly shook her head back and forth and he chuckled. “That’s not true, Crown Prince! I know how busy you have been with your studies and duties within the palace. What right do I have to complain?”

Pulling back, he cupped her cheeks in his palms and lifted her face up so he could see the pink tinting her cheeks. When two tears leaked from her eyes, Yoon used his thumbs to sweep them away. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, sighing softly against her skin.

“You have every right to complain. And you should.” He clasped the back of her neck, tilting her face upward again. “Tell me your worries and share your burdens with me.”

Yoon felt her trembling beneath his hands. “C-Cheo-ha…”

He smiled again, his shoulders relaxing a measure. “And when I return, you can continue to do so.”

Chae-Ok smiled, her lower lip quivering slightly as she nodded. They grasped hands once more, their destination within the palace set. While he knew that he could not give her his entire heart, he wanted to be fair. Yoon wouldn’t deny her what little of himself he could give. 

He owed her that much at least.

Jimin pressed his body against the wall, his spine tense as his muscles seemed to coil - ready to spring into action should the need arise. Internally, he was hating every second of this. If one thing went wrong, they were going to be thrown into the palace jail immediately. And that was if they were lucky. If fortune decided not to favor the brave this evening, they would be tortured and killed before the rooster crowed.

But as much as he hated to admit it, Taehyung’s little ruse seemed to have worked. 

Much to his chagrin, Taehyung opted to dress as one of the palace maidservants. Jimin donned the robes and role of a palace eunuch. As long as they didn’t draw too much attention to themselves, they would be able to move in and out of the palace without much constraint. The number of servants within the palace walls was almost too much for any person to truly fathom. Hence why passes and records were kept. But at night, there were fewer servants wandering since most hated the night watch schedule.

That didn’t make Jimin’s anxieties any less, however.

The sudden sound of hurried footsteps brought Jimin to full alert. His eyes narrowed when he saw Taehyung running with his skirts hiked up all the way to his waist. They both huddled down behind the bushes where they wouldn’t be seen. 

“I’m glad you were smart enough not to run around with a lamp.” 

Taehyung rolled his eyes as he bunched up the skirts around his thighs so he could squat more comfortably. “I’m not an idiot, Hyung-nim.” He smirked, then pointed at the sky. “Besides, the moon is really bright tonight. I don’t need one. The gods are blessing our little excursion.”

“Or cursing it.” Jimin frowned as he pulled the map Namjoon gave him out from the confines of his robes. “Were you able to find out anything?”

“No, not too much.” He leaned forward a bit. “Though there’s a rumor going around that the king’s special guest is here.”

“Special guest?” Jimin lofted a brow. “What kind of special guest?”

Taehyung folded his arms across his chest. “Apparently he’s an old friend of the king.” He shifted his gaze down at the map, but Jimin knew he wasn’t actually looking at it. “I also heard that he was His Majesty’s former bodyguard.”

“How far up in rank was he?”

“He wasn’t just a bodyguard.” Taehyung met Jimin’s gaze. “He was the bodyguard. Like, his former Commander.”

Jimin hummed to himself as he rested his elbows on his knees. “Any reason why he would be here?”

Taehyung shook his head. “No. But I heard from some of the servants that he comes to visit every few years. He doesn’t stay for very long, but their chats are usually pretty private.” He frowned. “The king even dismisses most of his staff when he comes by. That’s pretty suspicious, don’t you agree?”

Nodding, Jimin quickly glanced over the map to gauge their current surroundings. He pointed to one spot. “Well, we’re not too far from the King’s palace. The problem is blending in well enough to not get noticed by the other servants.”

“I figured you would want to get closer.” He saw the triumphant smirk spreading over Taehyung’s features. “I already paid off a eunuch and maidservant to let us take their shift for a few hours. They also serve at the king’s palace.”

Narrowing his eyes, he sucked in air through his teeth. “...I’m not even going to ask you how you managed to get away with that.” Jimin cuffed the side of his head. “We’re not going to be staying around that long, you fool!”

Taehyung whined as he rubbed his scalp. “C’mon, it’s all I could manage, alright?” He quickly craned his neck back and forth. “But we need to go now. I told them we’d relieve them in the next half hour.”

“Dammit, Taehyung-ah! We’re not that close to the King’s palace right now!”

Jimin quickly folded the map and stuffed it back into his robes. They both stood up, making haste across the stone pathways. They had to be swift and careful. If any palace guards thought they looked suspicious, they would have to make a hasty exit and run for their very lives.

Dojin smirked as he watched the King puzzle over what move to make next in their game of Go. There were times when he would let the King win, simply in the name of their old friendship. Other times, he would opt to wipe the board with his pieces - trapping his friend and giving him no room to escape. The King claimed he was a ruthless strategist, to which Dojin often took it as a compliment. He was able to keep the King safe within the palace walls thanks to his strategies. He was offered the position of Grand General once, but Dojin promptly turned it down. If there ever came a time for war, he wanted to be at the King’s side - not on the battlefield.

As much as he missed his duties, Dojin enjoyed the quiet mountain life he currently lived. He did hard manual labor at the docks to help bring in a decent income and to keep his body hardened. The King and Queen both sent him monthly stipends to get by, enabling him to amass a small fortune. It was something he wasn’t really used to having and, personally, he could do without it. 

But the hard truth was that raising an infant wasn’t easy. Raising an infant without a wet nurse or any motherly figure in the picture was an absolutely daunting task. The first few years were, of course, difficult. When he knew weaning Yoongi on rice water wasn’t going to cut it, he had a woman in a small village help him since she’d just given birth and had milk to spare. He spun some story about his wife dying in childbirth.

That was when Dojin discovered that the village was remote, but self-sustainable. The mountain was his to claim and he built his current house at the highest he would dare without hurting the infant’s lungs from the high altitude. It was the beginning of a very long but fruitful relationship between himself and the young prince.

“You are terrible, Dojin-ah.”

The King’s voice cut through his inner musings. He smirked as he watched him mulling over which move to make next. Dojin knew if he was able to predict his strategy, he would be able to get out of the pit he was currently in. But if he didn’t, then it was game over. Again.

Dojin chuckled as he folded his arms across his chest. “Didn’t you always tell me to be relentless in these sorts of games, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, but this is unnecessary.” He watched the King snort, scratching at his beard. “I should be thankful that we’re friends. I shudder to think what would happen if we were enemies.”

“If we were enemies, Your Majesty, I would never have left your side.”

The King’s eyes lifted from the board to meet his own. “Why do you say that?”

Reaching for the teacup, he took a small sip. “Because the smartest strategy is to keep one’s enemies closer, is it not?”

“You jest far too much, my old friend.” The King lifted up one of the white pieces, slapping it down onto the board as he flashed a victorious smile. “Take that!”

Dojin hummed as he surveyed the board, approving the King’s move. He managed to wiggle out of his pincer hold. But it wouldn’t last. Sadly, he’d managed to leave his flank unprotected. 

Instead of attacking mercilessly, Dojin continued to drink his tea. It was getting later into the evening and he needed to set off for home at first light. Well, after acquiring a few provisions. He’d left Yoongi alone and while he knew the young prince could more than take care of himself, the parent in him wanted to be able to provide a decent meal and some new clothes. Kali would take care of keeping his hair trimmed short and if he needed entertainment, his friends in the village would amply provide. 

“Are you faring well financially, Dojin-ah?” 

Humming, he set his cup down. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“And Yoongi? Does the prince need anything?”

A lump formed in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Did he need anything? There were plenty of things he knew Yoongi needed. He needed to be able to live a life where he could walk freely in the streets of Joseon without worrying about someone noticing him. He needed to take comfort in knowing that he had a family, one outside of Dojin, that loved him and missed him greatly. He needed a mother’s comforting embrace. 

There were plenty of things that Yoongi needed and wanted. But that didn’t mean that he would be able to receive these said needs. It all stemmed from his birth, his origins, and the curse that currently branded his face. 

The very scar that his own father, the King, gave him.

Dojin lowered his head respectfully. “There are many things he needs, Your Majesty. Things that I cannot provide him.” He sighed, lifting his head. “I may have raised him and I do consider him my own son. But the truth, Your Majesty, is that I cannot give him everything he needs. That is out of my hands.”

He saw the pained expression forming on the King’s face. He hadn’t meant to reopen a wound that he knew wasn’t properly healed. Dojin knew that throwing Yoongi aside was the most torturous thing the King could have done. Anyone could see it. But for the sake of maintaining peace in the royal household, the King did what he felt he must to secure the hearts and minds of those inside the palace. Twin births equated to possible bloodshed. It would not be the princes’ faults. Blame would be placed at the Noble Factions who attempted to control the princes - pulling one in a direction and dragging the other into another.

“You know that I would want nothing more than to bring him back into the palace.” The King pressed his fingers into his temple. “He is my son. Nothing will change that. But I can’t have the Royal Court in an uproar over it.” He sighed, a tired look painting over his features. “His very existence is problematic. I have faith in the Crown Prince’s abilities and I admire his ambition. But the minute any of the other Noble Factions discover there is another prince with the right to the throne…” The King’s brows furrowed as he curled his hand into a fist at his knee. “Dojin-ah, you’ve seen it for yourself. You’ve seen what this palace looks like when there is turmoil in the Royal Household. I don’t wish that for my children.”

Dojin sighed, giving a solemn nod. “I know, Your Majesty. I know. I just hope that he’ll learn the truth one day...and figure out a way to cope with it.” His lips formed into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You know, you could always come and see him yourself. It wouldn’t be your first time traveling incognito.”

The King chuckled. “I dare not without the Queen.”

“Bring her along, Your Majesty.” Dojin saw the surprise reflected in the King’s eyes. “I think he at least deserves to see the woman who brought him into this world, don’t you?”

It was hard to gauge the King’s thoughts at that moment. And there wasn’t a lot of time for him to process it. Because there was a slight disturbance in the hall. Nothing noticeable by any normal person’s ears. But for Dojin, a man who trained in martial arts since he was a child, who spent years honing his senses to peak conditions, could sense the air shifting behind the sliding doors of the King’s chambers. 

They were supposed to be alone. It was the only way for these sorts of conversations to even take place without prying ears. It was the safest way for His Majesty to indulge in the conversations he longed to have with an old friend.

Having that safety net tainted in any way angered Dojin.

Reaching into his robes, he gripped a pair of throwing knives between his fingers. He pressed a finger to his lips as he silently signaled to the King. The King nodded, sticking his hand into the bowl where his white Go pieces were. It would mask Dojin’s next move.

With a whip of his arm, he threw the knives out toward the hallway. They tore through the rice paper on the door - embedding into the floorboards. One set of feet shuffled away and another all but disappeared from hearing range. Dojin’s eyes narrowed as he quickly raced to the door, flinging the doors open and glaring into a now empty hallway. His gaze shifted to the floor where the knives were. There were a few droplets of blood on the polished wood.

He heard the King rise from his seat. “Assassins?”

“No. I didn’t sense any bloodlust from them. Probably a pair of curious servants.” Dojin slid the door closed. “Though it is getting late, Your Majesty. I need to be heading back home.”

“Should I notify the Palace Guards?” 

He knew the King was decent with a sword. Causing a panic in the middle of the night over non-combatants would be pointless. But loose lips would sink the fleet. Dojin couldn’t let that happen. It seemed his old ways of thinking were starting to breach the surface.

Pivoting on his heel, Dojin moved to pick up his sword and satchel. “That isn’t necessary.” He smirked. “In about two hours, it won’t matter.”

Rebound | m.yg

Genre: College AU, Basketball Captain!Yoongi, Basketball Captain!Reader, Idiots to Lovers, slight Rivals to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Yoongi/Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: cheating (once and not on OC), alcohol consumption, smut, sexual assault (one instance by a third party) (additional warnings at the beginning of each chapter)

Synopsis: You and Yoongi always catch each other on the rebound.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Notes: This was originally written and completed on Wattpad in 2018.

Add yourself to the taglist.

HI so I was just reading this Yoongi fic and my app refreshed and I can't find it anymore!

Yoongi was a cat hybrid called Grumpy. He forgot to transform back to his cat form and accidentally spoke while OC was asleep.

That's all I read and I can't find it anymore and I'm literally going crazy rn lmao pls help me and direct me to the actual story!!

Purr-haps I like you

Summary: You have a no pets policy where you live, but when you find a tiny kitten in a box on the side of the road, what can you do but bring it home with you? The only problem? The landlord who made the no pets rule, also happens to be your flatmate.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: pure fluff; Flatmates au

Word count: 11.6k

Warnings: An abandoned cat; the cat gets ill at one point.

Authors Note: Pure fluff. Just Yoongi and a tiny kitten, what’s not to love? This is not a masterpiece by any means, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. As always, hope you’re having the best day!!

You are not drunk, but there is definitely a sway to your walk and you are pretty sure that if you did a breathalyser test right now, you’d fail. So, maybe you’re wrong, you probably are drunk. Yet, you continue down the street lit road towards your home. It wasn’t far away, only a few more roads and you’d be able to tuck yourself up in the comfort of your bed. You cannot wait.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy nights out with your work friends, in fact you loved going to them. It was more the fact that you couldn’t hack the late nights anymore. Gone are the days when you could stay up till God knows what time, drinking who knows how many drinks and then wake up still feeling fresh the next day. No, now you merely had to have a glass or two of wine and stay up an hour or two after you would normally be asleep, and the next day might as well be written off. You are getting old.

The thought almost makes you laugh out loud as you continue to walk down the street. God, maybe you are more drunk than you thought.

Keep reading

SMOKE, i. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst

word count: 6.8k

summary: everything that begins also ends.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: suicide ideation, yoongi has deep feelings that he hasn't felt in a long time, sexual innuendos, yoongi has brief dirty thoughts, alcohol consumption, talks of alcohol, social anxiety and feelings of anxiety in general, jungkook has mint hair, covid and the pandemic, talking to a dead loved one, jealousy, envy, anger, crying, yoongi's bad shoulder.

note: welcome to the brand new yoongi series! i can't believe this baby is alive and ready for you to read. i struggled with this a lot, since it's written in a way i've never tried before. yoongi's pov, first person—like what? i thought this chapter was pretty shitty as i didn't feel comfortable writing in this style, but i pushed through, felt like it was meant to be—which is why i need tons of your validation. i was also kinda sad today, so please send your love. :( fyi, jungkook may be a huge part of the beginning of this story, but this is not steam pt 2. jungkook won't be present as much later on. no polyamory here. *spoiler* he just brought oc to yoongi and then he will lovingly go away, dw. :) enjoy this first chapter, i can't wait for many more! kisses.

side note: happy bday to us! mwah.

It was a bang, what happened in our group. 

A bomb that blew off in Jungkookie’s trembling hands when he shared the news. A decision that wasn’t really collectively discussed, not even privately with Namjoon—but an information that erupted among us as we sat in the lounge room of the venue, refreshing ourselves with snacks and drinks after the tough soundcheck we had. I had a bottle of Hennessy in my hands myself, about to pour myself some liquid courage in order to chase away the bitter ire I had swirling in my veins, but hearing his words made me forget about the nectar right away. 

He was bringing along a female friend for the tour. 

The ire turned sour in my bloodstream. 

He must’ve lost his mind. 

And what’s worse, I was the only one who looked at him as if he were a lunatic. The members squealed and hollered, clapping their hands, shouting different variations of words of, “Jungkookie got a girlfriend!” that made him blush so profusely that he wasn’t able to reciprocate any of our eye contact. 

Especially not mine. 

I was fuming, taking breaths that hurt my lungs. The bottle of liquid courage damn nearly broke, but I didn’t feel a thing. How could I—when amidst the ruckus and the soft smiles of our staff my feelings parted and melted into a crossroad that I began to stand in the middle of. 

One way led to selfishness, the other to the very polar opposite of it. 

Jungkook didn’t deal with the pandemic well. His skin was invariably lined with a certain sensitivity towards forlornness and when the mandate forced upon him a pressure of being abandoned—by us and by his long time flirt that was the driving force behind his creativity, besides Army themselves—he didn’t take it well. Crawled inside himself, even deeper within when our management canceled our Map of the Soul tour and we had to stay bricked up inside our homes for a full year. 

He was crestfallen and despondent, a decaying human. No girlfriend, no Army. No band members to slap his back, cook him food and distract his mind from the loneliness. 

Except for me. 

I was the one who made time for him. Who visited him, despite our management’s strong disliking for it. I went around them and did it without anyone’s knowledge but Jungkook’s. With a mask and health in perfect condition that I took care of more for him than for anyone else. Our relationship blossomed to highs that overgrew the bricked walls of our mandatory, artificial castle. A peach honeysuckle vine that we watched as much as we could while I wrote poems to him in my heart to alleviate his ache. It was spring and one, singular  hummingbird would fly in to listen to my words while inhaling the sweetened perfume of those pale orange flowers or the fragrance of the natural honey I would buy him and pour over the pancakes I would make for him. A comfort food, a symbol of our secret meetings. A butterfly would sit on the small creature’s back, just to look over its wings and be a witness to a mind’s mending, an afternoon’s tea mixed with dark liquor that would always fade to noraebang. 

The key to Jungkook’s heart. 

I don’t know how the little fella found us, but I wish his wings would sense us here. There’s no windows for him to look out of, but the craving in me for it to fly in and save the day, remind Jungkook who’s been here for him this whole time, blossoms in me just like those peach flowers. 

The castle has collapsed a tiny bit, but the honeysuckle remains untouched. 

Or at least I hope so. 

The other, non-selfish way is simple. Our work had been put off for so long and now that we’re able to pick it back up—in a way that isn’t as satisfactory as I’d want it to be, of course, for the only faces we’ll be seeing beyond the stage are the ones of camera lenses, not the ones belonging to our beautiful Army—there’s a distraction, an external person who could never understand the gravity of that pain we all went through. 

This was supposed to be a precious time shared between us. Another mending of some sort—as our job is the chambers of our hearts. 

And now as I look at her, I feel her playing with those strings of my heart like a harp. And I have that terrible feeling that she will open the doors to each chamber and ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for. 

In spite of the fact that she didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a gut feeling that consumes me and I can’t do a thing about it, not even admit that it gives me the tiniest hint of a thrill that I’ve been craving for so long. 

Jungkook wasn’t the only one affected by the loneliness that came with the mandate. I gave my all to him and always walked out of his door empty—with no one to refill me. 

Performing again was supposed to do the job, but it seems as though she’s come in to hijack it.

Announcement, the ruffling of his hair and multitudes of teasing aside, we had an hour and half left until the beginning of our first show in Seoul. Jungkook left us, with cheeks as darkened as poppies in the summer, with a staff member and our bodyguard to pick her up at a designated meeting spot nearby. He hadn’t eaten all day—not before our dismal soundcheck and certainly not during our hair and makeup session. A ribbon of worry curled tightly in my gut that unfurled once he filled his plate with hotdogs after introducing her to us.

No shaking of hands, only Jungkook’s hand pointing at each member while his mouth gave life to their names. And she didn’t nod her head, not even once, as she moved to greet and smile at every face, which caused me to think that she either already knew of us, either due to our popularity or due to Jungkook’s stories—or both. 

But when it was my turn, her smile faltered.

I didn’t see much of her face, for she wore a black mask. And the only part of her features I was able to see spoke to me in a foreign language I was too pissed off to decipher.

Feline eyes. 

Round and wispy, so terribly cat-like that it cut through my heartstrings she played with and then abandoned. She held my gaze so unfathomably deeply and it wasn’t until she whisked her eyes away that I realized she, irrevocably, clutched time in her hands. It had stopped during that brief moment and resumed as if nothing happened. 

It unnerved me. 

As did my strange feelings as I took in the personality of her outer form. 

She wore a long silky dress, as black as her energy and her hair nearly akin to the length of that garment. Its hem brushed against her ankles with every movement she made and her feet were shod in a pair of heels that would puncture my heart if she so much as wished so. Over her shoulder hung a matching, leather purse and I noticed something that bruised, most peculiarly, my flesh. 

The clasp of her chain strap had a chubby Grookey Pokémon caged as a keychain. 

I found it as adorable as absolutely dangerous. Still do as my eyes can’t help but to watch it twirl. 

She’s a dangerous black cat, with her claws tucked in. And the entire night coils in her eyes, dressing her in innocence and a simultaneous seductiveness that make my lungs swell. 

A quintessence of beauty, she is.

After the introduction is over, Jungkook pulls out a chair for her beside him, sitting down and not wasting a second as he stuffs his mouth full with one of the hotdogs. The monkey bounces with her movement and it’s only now that my brain puts two and two together. The monster almost matches the minty tinge of Jungkook’s dyed hair with its plump, green body. 

None of them know that I match him, too. 

A leaf of the same plant swirls in my glass of whiskey. 

And the notion of iciness that it adds to the bitterness of the liquid turns to ash in my mouth as I take a sip. I, myself, sit on the armrest on the couch, alone—but not alone physically. Hobi rests, leisurely, next to me and she’s stolen glances at him more times than I like. Looked at him while completely avoiding the ring of protectiveness I’ve conjured around myself. 

She does good, but it spreads fire to the strangeness of my feelings that I can’t name. 

Is she throwing a rope around another one of the boys? Her claws itching to rise? 

Who’s next? 

I sigh as she laughs, softly, at something Namjoon says and it deepens my ire. Namjoon should’ve made order as the leader of our group. Should’ve said no to Jungkook at the unfolding of his news and keep the number of our group to seven. Especially when our time together is this precious. 

Not chatting her up and coaxing that wonderful sound out of her.  

“Can we get you anything to drink?” Namjoon asks, waving his hand in the direction of the alcohol station out far in the left corner of the lounge room. A mint plant mocks me as my eyes flick to it while I take another sip. The reason why it’s there in the first place is because Jimin likes his mojitos. 

He sips on it like it’s a Capri-Sun as I swallow the dark liquid after swirling it in my mouth for a moment, the bitterness doing nothing to stifle my ire. 

“No,” she says, feebly, brushing her fingers down the length of her ebony hair before tossing it over her shoulder, giving me a perfect look of one singular strand that has been dyed in the same pale green color that is suffused all though Jungkook’s hair. The shade, but darker, more sinister, imbues my blood with envy. It’s not that soft color, redolent of spring meadows, by any chance. It’s an ancient, vague memory of a forest once in full bloom that is now withering and dying at dusk. How long has he been seeing her that they reached this base? “I don’t drink hard liquor, but thank you.” 

Namjoon licks his lips, spreading his arms over the two empty chairs beside him. “Ah,” he laments, smiling at her, gently. “You don’t drink at all?” 

Jungkook lifts his head from his plate, laughing through his nose as he chews his food, his mouth forming into that bunny smile of his. He knows something I don’t and my green blood boils. 

The cat girl grins, her head twisted in Jungkook’s direction when she laughs, the skin under her chin rounding out, and my chest tightens in endearment at the sight of it. 

The cutest fucking double chin I ever have the eyes to see. 

Fuck. 

“Oh, she drinks,” Jungkook says, his words muffled due to his full cheeks, the food inside showing as he continues to be all smiles.

The cat girl pinches his arm, but owing to the thick fluffiness of his jumper, she doesn't reach skin, and therefore doesn't inflict the pain she intended. Jungkook pretends to moan in pain, anyway. My chest tightens again—this time for a beat longer. 

An oddity flies through my vision, slicing through my envy. 

Her claws sinking into my bare skin as I let her playfulness out—

I shake that picture out of my head as quickly as it arrives, running my fingers through my strands that had fallen in front of my eyes. The girl helps my effort by speaking, distracting me from the faint rush of lust that begins to course down my body. 

I can’t get hard. 

“Yeah, I only drink wine,” she reveals, coyness entwining around her tone, and she kneads her hands, struggling with her straight posture. 

Another distraction, one that softens, most peculiarly, my lust. 

If I were born with deaf ears, I would’ve known she was fighting through her shyness by one glance at her body language and I don’t blame her. 

She doesn’t have only seven pairs of eyes watching her. She’s the apple of fifteen more if I include our staff, sound engineers and our management. 

If I weren’t the person I was and if this wasn’t my job, I would have run the first chance I got. A certain admiration envelops my heart the more I study her toy with her fingers, soothingly, because of a reason that aches to admit. 

A reason far from plain. 

She’s the same as me. Uncomfortable by and disliking any public event with people involved, especially if you’re put in a position to talk. 

A bond forms and I can’t stop it. I can’t rip it apart even as I willfully try in my headspace to cut off that red string tied around my heart, leading to hers. I can’t because she eventually slouches, giving up, her spine protruding towards me through the open back of her dress, for she’s turned her body towards Namjoon, who sits at the head of the table, but I figure she did it in order to be closer to Jungkook to gain some comfort from him. The skin of her back is refulgent and tanned, scattered with little blemishes that connect, like constellations, to a night sky full of birthmarks, and that only add to her beauty.

Her whole back is filled with them, stirring my wonder. And, unknowingly, she let me see by sweeping her hair to one side. I wonder if Jungkook has seen them and appreciates them as much as I do—

Jungkook burps, obscenely loudly, setting down Hobi’s unfinished can of Sprite that he left on the table. I’m sure Hobi’s regretting making that mistake, but when I look at him, he’s smiling so widely that I can see his gums and I’m so astounded by that view that I’m thrown off my balance. 

Even more so, when I check the reactions of the other members and begin to feel shame descending down my own spine like cold sweat. Jimin has hearts thumping in his eyes, raising his hand in the girl cat’s direction, connecting with her as he says he loves a good bubbly. Taehyung, sitting on the direct opposite side of Jungkook by the table with his arms crossed and his face flushed intones that tonight after the show he will break his sobriety streak. Jin joins the table and flicks Taehyung’s forehead, tells him he doesn’t have to break anything while taking a huge bite of his banana. And Namjoon… he laughs, hands intertwined upon the back of his head. 

The whole table laughs, in fact.

Hobi does beside me, too.

I’m the only one who doesn’t, steeped in my uncertainty as I am. 

They all bask in comfort and gaiety. There’s no awkwardness, no unspoken words or silence that hangs heavily in the air. There’s no need for our hummingbird; no need to change directions, play pretend or act accordingly to the new situation because there’s absolutely nothing new about the atmosphere I find myself to be in. Everything is as if it were just the seven of us. 

Making jokes, lighthearted energy, connections lengthening and digging deep… 

I haven’t seen that, been a part of that in so long. 

I was wrong—and the shame, stemming from my wrong impression and unwarranted fear, washes out the envy from my blood. It stands, arm to arm, with my life-long emptiness and I bow my head down, licking my lips.

I wish to exit myself out of this room. 

I wish my heart wasn’t so sensitive. 

I wish— 

“It’s her birthday today and I bought so many bottles of champagne and wine,” Jungkook says, running his tongue over his teeth, and my head lifts; my heart enlarges before it shrinks, painfully, magnifying my shame until it grazes the flesh like a shard. It’s her birthday? “I’ll need your help, guys. We’re not celebrating here tonight. After the show, we’re going to my place.” 

It’s not peach honeysuckle that I’m thinking of. Not pancakes. Not our hummingbird and butterfly as the boys cheer all over again, wishing her happy birthday. 

It’s her that I’m thinking of. 

And how much I messed up. 

He brought her here to make her birthday special—to be with her on the day that carries her name, not to replace me.

It explains why she’s so magnificently dressed up; why she’s putting her feet through so much pain in those heels of hers. 

Just for one night. And I’ve managed to ruin it so majestically with my energy. No wonder she won’t look at me; no wonder her eyes won’t even sweep past me en route to Hobi’s chocolate fountain that his eyes emanate. 

Mine are nothing but death. I don’t blame the decline of her smile as her pools met it. A kitty cat that looked at the face of a skull. It symbolized the end of time and now I perceive that it epitomizes the end of me. 

The longer she’s present, the more I loosen the consuming negativity that I’ve lived for so long in compliance with—because now I’m soft. 

I’m gutted I made her feel awful to be here with my dark energy. 

“Jungkook, you should’ve told us that was the reason why you brought her along. We would have welcomed you with a happy birthday song,” Namjoon says, his palm lifted towards Jungkook and her while his other hand reminds behind his head. 

I can’t see her smile. Not even a hint of it in her eyes, for this time around she doesn’t turn around to steal a glance at Hobi. And I wish she would, with a strength that I’m in awe that I’m even possessing, because I find myself yearning to look at her face, amidst my softness. 

I misjudged her so terribly that the yearning doubles as she presses her hands against her cheeks amidst the overbearing attention. Becomes a need—a need to fix what I so unfairly have broken. 

And jealousy thunderstrikes in my system when Jungkook bumps his shoulder into hers, gently, his head tipped low, fixed in her direction as she struggles, once again, in her shyness. Straightens her spine just in time for Jungkook to curl a finger around her ear and take off her black mask. 

I’m so jealous everyone else gets to see her face fully that indignation supersedes my past ire and my softness and I’m quickly up on my feet, ready to walk out to breathe in some fresh air but something else steps into my plan. 

And it’s not her. 

It could never be her. 

Staffs members circle around us, guiding us out of the room to wire us up. But I stall my time, purposefully staying behind so I can look at her. I pretend to exercise my pain from my shoulder surgery by rolling it and making a face. Jungkook whispers something to her, her face pointed upwards as he stands before her while she remains sitting and I’m so bothered by it that it calls out the pain, incites it to come haunt me again. 

Everyone else had something to say to her—and yet I still haven’t, owing to my foolish mistake. Self-hatred fastens to my anger and I can’t breathe, my lack of knowing what to say to her when the time comes worsening my feelings. 

The boys leave the room and it’s just me and her. The staff member knows not to push me, but the pressure in her eyes is the driving force that takes my legs to the kitty girl. 

She sits so awfully forlornly in her chair, reminds me so much of Jungkook, her spine back to slouching, that marvelous pillar protruding again and my lungs do that thing they seem to automatically do whenever I see that part of her. 

She hears my footfalls as I approach her, but she doesn’t turn around. I ignore the way it makes me feel, the heaviness that comes with it, too. She, in most probability, thinks I’m walking out of this room without saying a word to her, but I’m not capable of that. 

Not anymore. 

I call out her name and, in surprise, she lifts her spine. Turns around, at last, the sleek fabric of the dress adding swiftness to the movement and I see her face. Her full mouth that compliments, most perfectly, her big feline eyes. And I think about how much her dark, sensual energy doesn’t mirror her personality, her coyness that hides inside until someone speaks to her. Her chin is so small that my fist would still be empty if I held it in the way my body asks for, but the look she gives me diminishes the lust that slowly begins to crawl again within me. 

It’s one that bears a different kind of shyness. It’s fear-induced respect and the hatred towards myself thickens. 

I don’t want her to feel this way, but I molded it in her. 

It’s my fault. 

It’s why I think twice before I tell my fingers no, for they ache to drum against the top edge of her chair in effort to linger in her proximity. I won’t encourage her discomfort when I yearn to wipe it clean. But when she inhales my prolonged silence and raises her thin brows in waiting, the tiniest sliver of a smile quivering on her lips, she doesn’t know it—but she somehow gives me the words I was lacking. 

“Did Jungkook tell you where to go?” I ask, softly, fearing her knees will turn away from me, her body language divulging to me the depth of her uneasiness around me. But she remains put, the pillows of her lips balancing at last as they stretch out in a small grin that I don’t deserve. 

Her slender nose crinkles. 

My heart forgets to beat.

“No, he told me to wait here and that Min-ji will take me to a room where I can watch you, guys, perform on the TV,” she says, her grin making it difficult for her to get the words out and she blushes. There must be some other, silent language shared between our bodies because I discover myself smiling, too, even though there’s nothing from her sentence that can possibly be the cause of it. 

The energy shifts, devastatingly, and heat clings to my skin, dispersing relief down my nerve endings. 

All while buzzing tingles chase it, hastily, grabbing it by the back of its shirt and consuming it. 

It’s strange, so terribly strange to be consumed by nervousness when I’ve been used to nothingness and emptiness for so long. 

And her eyes seem to grow bigger, despite the irrepressible dynamism of her fear. Is she gaining thrill out of it—to be staring at the face of breaking death like the small kitten she is and knowing it’s her power that influences me? 

Those eyes. If my ears weren’t bombarded by Hobi’s sound effects wafting down the hall and into the lounge room, mingling with the rise and fall of Jungkook’s voice as he warms it up, I swear I can hear the song of swallows in them. She’s a manifestation of a summer evening in her fear and nervousness, when those birds go mad in the tender blues and pinks of the sky—and I don’t know why I like it so much. Why I want to seize it in my hand and squeeze it. 

And she’s about to be all alone here with it while I go join the rest of my brothers. 

It’s something that doesn’t feel right. 

The staff member taps me on my back. Time is against me—why doesn’t she control it? I swivel behind me to catch her nodding her chin in the direction of the hall and I sigh, quietly. 

“Wait with her until Min-ji comes to get her, so she’s not alone here,” I tell her, then look down at the kitty girl again. 

Her raised brows create wrinkles on her forehead and once she sees that I’ve noticed, she relaxes, wetting her lips. Doesn't want me to see the surprise that comes from what she created in me. 

How cute. 

“Enjoy the show,” I murmur, moving my feet towards the exit. I gaze back at her, catch her lungs shuddering, and the words slip off my tongue before I scramble the courage to stop them. “And happy birthday.” 

Her blush reaches her neck and it’s all my vision consists of—even when I’m performing. 

Our interaction was too short. Too, too short. And my anger took on a new face. 

Hers. 

Every word I rapped as I stared into the camera, I felt it dissolving in me and transforming into a yearning so great that my verses gained new meaning. A yearning to see her again, talk to her, pinch that fear in my fingers and fling it away, make space for something in her that had the vigor to surprise me and make me soft again. And in my concentration, I didn’t have the fight in me to put a stop to it. I was doing my duty for the happiness of our Army and while I thought about her, it seemed right. Those two things went along and it spurred a pleasant feeling in me that was warmer than the adrenaline sticking to my inflamed body from all the performing. 

It didn’t hit me that she was watching me the whole time until my eyes regarded her unperturbed, flaccid posture in that white plastic chair, wading in my thoughts as I was. Her grin and the flecks of light in her eyes illuminate the room with orange, blazing fire. She’s barefoot, her heels kicked to the side, crooked, elegiac, yet still sensuous. Our show is being rerun on the TV and she’s watching it, transfixed, not realizing me and Jungkook were the first to come to her out of the group. 

A mental connection clicks in my brain at the sight of it. The peach blossoms of the honeysuckle, Jungkook and the genuine love I carry for him. It is that orange color—it’s a home that keeps it safe, the atmosphere that she exudes through her evident elation and I don’t really understand why I feel this way. 

I haven’t even known her for a day. 

And it’s forced to collapse when her pools don’t find mine, but Jungkook’s once we walk in, joining her. She holds up her hand in the air, curling down her middle and ring fingers in while the rest of her digits remain erect, small and slim as they are. Her nose crunches up in the way it did when our bodies spoke in that secret language. And when she laughs and the corners of her eyes crinkle, I realize she’s mimicking his gesture that he so often does on stage while showing off his Army tattoo. 

The finger-fucking gesture. 

Her blush beams on her face, even more so when she does a stroking movement with her curled fingers, and I can’t help but wonder, briefly, if that’s how she does it to herself when she’s all alone and the night sinks inside her skin to get a refill of her juices, only to smear it across the sky.

It’s what I need to focus on, so I don’t explode in anger that she ignores me. 

Jungkook cackles, sticking out his tongue and doing the gesture. I hide my face in my towel, getting rid of the sweat coating me—but it pours out of my pores again when I hear her giggle. 

And I need to leave, my imagination no longer strong enough to withstand the jealousy that poisons my blood all over again. 

I fling the towel out and away from me, not caring where it lands. 

I don’t meet any eyes as I walk out, keeping my sight fixed on the gray floor, streaked with black lines from the hundreds of wheels of carts that have drove down the hall and from all the sneakers that have walked past. I follow them and I don’t know where they take me until I’m suddenly face to face with the gaping night. 

And it’s not her. 

It’s my wound. 

No stars for a naked pupil to see. Merely an abounding canvas of blackness that stares back at me and questions me, questions my feelings when it knows full well how hard I’ve wept, many times, in its airy embrace. 

I sit against the wall, needing something solid to support me, the spaciousness of the roof enveloping me, but not tightly enough. There, but never close enough—always a safe distance apart, as if afraid of me. 

Everyone is so always fucking afraid of me. 

And when they lean in and graze my heart, they get repulsed by me. 

It’s an ouroboros that my life, like my legs, follows. Like a dog chasing its own tail—and it’s such a perfect comparison because I’ve always been alone, save for my brothers. Distracted for a while, then alone again. 

I’m weary of it, despite the fact my body tends to wait for the thrill of the attention, longs for it, even when I dislike it. I’m an oxymoron that won’t cease and I have to live with it. 

And I can’t exit out of it because I have millions of lives that depend on me, plus six more. 

I sigh and I think sucking on a cigarette, numbly, while I crawl on my knees through the forest of my thoughts and feelings would be a thing of perfection. But I can’t afford that. Not when we’re working again. Not when our boss lurks at every corner, has eyes everywhere. Jungkook has had his last hotdog for a while and I… 

I swathed my broken strings around someone he brought into my life. 

Through a little hole my brothers let me see by forcing her to sit through a conversation that was a pain for her. A moonlight stripe of her personality, encased by her social anxiety and shyness. One that has awakened my body to emotions it hasn’t felt the touch of in a long time. 

Why am I not fighting it? 

Why am I not coercing my soul into submission, into that abyss of emptiness and hostility? 

Why am I letting myself feel? 

She’s just a girl that he’s seeing. Many stories like these have been written before and we’ve read the lines, recognized words that limned us, only for the love interest to disappear into thin air after some time like she never existed. And she’d just be another character in his love chronicles, if her persona hadn’t spoken to me so much. 

If her body hadn’t spoken to me in a language no one knows—not even me. 

I can’t begin my sentences about her with ‘she’s just a girl’, because she isn’t. 

And I don’t understand how that’s come to be. 

It happened so quickly that I fear I wasn’t present enough. 

My wound tilts its head as my world does the same thing—slants on its axis. Coos at me, seeing me, seeing through me. Reminds me of what happened the last time I felt. 

The passing of my girlfriend gave me the gift of a gun to my hand—gave me the face of death that I’ve been carrying ever since because it nearly made my dream of time ending come true. And the kitty girl… standstill hangs off her fingers like a pearl necklace that’s too long. And I find myself wanting to wear it. Because it’s her decision, her consciousness, her will. 

Not mine. 

And it will bring me closer to my Sun-mi.

My wound begins to cry at the memory of her, raindrops pitter-pattering on the tin ridges of the rooftop and I cherish that she’s remembered and honored by such vastness, by such picturesqueness that I’ve always considered the night to be. And when the wind brushes along my fidgeting hands, I almost feel her touch all over again. 

Feel. 

I feel. 

And in my heart, I tell her. I sail to her, attaching myself to her again. Tell my Sun-mi that I am capable of feeling and that I don’t know how it came together in me. And I ask her, in utmost respect, to guide me on this unknown path. 

Because I am alone without her. Adrift, without rhyme and reason. No wits to me, no rationality, no clear perception of right and wrong. 

There’s only grayness to me. 

Maybe that’s why I, unknowingly, dyed my hair this color before the start of the tour. 

And it dawns on me, now that one chapter has closed in my life, that the passing of my Sun-mi a year and a half ago is the reason why I’ve clung to Jungkook so rigidly. Because I couldn’t spend my time on her, I spent it on Jungkook. Because I had all this love for her and I couldn’t give it to her, so I gave it to Jungkook. 

And the kitty girl has put a stop to it. 

Sun-mi graces me with the tepid, yet fuzzy impression that it’s good—that it was meant to happen. And I believe her. 

And with my belief, the rain thickens. 

A thunder rolls forward from a far-away corner of the canvas of the sky that I can’t see. And I dwell in the pool of the fountain of the love I still have for her and forever will continue to have. Kneel in it. Search for her. 

I imagine her. The button of her nose, the curl of her top lip whenever we ridiculed aegyo by doing it together and doing a good fucking job while at it. I imagine her small fist at her round cheek, but she connects my memories to the kitty girl. 

And she consumes me, wholly.

Sun-mi makes me imagine her doing a cat-like aegyo and as the corner of my mouth lifts, a particular fear devours my gut. 

A fear of closeness. 

A fear of doing something with her that I did with Sun-mi, even when she okays it in my spirit. 

A fear of reliving something so painful again. 

The rain inches towards me and I scurry to my feet, my hand trembling as I open the door to the staircase. And when I shut out the sound of hard rainfall and prevent the traumatic memories of my accident from slinking into my mind, it’s the only strength I have left. 

And I crumble. 

I mirror the rain I abhor so much. 

I sit on the top of the staircase and I sear my hands with my acid-suffused tears. Sob so devastatingly that I don’t recognize myself, drenching the denim fabric over my knees. And when I pull on my hair, numbness is all that I detect within me. 

Good. 

No feelings; only emptiness. 

I steel myself by taking a few deep breaths, letting the oxygen settle that deep in me. And I unattach myself from my Sun-mi, promise her I will get back to her soon. Go back to who I previously was before I scraped the skin of my knees raw on the hardened soil of my emotions and thoughts. 

Alone death. 

But Sun-mi doesn’t sail away back to heaven. Doesn’t let me go. She stomps her foot on the wet grass of my heart and I understand why. I asked her to guide me and what I didn’t know was that she would break the laws of heaven in order to do that. She wouldn’t whisper words of wisdom into the chambers of my heart. She would take my hand and show me wisdom, pointing me to the right decision. 

That is my Sun-mi. 

I let her because I need her. I bow to her and I would stoop to my stomach on this dirty, metal staircase floor to divulge my respect and gratitude to her if I didn’t hear a voice echoing up towards me. 

A familiar male voice calling out to me. 

Sun-mi pulls me to it and tingles vibrate down my legs as I fly through the stairs, skipping the bottom ones in order to get me faster to my brother. Sun-mi pumps blood into my heart, refreshing the grass she lays upon, and lightness descends upon my shoulders. 

Her work of art. 

Heaving, I meet Jungkook in the doorframe, glancing up at me, disappointment lidding his eyes. But I don’t fear, not when Sun-mi is with me. He opens the door wider for me to step through, but I remain fixed on my spot, panting, ringing piercing through my hearing sense. 

Too much adrenaline at once in a season of drought. My body is unable to catch up to the new acclimatization. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, my throat raw from my crying and I clear it, so there’s no evidence of my sensitivity. Sun-mi caresses the wall of my heart to soothe me and tears burn at the back of my eyes—from the simple fact that I can feel her. 

I’ve felt her only once before. A week after she died, I prayed to her, loudly, until I lost my voice. Begged her to come back to me. 

And she did. 

And it felt nice until it didn’t—so I made it my habit to attach and unattach myself because of my fragility. It is only a matter of time before the logic of your mind distinguishes a real person from a ghost. And the parting of that vulnerable mist, in the middle of your agony, isn’t for the faint-hearted. 

But Sun-mi, at this very moment, feels more real than she ever has. As if she truly was hidden in the rooms of my heart like a little doll, like a little angel that has the task from above to guide me. 

And because I need it, I’ll let more time pass through this transcendental connection. 

Jungkook flattens his lips, tightly, the tip of his tongue poking out to play with the thin metal pierced through his bottom lip. He’s changed back into the clothes he came in, minus the fluffy jacket. A black T-shirt, black pants and sneakers. It makes the green of his hair stand out—just like the wisp of the same color on that singular strand of the girl kitty’s hair. 

They have a tendency to match and shame boils in me, that Sun-mi is a witness to the jealousy I feel. I haven’t told her and I don’t know if I want to. In my momentary cowardice, I hope that she can sense it and validate it. 

But I gain nothing from her. 

Silence. 

One that Jungkook breaks. 

“Staff said that we have to wait until the storm passes.” 

My stomach sinks, the memory of the rainfall faint in my ears. “Good.” 

Jungkook pauses before he voices out the question that I can visibly see rising in him. Nibbles his bottom lip, the metal tilting to the side like my world. “Where did you go?” 

My breath shivers as I inhale, tasting my half-false words before I speak them. “I felt hot and I needed some fresh air.” 

I felt jealous that you made dirty innuendos with your friend, I don’t say. It led me to seek my dead girlfriend because I feel inclined to fraternize with that aforementioned friend. 

Jungkook frowns. “You went out in the rain?” 

I pass through the gap between his body and the doorframe, not able to stand the position I’ve been put in, anxiety prickling my fingertips. Jungkook lets the door shut behind him with a loud thud, following closely behind me until he falls in step beside me. 

“It felt refreshing until it didn’t,” I decide to mutter. Typical words of mine—I can’t stand them either. 

Sun-mi is still silent.

Maybe I should unattach myself, protect myself from further pain. It was a moment of weakness, anyways—

Jungkook rubs my shoulder, gently, the fixed one, barely touching me, but the gesture is there. And I grasp why I love him so much. 

His gentleness is everything to me. 

“The rain will stop,” he says and I take those words to heart, giving them the meaning that they are the wisdom I needed to hear, the wisdom I sought from my quiet Sun-mi. 

The rain will stop. 

The sensitivity will stop, too. 

And time will stop soon, one day. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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SMOKE, ii. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 9.6k

summary: everything that begins prolongs and deepens. 

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: hobi is drunk, oc gets triggered and dissociates, throwing up, ptsd, covid and the pandemic, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, thigh humping, social anxiety.

note: so happy to bring part two of the smoke series to my babies. you were all looking forward to it so sm that i worked hard to give this to you. it's longer than the first part and from oc's pov. this might have just become my fav series ever. idk why, it just feels different. more profound. please, enjoy reading and let me know what you think. i want to hear your thoughts. <3

He walks as if he’s immersed in a prayer.

With his hands sunk in the pockets of his sweatpants and his head dipped low, the gray strands of his hair, which compliment resplendently his monochrome tracksuit, shade his eyes with more charcoal that one finds in his absent eyes. It’s the first thing I noticed about him—the way he seems to be so out of touch with reality, how deep he’s fallen through the cracks and the way he’s not one bit bothered by it. 

Even the cloud that is suspended over his head is as gray as him. Hefty and sodden with the world’s rain and burdens that he broods over as he paces, unhurriedly. The room is jam-packed, filled with multitudes of people that make my skin crawl, but the way he appears to be pretending that he’s alone in the great spaciousness of the area is… uplifting. 

I wish I could do the same. 

But when I’m forced to be among souls that have more life than mine, I tend to overexert my non-existent social skills. Usually, it comes out in the form of my silent smile. Or, if the day is going well, I laugh and nod my head. Wait for the other person to continue talking so I’m no longer smothered in the awkwardness of the sudden airiness of wordlessness. And strangely, it works. 

And I know why. 

I’ve noticed people love to be listened to. To be fully conscious of the fact that the sentences they are uttering are being taken in, thought about and validated, either by that smile and that nod or by your own expansion on the matter. The latter is something I’ve more often than not had a problem with as I was born laconic. 

I didn’t speak as a kid until very later on. Didn’t have many friends growing up—and my parents seldom talked to me, as young as they were. It was their first life; kids having a kid and they didn’t know what to do. It may be a psychological block, my tendency to listen rather than speak and engage in a conversation, but it’s not something I blame my parents for. It’s something I’m grateful to them in my heart for. 

Had they been perfect and had I been perfect owing to that, I wouldn’t have the oneiric, yet earthy girlhood that created in me the confidence that is a sturdy mountain in me, unable to shatter or crumble. Being by myself, being in my head for the entire trajectory of my life nurtured its smoothness and strength. I’m not embarrassed that I’m unable to do something that is considered normal and perhaps… necessary in society. On the contrary, I take pride in it and I protect it. 

And my dignity in me is as unchangeable, assertive and secure as the day fading into twilight, greeting me, beckoning me out. 

It’s the only person—headless, mouthless, lungless—that doesn’t ask for words from me. When it takes me by the hand and drags me into its hues of pinks and blues, he doesn’t do it to expect something from me in return. The twilight does it just because. Just so I can breathe and refill my energy, my aloneness. Just so I can be knotted, devotedly, with my thoughts, dwell in them—dwell in my day and its ceaseless, eccentric events—without being under the obligation to share them with him or with anyone else. 

I like walks. I like my own walks in the tiny forest behind my apartment that pervade with the dreamy meanings of life stories, often more of other people’s than mine. Where I don’t meet anyone or try to match my steps to theirs. I could never even imagine turning off my brain and my life, in front of groups of nearly twenty people. 

But he’s done it and I can’t stop watching him. 

Whenever I’m forced to sit in someone’s company, I engage with my attention. He doesn’t—and it’s so stirring. 

Encouraging in the way it swirls my emotions because it incites me, almost, to get up on my feet and copy him, though somewhere far off, where no one would see me, so I’d get the hang of it first before I’d have the courage to do it in his fashion. 

My stomach grumbles and I don’t know why the question of whether he’s eaten at all joins my contemplation before I think about Jungkook first or before I even talk myself into taking the action to get something to eat. As if he somehow hears my body and mind, he stops in his walk all of a sudden and grasps the bottle of Hennessy that he set down on the table, by which he previously sat when I came in and our eyes locked so deeply that it took my breath away. 

I never thought I’d ever experience something like that. All my lonely girlhood, I read about it without ever expecting it to happen to me, nor longing for it. And it’s safe to say that none of them described it right. 

It’s not tender and dream-like. 

It’s a vacuum. A time-pulling force that sucks out your heart and leaves it hanging on the tip of your tongue for the other person to see. 

And I hope Yoongi didn’t see it. 

Because he wouldn’t see a flushed, unwrinkled and polished heart. 

He would see a bruise. 

A dotted, heavily breathing flesh speckled with unsightly yellows, reds and greens. A Vincent Van Gogh’s ‘The Night Café’ painting that is openly considered as ugly by even uglier society. 

An inanimate object. 

A gun—because whatever the eyes of society view as ugly or unright is a weapon against it. 

Yellow for my hostile solitariness. Red for my distrust towards the majority of men. Green for the streak of my hair that Jungkook dyed because he desired it to be a symbol of our special connection; for Grookey and my connection to him. 

His former struggle to fit in. 

A trauma response, painted by Japanese hands into a form of a chunky monkey monster that I’ve grown naturally attached to—because how could I not when something I struggled with a lot in my childhood was put out there in the world so beautifully and gave me the hope I needed that I will fit in with, that people will accept me the way I am. 

And the hope burst in my reality, in its own time. 

All those colors, that make the painting that my heart is, are a gun for Yoongi, too. That is if I ever let him in. 

It’s better if I keep it safe and hang around Jungkook like a kitten, keeping Yoongi’s safe in the process. Something that I never knew lived in me awakens from its slumber when I’m in his proximity, whenever our eyes lock in that depth and I don’t want it. I’d rather reject it and forget that it’s in me than provoke it to animatedness and get myself hurt in the end. Get him hurt. 

Falling in love never has a positive result in my life and the only relationship I had—if I can even call it that—devastated me to the point that I can’t even look in the eyes of a man I find attractive. 

Which is why I looked away, immediately, when our gaze deepened, because I knew that if I prolonged it for only two seconds more, my body would whisper to me that it’s inevitable and I’d believe it, succumb to it and beat at my heart until it stops feeling altogether. 

Which is why I look away now, when Yoongi senses my staring and swivels his head in my direction. I pray, like him, that he didn’t see the movement of my neck twisting quickly to pay attention to whatever Jungkook’s saying next to me. And I flatten my lips when my curiosity about the contexts of his meditation seizes me, the weight of his gaze only strengthening it, silencing Jungkook’s voice like I silence my body in a worthless fight.

I crawl into myself, spellbound, where a picture of him grows in size. A house where I can walk and contemplate without being seen or noticed, and there I ponder. 

A faint image of him rapping his lines flashes across the walls as if it was screened through a projector and I wonder if he was so preoccupied in his thoughts because of that. Jungkook told me it was their first performance in quite a while. 

But my own take me elsewhere. My gut tells me it was something else and the image disappears into the white of the surface until only his lidded eyes remain and they gaze right back at me. 

It’s like my consciousness is taunting me and it’s too much for me. I don’t feel my legs when I get up and take a walk. 

I exit out of the house. 

And I stride into the hall. 

My heavy eyes, beguiled by my drowsiness, follow the pictures of Korean idols and western singers along the walls. For some reason, whatever it is in me, that has more energy than my body, searches for Yoongi’s eyes, but none of them are so lidded, so in tune with suaveness and geniality of his art, powdered in pinks and purples due to the love he carries in his heart for his fans. I must be looking wrong, or looking in the wrong direction, because it’s nonsensical that I can’t find a group this successful in this venue. They bring glory to this country—and I think only their faces should grace these bland walls and bring more light into this hall. 

When I reach the end, I don’t find Yoongi.  

I find Hobi. 

So terribly low-spirited and pensive that my heart shifts in my chest. He sits on the ground with his knees pulled to his chin, his arms wrapped around them. He must’ve been watching me this whole time because when I meet his glossy eyes, he smiles, weakly, up at me. 

Doesn’t ask me to sit. I do it on my own—out of an obligation that is pressing down on me, for turning around and walking away would be too awkward and I don’t want to deal with any stingy feelings of embarrassment that I know would haunt me later in bed. 

I mirror his position, but I don’t lean against the wall. 

I face him. Him and his delicate, easy on the eye countenance. 

My bare toes nearly touch the side of his sneakers and it’s only now that I become aware of how cold the ground is. I shiver, eyeing his black furry jacket and the heads of his group members peeking out of the V of the zipper lining. Taehyung, hilariously, right in the middle and Jungkook, handsome and serious in his all black suit. 

No Yoongi. 

Hobi takes off his cap, placing it somewhere beside him beyond my sight, sighing distinctively, his stare fixed on a spot in front of him. It breaks when I prop my chin on the tops of my knees, something vague swimming, dazedly, across the enamel of his irises. 

He can be a doll, with looks like that. 

“Were you looking for someone there?” he croaks out, softly, clearing his throat, running a hand through his short, brown hair. His presence and the subduedness of his tone diminishes the pressure weighing down on me and I let out a muted breath of relief, my muscles relaxing. 

When I first beheld him, I thought he was the most beautiful boy I was ever blessed to witness. The fact that it seems I don’t have to force anything or fulfill any obligations is a lambent light my soul gravitates towards, fluttering and basking in the warmth and repose it offers to it. He gives me the hope that I could sit by him in complete, comfortable silence and he wouldn’t mind—he would appreciate it, not eager to change it. And for a brief second, before I answer his question, I muse on the pleasantness of gaining something you never expected—how precious it is and momentous. 

It gives hope to life; meaning, beauty and gentleness, too.

“I was,” I say, and there’s no ounce of lie in my agreement, even though I won’t tell him who I was searching for.

Not even Jungkook. It’s my private sentiment. Something to keep me company from now on before I go to sleep. 

And it’s safe in my mind, not so much in real life. 

“It’s so sad we had to do it online, but it’s the only thing we could do, the only thing we could give them,” he sniffles, lets me see the thick lines of tears that flood the corners of his eyes, and my heart rotates, my emotions in tandem with it. He would give his fans everything if he could, including himself. The awareness of that downturns my mouth into a pout, feeling his pain with him. “I wrote them a message. I told them I loved them, but it still doesn’t feel enough, you know?” 

Hobi sucks in a breath and hides his face in his palm and it’s not my mind’s command that lifts my hand and places it on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. It’s my heart’s, which splashes in the comfort zone Hobi created. 

And my heart, most peculiarly, opens my mouth and speaks. 

“They’re grateful that it was online. Everyone got to watch, that’s what’s important, isn’t it?” 

Hobi kneads his eyes, catching his tears before they could fall, dropping his hands. And when he sighs, deeply, I smell alcohol on his breath. Poor him, the wretched liquid most likely paints a more melodramatic, emotionally-charged picture in his brain, blurring the true face of reality. And if he’s anything like his members, he also hasn’t eaten, which allowed the liquor to cause havoc in his system. 

But then, a panic flickers in me—a distant memory of what alcohol did to a certain past person in my life poisoning my mouth enough that I can’t swallow, a lump forming in my throat. The comfort goes sour and red lights flash in my nerve endings, my need to detach and isolate myself and get my body into a realm of safety ringing, deafeningly, in my ears. 

My breath hitches and I pull my hand away from Hobi’s shoulder, my distrust reappearing, my knees shaking as I turn them in the other direction. My toes are icy cold and I flex them, trying to bring back some warmth, but alas—the iciness drags itself up my legs and my emotions glissade to a state of numbness, a thick mist of vague grayness obscuring my vision and my lungs tighten. I can’t breathe, I can’t feel my tongue, I can’t move my arms as painful tingles keep it in place around my stomach and—

A whistle. A raspy voice that calls out Hobi’s name. 

And its repetition fades out, melts into the static that I hear. 

And then hands. Soft hands that are fire itself, that stop my tingling. Delicate hands that pull me to my feet and take me somewhere. 

A splash of cold water on my face. I gasp, my lungs heaving, my throat hoarse as if I was screaming. My hair sticks to my cheeks and then doesn’t, pushed over the crown of my head, tightly. Droplets run down the nape of my neck; my length clutched in a fist that’s not mine. Then, down my spine, soaking the back of my dress at my loins and I am flung into present times, the image of reality unfolding before me, the static tapering off. 

Fluorescent lights that ache. Whiteness of tiles. Lidded eyes that used to be small but now are gaping and worried. 

It’s not Jungkook. 

It’s Yoongi. 

My stomach jumps, my gag reflex triggered and I bend at the waist, clasping a hand over my mouth to stifle my vomit. But that delicate fist moves it away and my trauma spills out of me into the sink, where I am pushed towards. 

My abdominal muscles clench and clench. Cold water trickles down my back, helping me awaken until I’m conscious of what is happening. The more my pain exits out of me, the more it dawns on me. 

Jungkook isn’t here, an observer to my agony. 

Yoongi is here, a participant that snagged me out of it. 

A stranger that has come to know me, the entirety of me, and holds my hair as I empty it out. 

Jungkook can’t know about this. He can’t know it’s happening again. I told him I healed from it, that it’s not haunting me again. Enough time has passed from my past relationship and I promised him that it wasn’t bad anymore. 

But it came back to me in the forced quarantine and I don’t know why. 

Yoongi washes my mouth once he sees I don’t retch my guts out anymore, heaving over the sink. And the gesture makes tears burn in the back of my eyes, burn like the heat of his hands. 

My legs wobble, give out on me and I fall. 

Not just onto the ground. 

I fall for him, unable to stop it. 

No one has washed my soiled mouth before. Not even Jungkook when I vomited in his toilet after we spent the night drinking at his place and I mixed my usual wine with a taste of whiskey that my ex-boyfriend used to love because I wanted to feel him after the breakup. 

Jungkook didn’t even hold my hair back. He gave me his frog headband from one of the episodes he shot with his members and I laughed at the lip of his toilet. And when I felt better and Jungkook tore open a new package of toothbrushes, he played that episode for me. Saved me, essentially, because I laughed so hard that I forgot about Ji-hoon and I fell asleep with a weightless heart. 

I’d watch it all throughout the quarantine every time it would come back to me. My realm of safety. 

Yoongi has saved me, too, similarly, yet differently. 

And I look at him as my heart thumps in my chest, tell him through the open windows of my eyes what he’s done for me. And when my chin wobbles, something in his softened expression breaks. Along with it, my fear of him splits and withers, leaving me bare and vulnerable. 

I feared him because of that unnamed thing in me that began to long for him when he wouldn’t even give me a tendril of his attention. I feared him because of his aloofness, out of which wildflowers bloomed once his members left and he talked to me for the first time and I detected the exact same flowers growing long and strong along the ivory of my bones. My mouth smiled, even though I didn’t want it to, and my body reacted to him, to his sudden care when he ordered the staff to wait with me for Min-ji to come and get me. I became feverish, boiling hot, even, once he looked back at me and wished me happy birthday. And then rapped his heart’s tenderness and wretchedness on the stage. 

I feared him because I knew I’d be his, eventually. And it wouldn’t matter if he’d never be mine. 

The Yoongi I profoundly remember wearing a bulby teddy bear headband in that episode, which has become my coping mechanism. The same Yoongi that held my hair while I puked, washed my mouth and now holds me steady on my feet by gripping my shoulders. 

And the process begins. 

He sucks me into him, taking me—and I am slowly but surely becoming his. 

But I don’t feel my stomach springing again. Neither do I feel a certain fear or panic quickening in me. 

I feel relief. I feel solace. I feel as though I’m being lulled to sleep—as if he sat by my bed and read me a bedtime story, in a soft yellow light that doesn’t hurt the eyes while the moonlight watches and dreams. 

None of us speaks. We peer into each other’s irises and I am spellbound. A garden that he locks up for the night, so no one comes in to vandalize it, when he curls a strayed, wet wisp of my hair behind my ear. His own hair is shading his eyes once again, but his eyes aren’t absent this time. 

They’re present, intentional, and full of gentleness that I’ve never known from a man. 

I sob. 

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” Yoongi whispers, and the secrecy in his tone gives me the private, sentimental notion that this is just between us—something that only he got to see and no one else will because he won’t let it. Gratefulness swathes my warm heart, pats lovingly my process of me becoming his, advancing it. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me. Did he do something?” 

I take a difficult breath in. I should feel pressured to respond, my obligations descending upon my head, but I don’t. I take my time because I know he’ll want to know the cause of my dissociation and I’m not too sure if I’m capable of sharing that with him. The block is a rising pool of water and I can’t swim. 

But then he tips my chin, the pad of his thumb in the center while his index keeps my head afloat. I feel myself being lifted into highs I’ve never got to see before, even though my toes stay on the tiles. And it’s all due to his touch. I can only let out little shivering breaths through my mouth, my tongue tied, my brows rounded. He reads it in my face, that something is wrong, but I don’t want to put the blame on Hobi; I don’t want him to think he hurt me. He didn’t do anything—it was me. 

All me. 

“Please,” he begs, the sound a mere hushed noise that travels through me and breaks me. “Don’t be afraid of me.” 

His words change everything. The beginning of the night and its end, too. 

And they change me. 

My distrust towards men roots from my fear of them and hearing Yoongi beg me, out of the generosity of his heart, to not be afraid of him punctures a hole through my reclusive bubble, where only Jungkook is permitted to enter. Yoongi’s light shines through, a streak of newness and calmness enveloping the bubble in an opalescent glow, thick with smokiness, wispy and cloud-like as if he brought heaven itself into my life. 

And I inhale that smoke, filled with soft tones of the rainbow, becoming it. 

And all those colors bring words to the tip of my tongue. 

“He didn’t do anything,” I whisper, and Yoongi flinches at my sudden response, his eyes deepening on mine. I soften at his reaction due to the simple fact that I’ve always been the one who flinched. It invites me to not stop there, like I normally would, but speak more. Scream at the top of my lungs. “That’s just who I am.” 

His mouth parts and he sucks in a tiny breath, taken aback. A light of the same size flickers in his eyes for a split second and his thumb caresses my chin just once. 

And I don’t stop there, either. It’s me who begs this time. 

“Don’t tell Jungkook, please.” 

And I gaze into a mirror of me when my plea floods his eyes with wetness and redness rushes to the surface of his cheeks. A layer of sweat glistens under the shade of his hair on his forehead and I catch a structure of sadness permanently coming to live in his features. The corners of his mouth round downwards and his eyes return to that smallness I met them in. 

He takes his hands off of me and nods. 

I mourn them. I mourn his touch. 

“I won’t tell him,” he promises, still in that hushed tone. Relieved, I place my hands on my arms, where his have been to replace them, but it doesn’t feel the same. A yearning forms in me—for his hands, for his gentle touch that doesn’t have the traces of roughness that Ji-hoon’s did, and I wonder what waters I have to wade through in order to get it back. I find myself determined to do the unthinkable in order to sense the warm delicacy of that altar. “Do you want to go home?”  

I want him to touch me at home with no one else around. 

“Can you take me home?” I ask and it’s the bravest thing that ever came out of me. And the same stupefaction that I sense on my face stirs his features, zapping my stomach with electricity.

He holds out his hand. “Come.” 

Every muscle in my body spasms and I do. 

I take what he offers and, oddly, I don’t let go of it. 

It doesn’t hit me what walls have been broken down in me until Yoongi places his red Jordans in front of my bare feet, white Nike socks into my hand and misunderstands my momentary shock for something else I’m too overwhelmed to decipher. He kneels before me and I hiccup at the sight, my cheeks blazing hot as he slides his warm palm down my ankle, prompting me silently to lift my foot.

And inwardly, inertly, I celebrate his touch—my body marred with gooseflesh. 

He’s taken me to his dressing room. At first I thought he was changing out of his clothes or grabbing some necessary things he needed in order to get out of this place, but he only snatched his phone from his vanity and went, without a second thought, to his—I assumed—work closet to fetch out his shoes. 

For me. 

The same red Jordans he wore in the episode, the color of my cheeks. 

My heart palpitates once he sets my foot on his knee and, wordlessly, plucks his socks from my hand. Unraveling them and bunching one as if he was putting them on a child, he slides my foot in it, raising the waistband as high as it can go before letting it snap and patting it to signal to me that he wants me to switch to the other one, where he does the same thing. Then, he guides them into his big sneakers, holding the tongue back for me. 

The size of my foot barely covers half of the shoe. 

I laugh, softly, through my nose. 

“They’re huge,” I comment, still on whispering terms, and Yoongi smiles up at me, lopsidedly, screwing up the rhythm of my heartbeat. 

“I’ll lace them up for you,” he whispers back, and my muscles spasm again. I believe it will be a regular occurrence throughout the rest of the night. 

This would be the time my panic would set in and send out a message to my body to start running, giving me the vigor to do so. But I remain on my spot and what’s more—I smile back, without him seeing because his hands nimbly and tightly make a pretty bow on his sneakers, making sure my heels don’t slip out of them. 

I must be dreaming. This can’t be real. 

I’m in my bed, settled in a deep slumber, where a dream that’s too good to be true is manipulating my mind because there’s no way that a guy, well one of them, that used to be my comfort for such long months is on his knees for me, having broken down my walls so quickly and painlessly that I didn’t even take a moment to notice them crumbled and decaying at the bottom of me. 

I didn’t go anywhere. Not to any concert, not certainly with my only best friend in the world. 

I’m going to wake up soon and lament this dream, ponder my loneliness and go on with the rest of my day, living in this dream for some brief time before my body eventually forgets. 

It’s happened before. It’s the face of my life. 

I have no problem with it. It’s my fate. 

“Your outfit looks way better with those shoes on,” Yoongi says, his attention fixed on my feet and I follow his gaze, extending my leg out of the slit of my dress and eyeing my long socks and the Jordans that go well with it, giving it a more casual look. 

I wish I had a matching red purse. 

Which reminds me that I left everything in the lounge room. 

I wipe my palms down my dress, feverish. “I like it.” 

I meet his face and blush, find him already smiling at me and I grin. A glint illuminates his dark pools, which makes me break the eye contact and play with my fingers—something I do to avert my mind from my shyness, but his stare is so potent that it magnetically lifts my eyes to interlock our gazes while my chin remains dipped. 

And it’s him, this time, who resists. 

He chuckles, awkwardly, and I bite my lip. 

He tilts his head towards the exit and I follow him out. In the hall, he looks back at me, similarly like he did before he went on stage, and adrenaline rushes through my nerve endings. A particular obsession, that I know that I will think about a lot once I wake up from this dream, with it perches on the top of my heart like a little, gossamer bird, gray like his hair, beginning to tweet its subtle, but ethereal song. 

“Can you walk okay?” he asks, and I’m so bowled over that I can only nod, flexing my warm toes at last in the spaciousness of the sneakers. 

Who would’ve thought that the guy who barely gave me the time of the day would, ultimately, borrow me his shoes and ask me if I’m able to walk in them. 

To say this is a crazy dream would be an understatement. 

Yoongi clasps the closed side of the double doors to the lounge room and casts me a glance. “Wait here.” 

I scrunch up my brows in confusion. I thought we’re saying goodbye to the rest of the members? 

I dip my head inside. The boys are each preoccupied with something else. Jungkook is downing shots with Taehyung at the table. Jin is having a heated conversation over the phone, pacing the room like Yoongi did and shushing Jimin when he laughs a little too hard with Hobi resting his head on his lap, still as devastated as he was. They’re sprawled on the ground with their backs against the alcohol station—Jimin drinking another tall glass of his mojito. And Namjoon… he is sat alone on the couch scrolling through his phone as if he was on a break from babysitting all of these boys. 

Yoongi goes unnoticed by all of them, bent at the waist as he drifts through them, looking for my things. 

My heart constricts. 

He picks up my heels by the straps near the couch and grabs my purse, walking over to Jungkook and tapping his shoulder. He swivels his head mid-shot and he sets it down on the table when I make out Yoongi saying to him that he’s taking me home. Jungkook’s mouth parts and bewilderment erupts in his features, his big and glossy eyes flicking to mine. Yoongi adds something and Jungkook, without another word spared, bolts to me. 

But I notice Yoongi straightening up and looking displeased behind Jungkook’s back, his mouth pressed firmly and his head knocked back a little. My throat dries, his semblant possessiveness curling something stable in my sternum. 

Run, I hear from within, despite all. 

“You’re feeling sick? What did you eat before you came here?” Jungkook asks, pity rounding his eyes, and my brows furrow in confusion for a second before I realize that it’s a cover-up. 

Yoongi’s actions silence that voice. His slow walk, too. 

My throat dries even more, but for a different reason. 

“Tteokbokki with lots of cheese. My hand slipped. You know what cheese does to me.” It’s borderline truth and I’m glad for it because I detest lying probably as much as I detest drunk men. 

Jungkook laughs and I fake a smile, facing Yoongi who’s come to stand by the threshold behind Jungkook. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and I fixate on it in the momentary interlude of the conversation, his dimple popping in and out with each movement. 

So cute.

“I’ll get my stuff, wait.” He goes to turn around, but faces the dead end that Yoongi is, who grips his shoulder. 

“No need,” Yoongi mutters, that wrinkle deepening between his brows. “Stay here with Taehyung. I’ll get her home safely and I’ll be back.” 

Jungkook looks back at me to see my reaction and I’m in awe how it’s the same motion, same gesture that Yoongi does, and yet it does nothing to me. I nod my head, curtly, and clutch my stomach, taking a step back as another heat wave washes over me and I can’t breathe. 

I need a shower, my bed and my lavender diffuser.

Jungkook swivels back to Yoongi and rubs his shoulder and I catch him wince, silently. I wonder why, but then Jungkook whispers something into Yoongi’s ear that averts my attention from it and sparks my curiosity. 

Yoongi only nods in response, avoiding my eyes. 

Interesting. 

Jungkook, then, turns to me. 

“Text me when you get home. I hope you feel better. Rain check?” 

I’d rather not, but I nod in the same fashion anyway. 

Jungkook hugs me, tells me happy birthday one last time as he rubs my back. Tears blur my vision but I push them back, wishing to not contemplate the misery that my birthdays have become since the breakup. 

But Yoongi sees them, mid-hug. And his bottom lip nearly juts out, his head tilting to the side, his arms crossed, that wrinkle between his brows. I blink them away, rapidly, even as I continue to look at him. 

Jungkook lets go and lets Yoongi step through. I wave him goodbye and turn on my heel to see Yoongi waiting for me not that far down in the hall, my heels and Grookey on my purse swinging in his singular hand. I skip over to him and we walk the rest of the way to the exit door together. 

With mismatched steps and itchy palms. 

His displeasure turned into a pure disgruntlement once our lungs were graced with a strong hit of petrichor-tinged brisk air. It was still raining, but not as vehemently as an hour ago, the thunder silenced like the protesting voice within me. 

However, Yoongi couldn’t control the weather just as easily. No matter how much he looked like he desired to. He seemed to be deeply uncomfortable by the rain and it ruffled my curiosity all over again, the simple question of why echoing down my being. His energy shifted—away from me as he wouldn’t spare me a glance, waiting for his chauffeur under the roof of the venue. 

He wouldn’t talk to me. Not even in the car. 

And the only time he spoke was when the driver wanted to drop me off at the spot, where he picked me up earlier. Yoongi told him off, ordering him to drive me all the way home, using a voice that tensed my muscles. 

Strict and low, an outright growl that ricocheted in my mind for the rest of the drive. 

It was safe to move through the rain; the raindrops pitter-pattered on the vehicle, creating a sedative sound that would mollify my disquiet if I wasn’t so bothered by the sudden change in his demeanor. I longed for his touch more than I did back in the venue, which is why I kept my hand flat on the empty middle seat between us, but he didn’t notice it, as absorbed as he was in his thoughts. 

The only time he glanced at me was when the driver killed the engine at my apartment building. The rain softened enough that its song ended as well and I was filled with a yearning so great, knee-deep in my waters, that I whispered the first thing my heart thought of and I wasn’t afraid of it. 

“Come upstairs with me.” 

Yoongi unbuckled his seatbelt. Didn’t say anything else. 

Didn’t give me my shoes, nor my purse. Carried them all the way up the stairs as the elevator was out of service. Walked them up in front of me, not behind me, checking in with me with silent looks every once in a while. 

I blamed the five floors I had to climb for making my heart race, not those looks from the back. 

I swore Grookey smiled at me the whole time. 

Once inside, taking our shoes off felt so intimate that my cheeks burned. I poured us tall glasses of cold water that we finished in one go and that silence settled between us fully, a thick smoke, that I now sensed to be comfortable, wafting between us. 

I told him I was going to take a shower and he nodded, solemnly. It took no longer than ten minutes and I didn’t let myself think, not even when I brushed my soapy palms on the places he touched and my yearning couldn’t help but grow. 

I stood up in my waters, letting the stream take me wherever it felt disposed to bring me to. 

And it brought me to open my bathroom door with a loud thud, indicating to him that he was allowed to come in. My skin was lustrous underneath my short black slip that did anything but cover my breasts with its lacy, heart-shaped neckline. My nipples kissed the fabric and grazed against it when I combed my wet hair and I blossomed into desperation, the longer I waited for him. 

A violet wisteria tree. 

A thing of violence—my arousal. 

And he comes, cognizant of the sweetened fragrance that leads him to me. Stands in the doorway with softened eyes and a mouth that falls, nearly, agape when he regards my nightwear. I glance at him, sweeping a makeup wipe across my cheek for one last time before I reach for my night cream and smear it on. 

Once I’m all done—clean, moisturized, and on the cusp of biting into my yearning—I face him with my body. 

His eyes, tormented, fall to the sheer fabric across my breasts. And his first primal instinct is to unzip his jacket and put it around me. 

“No.” 

The word tumbles out of me before any thoughts could rush in and I perceive that it’s my yearning, the stream, that’s in control of me, not my brain.

I throw his jacket onto the floor. 

His head knocks back like it did when Jungkook bolted towards me and he didn’t like it. The steam from my shower shields me like the smoke of silence that wafted between us and I step out of it, inching closer to him until I’m forced to look up at him. 

Something of great depth looms in his eyes, darkening them, and I recognize that it’s a torturous fight. And he confirms it to me by clasping his hands behind his back. 

But I don’t mourn it. I blaze up with anger so pivotal that I unclasp his hands, pressing myself against him. 

He sighs, but lets me hold his hands. “Jungkook said no.” 

So that’s the string of words that made him not reciprocate my gaze.

My anger thickens, taking my attention off the fact I’m touching him and he’s touching me at last and unraveling, wholly, in my seductiveness that I only feel in my aloneness and experience, for the first time in years, with a man. 

I can do anything I please without being held back. 

“Since when is Jungkook the boss of me?” I challenge, and Yoongi’s brows rise, his fingers flexing around my hands and lingering in that tightness. A code for me to decipher. 

Does he want the same as I do? 

Something about the way he’s peering down at me with his chin tilted teases my yearning and the unthinkable becomes thinkable. 

Just like that. 

“Are you not seeing him?” he asks, flexing his grip again and his thumb brushes along my long, manicured nails, playing with the tips. A sensual storm begins to wreak havoc in my stomach; I draw closer to him, breathe against his neck, ghosting my lips over that smooth skin. 

His breath shivers and I feel myself dampen, a thunder sounding in me. 

“Would I ask you to come upstairs if I were?” I take that question to his ear and his chest shudders against mine, his heartbeat an accompanying song to the thunder. 

I want it to be my lullaby as much as I want it to be my lifeline once I’m submerged in the lustfulness of my waters. 

I untangle one of my hands from his and glimpse into his shadowed pools through my lashes in this close proximity. Before I can feel up the part of him that I yearn for, he clasps my wrist and yanks it away, putting it back into the original position—although now it’s him who grips my hand. 

I hold him, he holds me. 

Cold sweat drips down my spine and I curl my lips, regretting my actions. It was foolish of me to think he’d want me as much as I—

“Are you needy?” 

I blink up at him, light opening in me—a momentary streak of sunlight in the middle of the storm. I’m flabbergasted for a moment and he misunderstands it again. Repeats the question, emphasizing my name. 

A lightning strikes in me, smiting every negative emotion. 

“What would you do if I said I was?”

Again, his brows twitch, the same light enfolding his irises and abiding there. 

He lifts my hands and crosses them behind my back, pushing me flush against his thinly clothed body. I feel the top ridges of abdominal muscles against my breasts, my stiffened nipples rubbing against them and I bite back a whimper, caging my bottom lip between my lips. His nose dips under the wet strands of my hair and travels across my cheek until he finds his destination—my ear, leaving the ghost of his soft, warm mouth and breath in his wake. 

He stalls the time, ruffling through the flowers of my wisteria tree, my arousal; disturbing the waters of my yearning. 

I begin to quiver. 

And Yoongi feels my tremor, squeezing me tighter against him. As if to still it. 

“I’d make you come so hard you wouldn’t have to touch yourself for days,” he whispers in my ear, reminding me of our privacy, of our whispering terms—something that has become so intimate, something that’s ours. Another thunder rolls in me as my eyes whisk back into my head, a trickle of my arousal drenching the inner of my thighs. And I let out the sound persisting in me—a whine, muffled by the steadiness of the crook of his neck. He sighs, deeply, in response. “Is that what you want?” 

I hum out my agreement, fixating on the dream his words paint, wanting mine to fade into it. I clench his hands so rigidly that our intertwinement convulses. 

Yoongi withdraws, his mouth wet and agape at last. And it’s him who gazes down at me through his lashes that oscillate in the same rhythm as our hands. 

He sucks in a breath. “You have to give me your words. No humming.” 

But I’m captivated by that mouth of his, by its small fullness, faint pinkness and luminescence. And he knows this—I sense his observance of my engrossment as I trace the lines of his lips with my eyes. 

And our interweaving is magnetic from both sides—the meeting of a wind and a wisteria blossom in a kiss. 

Both heads lean in at the same time, wordless synchronization as I take his lips and he takes mine, sucking on them as time ceases to exist. 

There’s no air in my lungs and there’s no air in his—his chest deathly still. 

We capture time and move it to our terms as we shift our heads in effort to take more of us. 

I devour his lips and he devours mine. 

Left and right, left and right. 

And I slip my tongue into his mouth, rolling the tip of the muscle against his. But he’s a tease—he pulls back just to take control of me, seizing my mouth in a closed kiss, slowing me down. He arches me, pins me against the shower screen and with the movement I get to feel the part of him I yearn for the most. 

I drip onto the tiles. 

His thigh, too, because he roots it between my legs. 

Yoongi deepens the kiss, lingering there, and breaks it. Pulling away, yet dwelling in that closeness, a raw marrow of the world’s light swims past his eyes, through our enduring magnetic, moistened connection, and right into mine. 

I feel whole. 

Yoongi smiles, delicately. “No kissing, either. Words.”

But that magnetic connection drives my hips to move against his thigh and he moans, mutedly, while I sigh in pleasure, my waters roused and gratified. I tip my head back against the shower screen, the smooth material of his sweatpants causing euphoria to burst in my clit, and Yoongi’s eyes descend to my chin, his hands flexing mine. 

And through that connection, I hear what his body said. 

He wants to grip my chin and make me listen, but he needs my consent in order to do that.

He’s respectful enough that he won’t do what he pleases, won’t let his hands wander, no matter how much I’d die for them to do that. He lets them be incarcerated—in the place where I’ve put them and he won’t try to break free. 

He wants me to open the cell because I have the key. 

My orgasm threatens to explode. 

And amidst the hot flashes and white dots shrinking my vision, he begs. 

“Please, kitty.” 

I come so hard that I lose my vision altogether.

I cry out. 

My eyes roll back and forth, Yoongi a constant, stable dark figure through my lashes as I ride out my high, my chest shuddering against his in a motion that grazes my nipples, heightening my orgasm. My mouth emits myriads of whispered agreements and exaltations that have no end, concocted with moans that echo through the lessening steam all around. 

Yoongi doesn’t let go of our clammy hands. He keeps them in a tight lock—holding me through it. 

And when the high tapers off, he swears, hushedly. 

He comes into full view; my vision clearing. He’s as pink as his lips, glowy and radiating as if he were the one who just orgasmed. The sight moves me, rippling my waters—and I might just work hard to give him the words he desires. 

“That’s the most I’ve heard from you all night,” he comments, his low intonation rasping his voice, teasing me, overstimulating me. “You’re alive when you come. Raw and articulate. No shyness to you.” 

I blush and I beam. In the middle of my high, I never know what gushes out of my mouth, but I’m aware of the freedom that surges through me. Having it validated uplifts my seductiveness and confidence and I struggle, purposefully, against his hold. 

I want to wade further through these waters. 

But Yoongi seems to stop me. 

He draws in and maps out my freedom with the lower half of his face. His nose and his chin nudge mine, his lips tracing the corner of my mouth before rising up the peak towards my cupid’s bow. There, he presses a validating, tender kiss. 

One that makes my knees weak. 

“You know what to do,” he murmurs, sinking his words into my mouth and I swallow them, kissing him back. The smacking sound of our liplocks prolongs my neediness, despite the fact I just received my release. 

No more distraction. 

“Lick me.” 

He stalls the time again. Raises his knee, brushing his drenched thigh against my sensitive clit, daring me. 

I shudder. 

Yoongi squashes me against him, fully, letting me feel the hardness of him as a reward.

I mewl. 

“Where?” 

That solidness of his causes my mind to spin; I say the first thing I think of. 

“My neck.” 

He dives in, licking a stripe across my throbbing vein before he sucks on the skin right beside it. The world shuts out as I roll my eyes back, moaning into the steam and arching myself further into him, yearning to glide into him, into the whole firmness of him. And when he begins to nibble, I make small rocking motions on his thigh, enough to stimulate me, drench me and make me needier, but not enough to get me off. 

And Yoongi senses well when it’s too much for me. 

“Where else?” he asks against my jaw, mouthing it, his breath ragged, and I lose myself in my arousal. 

“My nipple.” 

He dips to that lacy fabric on the left side, wafts that hardened breath over my stiffened nub. He flicks it with his tongue and I cry out, my wetness creating a trail on his thigh that sloshes when I ride it, adding to my madness. Yoongi wraps his puffy lips around that adorned peak, sucking it as his tongue, slowly and controlledly, continues to flick it. 

I exhale in staccato moans, broken—but whole. 

“Where else?” He swirls the muscle around it, taking it inside his mouth one last time. 

“My thigh.” 

He kneels without losing the hold over our interlocked hands. And when he whimpers against my inner thigh, I realize I molded him into the image of me. 

He’s as needy as me. 

Needy for me. 

“So pretty,” he hushes, dragging his tongue along the ivory stretch marks scattered there, collecting the stickiness of me, grunting. Plants open-mouthed kisses as far as our interweaving lets him. 

The taste of me doesn’t let him stay there for long.

I open my legs for him. 

He glances up at me, eyes large and glittery.  “Where else?” 

The last place ventures out of me with ease. “My clit. Please.” 

He growls. “Good. Spread your legs more for me.” 

I do as he says, the fabric lifting with the movement and revealing all of me to him. Shiny and wet, needy and desperate. He pulls down on our hands so I arch out more, and I lean the nape of my neck against the screen. He studies me, with those softened eyes of his and the glitter in them flickering. With a lopsided smile that he allows me to see, for he gives me a feral look before he leans in and attaches his mouth to my swollen clit, placing that open-mouthed kiss of his there, moving his tongue from side to side. 

And moans aren’t enough; I need to speak. 

My pleasured body begs me. 

“Yes, yes, that feels so good.” 

Yoongi hums, eyes in a trance on mine, validating my words. He sucks on my clit with a certain intensity that I’m not used to and I yelp, trembling, my noises growing in volume and I can’t hear myself, only his validating hums and growls that settle deep within me. He doesn’t focus on just one part of me—he collects my wetness, submerging the tip of his tongue inside my heat, fucking me there, before he returns to my clit and spoils it with nimble, fast flicks and and fervent, zealous sucks that make me praise him so loudly that his hands begin to tremble along with me. 

And they must cramp, too, because he lets go all of a sudden. 

Sinks my fingers into the fluffiness of his gray hair—and I am elated. 

His strands, silky and soft, sift through my fingers and I caress them, holding him to me as what he does can only be described as making love—and I break, I break so disastrously and splendidly that I know I won’t be able to recognize myself in the mirror after he’s done with me. 

I revel in it. 

And I want more. 

As if hearing me, Yoongi slides my leg over his left shoulder. His dark pink mouth drips and twists in a faint discomfort and I lift my knee, not wishing to hurt him—the two and two connecting in my brain that he must’ve undergone some kind of injury that he’s still recovering from. But he tugs my leg back down and pushes my hips towards his face more and I stumble, stuttering out giggles that dissolve into his and he lifts me over his good shoulder and throws me down onto my bed, immediately bending me in half. 

All breath loosens from me. 

He spreads my legs and pins them back to my shoulders. I concentrate on the firm grip he has around the back of my knees and I die, the blood-tingling feeling of his hands on me coaxing my liquid arousal out of me. And he watches the little rivulet follow the curves of my flesh, licking his lips—as if he didn’t already get a taste of me; as if his chin wasn’t dripping with the residue of me. 

Yoongi glimpses at me. 

“You really want this?” 

It’s a question that makes me roll my eyes in annoyance. I’ve moved way past desperation that I can’t wait any longer and I bounce in his hold—just to catch him humming and smirking. 

My breath hitches in my throat. 

He becomes someone completely different when he smirks. A more vulgar, masculine and playful version of himself; beyond attractive. I bounce again just to please him and see that smirk deepen and he does it, bites his lip dangerously slowly. 

I need him. 

“I need you inside me.” 

Those are indecent words that I never thought I’d ever be saying to a guy I just met, but if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s him. He washed puke off my mouth. The concept of time doesn’t exist in our shared, dreamy realm. We’ve shifted beyond it—outran it and my words mock it. 

But Yoongi doesn’t see it the way I do. 

“You’re not getting it tonight.” 

I trail my fingers up his forearms that bulge with the strength he uses to pin my knees back. It doesn’t pain me that he’s not giving it to me because the more he smirks, the more I perceive that this is a chase. 

One I’m willing to play. 

“What am I getting from you then?” I purr, basking in the sultriness I radiate. I’ve missed my seductiveness and I fall into obsession with the way I share it with him, with the way it affects him. 

He thinks about it, stalling the time again, and I pat his cheek with my big toe—a gesture that makes a swarm of giggles come out of him like butterflies that flutter all over me. 

I grin, my fever rising. 

This is fun. 

Sweat coats him in sheen and I was wrong earlier. Hobi isn’t the most beautiful boy I was ever blessed to witness. 

Yoongi is, when he laughs like the world isn’t unmerciful. 

He lets go of one of my legs, but I keep it in the same position. He uses the same hand to grip the back of my neck and pull me towards him, kissing me indelicately. 

Vulgarly. 

Offensively. 

And I moan, brattily, into his mouth, dragging him over me. He allows me, allows me to feel his hard manhood against the place where I need him the most and I grind, I grind like my life depends on it, my moans evolving into whines when his grunts deepen and he squeezes his eyes shut, our lips longing for each other, sailing on the almost bruised, swollen surface. 

He fucks into me just once and pulls away. 

“I can’t,” he whispers, but kisses me with chasteness that I taste for the first time. “I’m sorry, kitty. I’m gonna make you feel good.” 

He occupies a castle that isn’t built out of just physical pain. I may have thought the chase was conjured by his knowing better, but there is a more profound reason behind it. An image of the way he paced around the lounge room after the show flares across my vision and I bow to his decision, internally. I respect his emotional pain without demanding to know its story—enough that I sit up and clutch his right shoulder, the good one. 

“You don’t have to,” I say, lowly, covering myself by tugging the fabric of the slip down over myself, but he yanks my hand away and flicks the fabric upwards, giving me a look. 

“Let me eat you out.” His stare softens, the whites blinding. “I want to forget, please.” 

I don’t ask what, knowing how difficult it is to talk about a pain so enormous that it stops you from going after what you yearn for. And the way I lie back down is more of an expression of my chasmic respect than it is out of a selfish desire. And the way I spread my legs for him and pin them to my shoulders with my own hands, like he did, is the declaration of my ultimate submission to him and all the small particles that make him him. 

Pain or no pain, he’s the apotheosis of my entire being when he sinks his finger inside me and finds me locked, finds me forlorn. And once he opens me, stretches me and soaks me like a flower singing to God, he becomes the epitome, the core of all of my obsessions. 

And I’m going to take care of him. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ first part here

CENTURY | myg

pairing: boyfriend!idol!yoongi x f. reader 

genre: smut

word count: 3.6k

summary: when yoongi needs inspiration for the song he's been working on, you're not hesitant to help him.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: idol yoongi working in his studio being all stressed out is a warning on its own, he's also immensely hot and calls himself oppa (god help me i am a weak girl), mentions of a nasty punishment, yoongi is kinda mean, and a little bit horny, clit spanking *heart eyes*, oral sex (f. receiving), praise kink—usage of stickers, raw sex.

note: my god, this was a drag at first but because i feel sm better today, i finally finished this and i feel myself returning to the hoseoksluna that i was before i got sick. :( this was fun to write today omg. yoongi is absolutely delicious in this and i can't wait to start writing smoke 3 after this. my babies, enjoy this smutty one shot. i love you. spam my inbox, i miss you! give me a warm welcome, please. MWAH.

Habitually, singing for him was your escapism. You’d close yourself up in a bubble, withdrawing from the surrounding gray world, and you’d slink away to a realm brimming with vivid colors. In his songs, you could be anyone. A figment of his imagination that had more life in its veins than you ever had the taste of. You’d forget, for hours upon hours, about the anguish of your daily life and mental issues that would trouble you and, taking his hand, he would take you to Neverland, watch over you, then take you home. 

This time, however, he didn’t take you to that fantasy land. 

He took you somewhere darker. 

The energy in his lab was potent with something that tickled you ever so gently when you stepped inside. A dusky room with an even heftier, crepuscular layer of vexation. You could feel it thumping beneath your skin after it grazed you with its fingertips, weaseling its way in, settling, stilling. Your boyfriend didn’t turn around when he heard you shut the door, nor when your tights-clad feet paddled on the floor, as absorbed as he was in his work. No shoes inside the Genius Lab—that was the first rule, one you were disciplined enough from him to remember, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night. 

You paid a great price, once upon a time. 

You had walked in with your Nike’s when he called you over, wet and smeared with the snow from the winter’s artwork outside. Despite the fact you rubbed the soles on the mat in the building of his workplace long before you strutted all the way to his studio, there were still little snowflakes that clung to your sneakers. It was your first time there and Yoongi seemed to have forgotten to let you in on the rules. And once he saw the mess you made, he told you off. 

Kissed you quite roughly. 

Made you promise to never do that again, playfully. 

Sank you to your knees and bent you over those melting snowflakes. Spanked you so hard that he engraved the first rule of the Genius Lab into your system. 

No shoes inside. 

Then, he patted your head. 

Gave you a silver star sticker, resembling the snowflake, for being such a good girl that learns well. 

You had stuck it on the table right beside his laptop, an etched memory that you recollected every time he’d invite you over. 

It’s what he’s mindlessly rubbing with his fingertip as you walk over to him, another winter later, embedding your digits into the ebony night of his hair, the long strands so satiny and sleek. Yoongi gazes up at you from his computer, pale violet flecks adorning the skin beneath his weary, yet ever so trenchant eyes, and you pout at the sight of him. There must be something wrong with the process of his album-making and he’s determined to fix it. 

Yoongi takes off his headphones, wraps an arm around your waist. You’re wearing a little black dress for him with a low neckline that uncovers everything private as he leads you to sit down on his lap, greeting you with a raspy hello and a kiss that tells you he needs you more than his own countenance lets on. 

You linger in the close proximity, peppering his mouth with tiny kisses that make him visibly relax—his shoulders slump against his chair and he lifts your knees, placing them in the snug crook between his side and his arm, his hand spreading forest fire down your calf, stopping at your ankle, swathing it with those flames. 

You cease your kisses, overcome with his body heat, and butterflies zap you in your tummy when he continues to kiss your mouth with those sweet little pecks. 

Prolonging the last kiss, he peers down at you with the world’s most affectionate adoration and you blush. You’ve tasted the dulciness of all the seasons with him, and yet it feels as though you’ve just started dating. His love has long made its home within you, but you can still sense its freshness in your bones. 

It will never get old. 

“I love these, baby,” he husks, his eyes growing more lidded in the heated, cozy atmosphere guarded by the fire of his body, and he drags a hand up and down your leg, spreading his admiration on the nylon of your tights that he speaks of. “You came just at the right time.” 

He nuzzles his face in your neck while he paws at your feet and you soften, brushing your fingers through his hair. You think he needs to get out of this place and breathe in some fresh air for his brain to recuperate and be filled with the flimsy, ivory sparks of inspiration. 

It’s snowing outside. 

It always seems to be when he invites you to his secret spot during the winter months. 

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask, requiring the specifics in order to help him as much as you can. “What is it this time?” 

Yoongi grumbles nonsense in your neck, the sound muffled and indecipherable, and you laugh, softly, lifting his head. 

“I literally didn’t catch a word you said,” you whine, squishing his cheeks, and Yoongi feignedly sobs, scrunching his eyes shut. You laugh, wiggling his head, encouraging him to tell you what made him darken the energy of his studio so devastatingly. 

He inhales a deep breath in and takes his hand to your bum, fondling it. “I miss your pussy.” 

You burst out into obscene laughter, wiping a hand down his face. “Be fucking serious.” 

Yoongi chuckles, but then breaks into false little sobs all over again. “The melodies aren’t working together, I can’t transform the ideas in my head into this song and I just miss your pussy so bad. I wanna eat it.” 

So that’s the source of that dark energy in the lab. 

He’s horny. 

He wails into your bosom, deepening your laughter that melts into an endearing coo. One that lifts his head and makes a grin blossom on his pale face, a dab of color rushing to the surface. 

A pretty lotus flower, opening for you. 

You poke a finger into his cheek, your heart constricting at the cute way your nail makes a round dent in that flourishing flesh. “I thought you called me over because you wanted my vocals.” 

Yoongi squeezes your bum, sucking in a breath. “I did. I wanted to finish the melodies so I could record your voice, but shit fucking happens. I thought we could write the lyrics together.” 

You bite your lip, finding the idea mesmerizing, and your chest clenches, a certain longing for it forming inside. A light flickers in Yoongi’s abysmal eyes at your reaction—and you wish you could fix this situation for him, remove the block and replace it with a creativity of your own. 

An idea pops into your mind, abruptly. 

You widen your eyes, your smile growing, little by little. Yoongi straightens, his features mirroring yours, and the picture hope paints upon his countenance only drives your idea forward. 

“What?” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” You clasp a hand over your mouth. “What if we write the lyrics first and just hum random melodies, see what fits best?” 

He thinks about it, tilting his head. And then destroys the realm that your little idea created. 

“I’m sorry, baby, but that never works with me. I know artists that do that, but whenever I tried, I just reached a dead end,” he mutters and you pout, furrowing your brows. He lets you soak in it for a little while before he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.” 

Yoongi pushes his laptop to the side and lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing, setting you down in place of it. He moves his chair forward. Spreads your legs. Kisses the inner of your thigh and you fall back, your palms landing on the ivory keys of his keyboard and creating a soft music that raises his brows. 

“Do that again.” 

You smile and lift your hand, dropping it on the same notes that you did by accident. He looks over to see which ones you played and he kisses the front of your thigh before he reaches over for his notepad and pen, writing it down. 

“You’re my little angel, I swear,” he says without taking his eyes off of his writing, then he extends an arm behind you and finishes the melody with a certain ease that causes him to relax even more—and your smile to deepen in your face. 

You blush, feeling like that winged creature—assigned to his side to help him. 

“I brainstormed some lyrics the other day,” Yoongi mumbles and begins to stare you down with an intention that coils in your gut, your heart quickening its rhythm. “How about you bounce off of it, make up some lyrics while I eat you out? I can play the melody for you that we just made.” 

Your mouth parts, your throat drying. Warmth pools in your core, the idea of Yoongi playing on the keyboard while he does something so intimate to you bringing you down to an abyss of madness. He hands you his notepad after he flips to the page with the lyrics he mentioned. Your eyes skim over his neat, black handwriting, the random words that could string together a sentence if there was a little work put in it. 

But how are you supposed to focus in those circumstances? It’s not just his dick that makes you braindead—it’s his tongue that does it in the first place. 

“What do you say, baby?” he persists, dipping down and scattering kisses along that sensitive part of your thigh, his breath wafting over your core as he switches to the other one, spoiling it with those same wet kisses. 

You catch a glance of his shining tongue and that does it for you. 

Your heart thumps, violently—and your pussy drools. 

“Fuck, Yoongi.” 

That does it for him, too. 

He goes to rip your tights right in the middle, but you yelp, stopping him. 

“No, don’t rip them. They were expensive and they’re my only pair for the winter.” 

Yoongi gives you a look, cocks his brow. “Why didn’t you say? I could buy you some.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. You don’t like to use his money to buy yourself personal stuff because you have a job of your own and you’re able to take care of yourself, but lately, with prices rising and the rent growing more expensive, there’s little from your paycheck that you could spend on things like these. And you still need to save up for way tougher times. 

“I could never ask you to do that, are you kidding?” 

Yoongi’s gaze darkens. “Who said you couldn’t?” 

You open your mouth to argue with him, but only a yelp comes through when he swiftly tugs the waistband of your tights over your bum and up your legs, lifting them in the process and folding you in half. 

You’re sure he’s ripped them. 

You’re fucked. 

You lean back, landing once again on his keys and at this point he laughs, darkly, telling you which notes to write down and with a shaky hand—you do. 

“You’re getting so many fucking stickers today.” 

Your heart stops its feral beats and you gaze down at him with a tormented look, your brows furrowed, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. Yoongi bites his lip and gets his sheet of silver little stars. 

He peels one out. “This one's for you coming at the right time.” He sticks it to that one side of your inner thigh that he left unkissed, the sticky part latching to your skin without a hint of a problem. “And this one’s for your smart little brain.”

He sticks it to the bone right across your cunt, smoothing it out with his thumb that then begins to travel and crosses the distance to the soaked center of your panties. Yoongi sucks in a breath as he peers down at the outline of your flesh, parting your thighs a little to gaze up at you through his lashes. “You have two tasks,” he rasps, brushing his lips across your clothed, dampened flesh. 

You grip the table beneath you, letting out a whiny sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Pay attention.” 

A simple, low order and you pop them open, breathing out in staccatos. He runs that thumb over your clit, puts a little pressure over it. You bite your lip, straining your ears, but the faint pleasure makes it a little bit difficult for you. 

“I’m gonna rub this clit and you don’t get my tongue unless you tell me the name of the store, where you’re getting new pairs of tights from today.” He focuses on your nub, circling it with soft grazes that he knows they get you riled up nice and fast, needy and drenched. It’s what he does when you’re watching a movie together and wind up not knowing how it ends. “And once you come for me, you get another sticker for being such a good girl. Is that clear?” 

Your lungs heave and your mind spins, your brain cells shrinking with your arousal. You lick your lips. Wetness stains your panties even more. “And the other task?” 

He slaps the side of your thigh, making you jump. “I asked you a question, did I not?” 

Such abrupt meanness. Other times, it would get you going, but today it’s not something that you’re really feeling. Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re ovulating and you need the gentleness that he’s more than capable of giving you. 

You drift a hand down his face, stopping with your thumb at his lips, tracing the upper line. So soft, so puffy. “Be nice to me, Yoongi.” 

His eyes round and a glint perches itself on the top of his chocolate irises. Yoongi sets your feet on both of his armrests. Leans his head against your thigh, looking up at you with a tender half smile. 

“Is that an order?” he asks, flattening his fingers across your clit and strumming it, the pleasure heightening and you sink your teeth into the bottom pillow of your mouth, your body following the wave of the delight he provides you, rolling. 

“Yes. Be nice or no pussy.” 

He gasps, lowly, his smile transforming into that smirk of his that has the tendency to weaken you through and through. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” 

Your heart throbs and you love it. “Yes, I would.” 

You go to close your legs and sit up, but he stops you. “Okay, fair enough.” 

Oh, that solid calmness of his, perfumed with his horniness. You grin, pleased. “Will you be nice?” 

Yoongi licks over the bare skin of your thigh, rubbing his face in it. “I’ll be an angel like you if you do the tasks.” 

You roll your eyes. A quid pro quo. Fair enough. 

“Okay, be an angel to me then and come here,” you purr, aware of the fact that he got you into this mirrored maze of his horniness and you love it, delight in it, which is the sole, unabashed reason why you tug the back of his head down to your cunt, holding him to you. 

Yoongi opens his mouth just at the right time, licking over your clothed clit and moaning. But then he fights against your hold and spanks your pussy, smiling playfully up at you while biting his lip. 

You jump, whimpering. 

“I didn’t hear you say the name of the store,” he retorts, rubbing, properly, your bedewed nub with slow, agonizing circles. 

Fuck. 

Your breathing quickens and you scramble your blank brain to remember any store that has the least expensive tights. You say the name of the first one that pops up. 

Yoongi doesn’t like your answer, though. 

He spanks your clit, gently. 

“Think again. I’m not buying you anything that will last you for a day. Don’t play me.” 

You can’t help the heavy smile rising on your face, your cheeks heating up so much that they ache. And it helps you, his bull-headedness on buying you high-quality garments that are worth the money, to fight—like he did against your hold—your deeply imprinted independence and utter, shyly, with little hiccups, the name of the store that will keep your legs warm throughout the unforgiving Korean wintertime. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Let Oppa take these off now.” 

Your stomach flips at the title. You’ve always been obsessed with it—as it, without fail, provoked your independence and slowly transformed you into the mindset of a little girl, taken care of by someone stronger, smarter and older than her. All while keeping it intact. 

Yoongi knows you can do everything on your own. And he supports it. But it doesn’t mean he’s not willing to give you a hand. 

The same hand he now uses to bring your panties to the waistband of your thighs near the back of your knees, dragging it down that skin. He spreads your cunt with both of his hands, gasping lowly at the sheen that greets him and magnetically pulls him in. 

He kitten licks your clit and your elbows tremble, giving out on you—another melodies wafting through the air that make him chuckle into your pussy, engraving vibrations that encourage you to lean back all the way and take what he gives you. 

“Write that down, can you do that?” he asks, and when he hears you clicking his pen, he tells you which notes those were. You scribble it down, messily, your hand quivering and painting an obscure picture in his notepad as he begins to suck on your clit in intense waves. You shudder, terribly, the lines of his own pen dark, long and disordered like you. 

You give in, moaning so loud that he intones with you. 

And what you never expected—the tones of your noises provide him with an inspiration he cannot miss. Withdrawing with a wet chin and stealing his pen from you, he jots it down, propping the notepad on your thighs, smiling at the picture you painted. 

Writes something else down, too, while you quiver for him, waiting for his tongue. 

He kisses your thigh, ravagedly. “Sing these lyrics.” 

Taking it from him, the words blur on the paper because he sinks a finger inside your heat, curling it to that spot that he favors, fucking you with a fast motion that unables you, completely, to let out a sound colored by his geniality. 

“Come on, baby. Sing for Oppa.” 

You cry out, clenching your muscles—scream as he latches his mouth to your clit, flicking it with the tip of his equally genius tongue. 

The lab spins, not just your mind. 

“I can’t—I can’t. Oh my God, Yoongi, fuck,” you drag out the curse word, the notepad falling out of your hand and plopping onto the ground. 

Yoongi hums, delighted, sucking on your nub so vivaciously that your orgasm nears. As if sensing it, he adds another finger in. Validates the incoming of your splendid explosion by making quick, little, deep sounds that lead you to that peak. 

You grasp his hair, tightly, humping his mouth. From your own spill screams that fade into soft moans, resplendent of the notes he liked so much and he fucks your hole faster. Pulls out his mouth just a little, flicking your clit from side to side—and you realize he did it so he can watch you come for him. 

Come for your Oppa. 

And you do. With a squeak, one that fades to a legato, tender moan of his title. With an eye contact that freezes time for a century. And, suddenly, just like that—it’s just you, him and the winter. 

Snowflakes that ache to seep into yours and his cheeks. 

Yoongi growls. His male pheromones spill out of him like liquid that washes over you and you get a sticker. 

Right in the center of your mound. 

And he fucks you into wintry oblivion, a snowstorm that swaddles you closer and closer to him. The table rattles, key notes sound out, the slapping of skin conjures ideas in the magnificence of his brain. And then he comes. 

With a final stroke and a rope of his cum all over the sticker near your pleasured cunt, he resumes the time. 

But both you and him are newly constituted by that winter-kissed century, chiseled by it and irrevocably changed by it. 

Yoongi cleans you up and dresses you. You find out he didn’t rip your tights and you give him such a soft, endeared look for it that he coos, chuckling, and pats your disheveled hair, smoothing it down. He kisses you once he fixes you up and, grabbing his keys, phone and wallet, he drives you to the mall, to that exact store you mentioned, to buy you a myriad of tights to last you for a half of a century, grazed and fondled by winter. 

And he leads you back to the studio, besprinkled with the snow’s affection, where you watch him create a song out of your pleasured voice, sampling one of your favorite oldie’s tunes that you end up yanking him up to his feet to dance with him to it. The raspy voice of Ray Charles envelops Yoongi’s hands as he guides your hips and he kisses you until the late night hours. 

And in those late night hours, he watches you, like the angel you are, as you sing the poetry he wrote with your help. 

Neverland doesn’t exist anymore. Not for you at least. 

The darker place he took you to is one breathing with the gesture of helping your lover. Warm, moody and timbered. The licks of flames and the earnestness of a love that depends, without fear, on the other person. 

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ divider by kthice ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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SMOKE, iii. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook, bespectacled girl)

genre: angst

word count: 10.3k

summary: everything that has begun hurts. 

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: heavy yoongi angst, a rundown of the smut from the previous chapter (oral sex, humping, making out), importance of consent, hearing voices, anxiety, borderline thoughts of not wanting to be here in this world, covid and the pandemic, anger, hyyh yoonkook, yoonkook smoke together.

note: i'm sorry for this chapter. :( i will make it better, i promise. as much as it was pain to write the rundown, i still think it's beautiful and so vital to this story. i hope my babies enjoy it. luv yah. <3

side note: i recommend reading smoke 2 before this chapter, so you don’t forget about anything! i didn’t use much detain in the rundown, the chapter would’ve had 20k words if i did. 😔✋🏻

I don’t believe in God, but I prayed to something bigger than me when our chauffeur drove us through the rain.

I’ve known the man for years and I would drift through my precious slumber whenever he would get behind the wheel and not awaken. And as much as I trusted him, I didn’t trust the damned, despicable rainfall that seems to be infested in my life like liquid anthropoids. 

And as much as he meandered through the streets with utmost care and slowness, my muscles tensed and wouldn’t let up, my internal pleading words to someone up above coiled, choked out and strained. What’s worse, I feared she, the kitty girl, would stray away into her pain in all that quietness and melancholy that the condition of the weather emitted, and her bodily need to vomit would bash against the shattered pieces of my heart until only dusky powder remained. 

I folded her into my pathetic prayer. 

Seeing her so lost, unknowing of where she is and what is happening, seeing her eyes so absorbed in the nightmare she was facing, so awfully unfocused, then looking at me with such veneration once I cupped some cold water and let it drip down her noble spine—my heart failed and tore apart in two, her plea not to tell Jungkook severing it into smithereens. 

I would do anything for her, anything she’d ask. 

And I did. 

The car stopped at her apartment building, and it wasn’t until then that my muscles dissolved into a state of calmness that allowed me to breathe evenly. 

We didn’t crash. 

No vehicle appeared in front of ours. 

No muscle tear. 

My consciousness ceased being one of such smothering vigilance, melting into inquisitiveness about her energy and how she was feeling, into a territory that is ruled by her bergamot and mandarin perfume, by her beauty and dangerous femininity laced with girlish shyness that twists my stomach into knots. Thankfully, the downpour crept out of my solid and unyielding atmosphere and I felt the clouds part. 

The moonlight sliced through me when she asked me to come up. 

I didn’t hesitate. 

Tranquility surged through me, passing into me by those moonbeams. 

I glanced up at the moon when I held her purse up in the air for her, at a comfortable level for her arms as she rummaged through it. Once I heard the clanging of her keys, I looked down—meeting the same face that those clouds above revealed. Little moon kitty girl. 

But she wouldn’t connect her eyes to mine and my own mistake from earlier poked at my heart, her fear of me my everlasting demise. 

I was willing to do anything in effort to erase it from her body, never to be found again. Smooth out what I’d molded in her, reconstruct it into something new, mild and mellow. 

She held the door open for me and I perceived she had the power to pump blood into that wretched flesh of mine and deflate it all the same. It sparked something within me that I didn’t know how to identify. Something way beyond respect, enfolded with care, despite the fact I just met her. 

Fate has been too, too merciful to me—and I wasn’t sure if I should trust it. Sun-mi wouldn’t speak to me, still, even when I would call out to her.

Only radio silence echoed back to me. 

What was difficult to wrap my head around was the fact that I wasn’t reluctant to trust the kitty girl. It came to me with ease, filled up all parts of me that there simply wasn’t any space for any skepticism, nor for any ambivalence. If there was anything I was sure of, it was her. 

Me misjudging her in the beginning may have brought it about, but I firmly believe that it has now enclosed it with a protective layer of stability. One I hold dear to my heart and find myself headstrong about nurturing, protecting it further. 

She’s good. 

She’s the same as me. 

And she was wearing my sneakers.

It was all I could fixate upon as she led me through another door, out of which a high set of stairs emerged and by which she stopped. They suited her so well, downright belonged to her that I thought about letting her keep them. My heart swelled, making it difficult for me to breathe, and I went in first because I knew if I had the full package of her round femininity, her spine and the sneakers in front of my eyes, I would’ve collapsed and broken my neck. 

And I didn’t want to regard her like that. Especially not when I’d attached myself to Sun-mi. 

Even when she was lifeless, voiceless, seemingly not with me at all. 

And yet, whatever it was in me that asked for the kitty girl, didn’t leave me be until I checked, multiple times, if she was with me. If her heels weren’t slipping out of my shoes, or if the laces weren’t unraveling. If she wasn’t drifting away from me. 

She wasn’t. 

She was conscious, attentive to me and flushed under her black dress. 

My hands itched, remembering the feel of her icy cold skin warming up to me as she came to her senses. The memory engraved itself into the lines of my palm and I saw it, the film of it, all over again, when I looked down at my hand, full of pins and needles. 

It went away when I propped it on the wall while taking my shoes off, watching her small feet emerge out of the spaciousness of the sneakers. She blushed and wouldn’t reciprocate my gaze, her flush shooting to the apples of her cheek that only grew upwards to her temples like the prettiest of wild roses. Without a word, I followed her further into her apartment and I thought about how I’d follow her anywhere she went. 

Her living room was a place of utmost, ivory rest—as if she was inspired by the heaven she must be often visiting in her dreams. White walls, white couch, pristine lilies and undying vines of greenery lining each corner alongside a drapery of twinkling bulbs of lights. When she switched them on, I found myself in the middle of her personal heaven, considered it haven and I didn’t wish to leave. 

I didn’t know why she invited me upstairs and the only reason that came to my mind was one I wasn’t allowing to consume my weakened heart. 

I was willing to stay, even if she possibly needed a person to be present with her. Even if she needed to go non-verbal in the other room while I would bask in the purity of her eternal personality sunk in every detail of her apartment. I yearned to sit on her couch and take it in. Take in the perfume of her lilies, the soft and mellow mellowness of the lights that were so reminiscent of the core of those flowers. Her magazines and her books. Her cooking utensils and the reality show programs that must be burned into her TV. 

I yearned to sit and breathe her in. 

And I did when she poured me a glass of cold water and we drank it, wordlessly. She went to cleanse herself off the nightmare that had clung to her so vividly and deftly and I sat down in the middle of her plushy couch, her squishy pillows supporting my back. I ran my fingers through the different fabrics of those small cushions of hers, her blanket. Felt as though I was touching her, knowing she would repose her body using those objects of softness and something of great importance and emotional value, that I wasn’t really ready for, clove to my bones. 

I longed to be her object of softness, snoozing and idleness. I pitied her for going through something so pernicious, especially in front of Hobi. Especially in front of such a stranger like me. 

I didn’t understand how those tender feelings towards her infiltrated my lungs when I didn’t breathe enough of her air. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to feel towards a girl, not when I still had my tendencies to attach myself to my Sun-mi. I had tried to date after her, but I never developed feelings for the other person, not even a hint of them. I was indifferent to their personal stories as they were to mine, which made me realize in the long run that people in the current dating scene do not search for a long-term connection. The only connection they seek is the physical one and I regretted, for quite some time, for moving on the traditional way. Sun-mi was a treasure of gold and I was a fool for touching girls with gold-powdered hands. 

They condemned it and I was pushed towards a death of loneliness. 

Sitting here, listening to the murmur of her shower, abusing her special beige blanket with my gold-stained fingers, I wondered about her view on modern relationships. Was she the casual type and was I doomed? Or was she a love-fool like me? 

A boom reverberated out far in the corridor, tugging me away from the false sanctuary of my high hopes. The kitty girl had flung open the door to her bathroom, but she didn’t walk out. My stomach zapped with the temptation of the reason that still crouched somewhere, tentatively, in my brain, one that I’m holding back with all my strength. But then the notion that she might have been feeling faint and needing my help crawled all over my scalp with icy legs and before I knew it, my feet paddled down that corridor. Somehow, they had the knowledge of where to go without a sliver of doubt. 

Like all my thoughts, the notion had been false. 

She was perfect and erotic in her night slip, cleansing her face off the last detail of her nightmare. My heart forgot all of its regulations when I regarded the end of her ebony dress, grazing just right the curves of her bum. My mouth parted and vehemently dried, another notion slipping in that only she could be the source of water that my throat miserably needed. 

And then she turned around, a glowing torch of all my desires, dressed in silk and lace that hardened me so painfully my knees nearly wobbled. The sheer fabric pressed against her feminine peaks, baring them to me, my freed heart whispering to me that she was fully naked underneath her nightwear for me—and that she wanted it that way, wanted my eyes to see it. 

My hands acted out of habit—unzipping my jacket to cover her. My hands that didn’t connect to my heart, nor my mind. My hands that seemed to have remembered my high hopes. The only smart part about me. 

But she disagreed with them, and her own threw my garment down to the damp floor. She might as well have stomped on it to crush them further because wherever she was placing me right now, she was ensnaring me in her danger. In her femininity, in her eroticism. But she didn’t realize that she was tormenting me, opening my high hopes wide, exposing them and scratching them raw. 

And by doing that, she was making me want to torment her with pleasure so great that she would submit to my traditional ways. To my golden powder that would eventually broaden the slits of her cat-like eyes. 

Jungkook’s voice rang through me, however. At the cusp of my decision to manipulate her right back by giving her precisely what she was pining for. 

He had warned me, with maximum carefulness that she didn’t hear, to not take advantage of her. Jealousy washed over me like a stream of iciness—that he knew something I didn’t, as if he truly knew what was going on in her head while I didn’t, and that he had claims on her and a certain possessiveness over her that I had no business being bothered by. But I could only nod as he poured that cyanide into my ear, held back as I was by outside forces. And it held me back now, forcing my hands behind my back, forcing me to rethink my decision. 

She grasped that force, though. Pressed herself against me. And I could feel the ropes of that translucent obstacle ripping apart in her hands as they wrapped around mine, unfurling them, inviting my decision to come forth all over again. The hardened peaks of her breasts provoked the fight occurring in me and I sensed myself losing, losing Jungkook’s warning in my body, losing his respect—and losing his love. 

The latter is what drove me to tell her the truth—tell her that Jungkook said no, divulging to her the picture of the mountain of respect I bore in my lungs for him, despite the fact I kept holding her delicate hands. And she responded with such a piquant wit that it quaked through that mountain, debris falling off, tumbling to my feet. 

Since when is Jungkook the boss of me?

The fight loosened with her words, but it brought about the awareness that while Jungkook wasn’t the boss of her, he had been—for the longest time—the boss of me. It dawned upon me, along with the notion that it didn’t have to be this way, so intensely that my grip flexed around her hands. And the feeling of ultimate liberation, scented by her raspberry body wash, descended upon me, hushing to me, ever so softly, that because she’s become a new character in this following chapter, I didn’t have to cling to Jungkook any longer. 

And I recognized that voice. 

It was my Sun-mi speaking to me, guiding me. 

And I tried, with all my might, to conceal the evidence of the relief and the dull elation surging through me due to the fuzzy impression she had given me—a headstart to my decision. But then she reminded me of the possessiveness Jungkook had over the kitty girl and she encouraged me to ask her about it. 

And I did. 

Sun-mi took my thumbs and brushed them over the girl’s nails, showing me how before letting me take over. And the way she reacted to the feeble touch, it made me see her in a slightly different light. 

She was dangerous and erotic, yes. But deep within, in the dust-suffused corners of her being, there dwelled an abandoned kitten. Starved—starved of touch, of love and care. With a hollow belly and a bony face. And it stared right back at me after it brushed its soot-stained features against my neck, asking for more with eyes that were no longer seductive, but sorrowful. 

She was a kitten I ached, ached to take care of. Adopt and bathe and feed. Make pretty and fill up with life, joy and colors of the rainbow of emotions she could meet and get to know with me. 

And Sun-mi validated these thoughts of mine, expanding that warm feeling in my gut until it reached my heart. 

My breath shivered. 

And Kitty, Kitty expanded her wit, hauling my decision forth—to the edge of reality, provoking me further, but I saw right through it. She wanted my care for a different reason, using the same manipulation technique, and Sun-mi nodded in me. 

Would I ask you to come upstairs if I were?

Sun-mi warned me a second before Kitty untangled her hand from my grip and went to feel up my groin. I caught it just in time, putting it back to my side, and her dolorous regret pierced through me; pierced through Sun-mi’s voice, shutting the half of her sentence that advised me to be cautious. I was struck by the realness of her contrition, maybe because it seemed like a mirror of mine—maybe because it shredded the intoxication of her eroticism and the kitten in her revealed herself, fully, to me. 

That naked kitten, belonging to me. 

And just like that, I was willing to give her what her body asked of me. If I was supposed to get to that kitten through the murky waters of her desire, then I was willing to get myself wet. Because if I was to reject her, she’d close up that corner of her and I would lose her. 

The real her. 

I unattached myself from Sun-mi. 

I reopened what I had closed. I echoed the words that her body provided me. 

Are you needy?

And it wasn’t just the outside shell of her that lit up. The kitten glimmered in the shadows, turning onto her back and exposing her belly to me. That was enough for me—to know that the inner her was listening to me—and so I repeated the question in her dumbstruck silence, focusing on the her that needed me, though differently, at that moment, calling her by her name. I allowed myself to be influenced by her allure, by her former manipulation—dipping my hands in her waters. And her continuous wit affected me, properly, for the first time. 

What would you do if I said I was? 

My brows twitched and so did my cock, her words letting in a whirlwind of ideas of what I would do to her. But when I enabled my body to act out however it wished, my legs wading in her desire, only one remained. 

I set my heart upon punishing her for what she did to herself. For the way she sabotaged herself by using the fading beauty of lust and neglected the real her, the poor kitten, in the process. For submitting to the society’s detestable ways, when she was more than deserving of love and respect. 

I craved to punish her for meandering through this world like I did, with multiple earth-shattering orgasms that would satisfy her enough to be herself, unabashedly. 

Even if it made me a hypocrite. 

I’d make you come so hard you wouldn’t have to touch yourself for days, I whispered to her, folding myself into the snugness that was created between us earlier in the venue, feeling her body tremble in my hands. And before I turned my rationality off all the way and submerged myself, fully, in her waters, I echoed to her the words that rushed through me. Is that what you want?

Did she want me to discipline her enough that she would come back to herself? 

Did she want me to help her? 

But she didn’t answer me. She didn’t give me her words. Only a carnal, maddened noise of agreement spilled out of her and bound me deeper to her. I willed someone up above, silently, to make her see through my words. I persisted, vocally, encouraging her to consent to me, but the more the seconds of our time drifted on, the more I began to fall under her spell. And the more she studied the shape of my lips in a way that no one had ever done in my life, not even Sun-mi, the more my body submitted to her. 

We collided in a mutual kiss. 

And she tasted like the unnamed thing I sought in all the vapid girls I had touched after Sun-mi. Like the fruits of curiosity; like the sap of humanness. I delved into her—felt her refreshing my throat, my stomach. And her influence sank one more layer below, rejuvenating my bones. 

It wasn’t merely a kiss. It was a final connection, and I wanted her. 

I wanted her, crucially. 

The kitten clawed at the walls of her being and I felt her, shushed her inertly—told her to stay patient for me because I needed to continue with my decision, with my plan. Needed to get to her. 

Needed the same things that the outer shell of her did—without having anyone to give it to me. 

Except her. 

But when I broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes, I detected a streak of sunlight protruding through the thick dust. Lily-white and impeccable, her seduction tearing at the seams. And when she began to ride my thigh, the pleasure she received from me ripped it apart, wholly. She plummeted, an inch below, and I swam in gladness, parting her waters with my arms. 

I still needed her consent, though, so I persevered. 

She wouldn’t listen to me, as wet as she was, and I yearned to take her chin and make her listen to me, but I respected her well enough to not do that. And I lost the timeline of my impending need of her consent to help her when her hair sailed upon the surface of her lustful waters. She rubbed her pussy so well against my thigh. I could hear the squelching noises of her flesh riding her dripping slick and I sailed with her. 

I lost my mind when she came against me, the frenzy bursting in all parts of me, and I no longer saw the real her and the cracked outer shell of her. 

I merely saw her. 

And she was beautiful. 

She wasn’t erotic, seductive, nor lustful. She didn’t personify a girlish sinfulness. She exuded a pristine beam of pinkish innocence, laced with a love so great that it thrummed within my chest. My morals, my decisions, my ways and thoughts blurred and blended into my desire to have her. 

Just her. 

Her vulgarities and praises for me spilled out of her like her slick and it hydrated me, gave me a long, brisk sip of life and I was dumbstruck, mirroring her. She was unbound in her release and I wished I could cup that euphoric freedom and pour it down her throat in social events when she would need it the most, a little sugary drink of courage that would untie her from anxiety. Her beauty bloomed in front of my eyes and I couldn’t avert my gaze away from her. 

It was physically impossible within the bond that pulled me closer and closer towards her. 

And when she came back to me, dazed from the high of her vital orgasm, I couldn’t help but to be inspired by that stream of liberation. Just like she praised me, I praised her. It was important to me that she knew of what happened to her when she burst in her pretty release. 

It aroused me deeper, the words I uttered her way. And the way she blushed, the way she smiled—I knew right then and there that she threw a rope around me, ensnaring me to her for all eternity. 

And I was delighted. 

That’s the most I’ve heard from you all night. You’re alive when you come. Raw and articulate. No shyness to you.

I caressed her extended claws.

And I want them dug deep in me. 

Despite my lost mind, I kept going, kept persisting, wondering at the words that dashed out of my mouth, the one that knew how to kiss her and coax out of her those sweetened, delicate noises of hers—and her following words. 

Neck. Nipple. Thigh. Cunt. 

I became aware, wholly, of the suppleness and softness of her body. Of the authenticity and authority that it held as I kissed and licked all of those tender, sensitive parts of her that she asked me to get to know my tongue. 

And I was doing just that. 

Learning the depth of her intellect as I closed my mouth over her clit, as I drank from her sopping heat that gave me the final notion of the night that I would never thirst again. Not if I had her legs over my shoulders. Not if I had her bent in half. 

Not if I had her asking for me, provoking me. 

I enjoyed it too much. Thought I’d never enjoyed something like that before. Her taste, the heady scent of her arousal that I desired to have under my nose at all times, her wetness dripping off my chin and landing just right on her bare, squished tummy. Her neediness, her courage and her bravery. I enjoyed it all so much that I forgot all about myself and my own needs, finding her lust more stimulating and gratifying than the thought of me getting anything in return. 

But all too soon, while I was holding her in such a vulnerable position, the spell withered. In a snap of one’s fingers. 

Mine. 

The final question, the only smart one within the heated realm of our frenzy, trickled down my chin along with her wetness and I gravitated back down to my lost rationality, to the disconsolate existence in this wretched world. Kitty rolled her eyes and I floated, like a pallid cloud, in and out of our lust. One foot there, the other in reality. 

You really want this?

She bounced for me, tugging on the rope she had wrapped around me. And I toppled, harder than I anticipated, when she murmured that she wanted me inside of her. I toppled forward into our aphrodisiac haven, but my foot stayed submerged in the mud of reason. 

You’re not getting it tonight. 

But the little minx liked that I had said that. Liked that I was such a fastidious giver—a man in charge of her that knew better. And I liked that she did. I liked the way she touched me. Her fingers heartened me. And when she poked her toe in my cheek, I blazed in such joy and passion that I gave in. 

I gave in, entirely, to her. 

I kissed her like I never kissed Sun-mi. Grabbed her by the back of her neck and smashed my mouth into hers, sucking on her lips so hard that my cock twitched and she moaned in response. Moaned so vivaciously that I sensed it taking roots in each corner of my body and soul. 

Kitty dragged me out of reason, sprawling me over her. I ground my hips against her pussy, meeting her little thrusts, and I found something beyond the principle of haven in that mutual collision. Something safer, something more solid. And despite the fact I had unattached myself from Sun-mi, she, somehow, thundered in me. Her jealousy contaminated me. I felt icy fingers hooking into the back of my shirt and yanking me away, sinking into my flesh. And right then and there, I almost yelped in pain. 

Sun-mi’s voice plagued me in antipathy.

Get away from her. 

Get away. Get away. Get away. 

Go now. 

She screeched those revolting words in me until her shrieking voice melted into a ringing that rid me of my hearing sense. But as ensnared as I was, I perceived that wasn’t my Sun-mi. That wasn’t her voice, for it wasn’t effulgent with her gentleness. It was something greatly sinister that had crawled upon me in my vulnerability, disguising itself as my precious girlfriend. Though as aware as I was of its trick, it wouldn’t let go. On the contrary, it rose in volume and intensity until it forced me to let out the rottenest words I could’ve ever given her. 

I can’t. 

But because of the bond between us, I was able to give her a tender kiss to make it better. And when she took it, she gave me the strength to fight. 

And so I did. 

I settled between her legs, but the worst thing that could’ve happened did come up for air between us. 

She saw through me. She was a witness to the demon’s psychological terror inflicted upon me and she respected it enough that she began to back away. 

I couldn’t let her. I couldn’t let the demon win. 

So I pushed her hands away that had gripped the silky fabric of her night dress and covered her from me, and I flipped the hem so hard I nearly ripped it. I couldn’t afford to have her close up on me—to not have her like this and the awareness of how important she had become for me in the little time we had together descended in the pit of my stomach. The thought of never having her close like this shook through my organs and I simply could not let that happen. 

I begged her. 

I begged her to let me forget about the enormous obstacle that hid within me and wished to draggle me through mud and shit just so I wouldn’t fall deeper into her. 

And when she allowed me, when she pinned her legs back the way I wanted them, and gave over that intimate part of her that I had discovered I needed in order to survive, I discerned that her willingness, her consent and her kindness was something that attenuated the voice of the demon in me. 

I submitted. 

And in total submission to her, I devoured her and finger-fucked her until she, seemingly, washed me clean of all my darkness, sprinkling me with her wetness. I would’ve continued had she not reached the fairyland of overstimulation. And all my false pretenses were revealed to me when she sat up and palmed my cock. 

I wasn’t washed clean. I wasn’t well. And I wasn’t strong enough to fight. 

My fear quaked in my bones while she was undoing the strings of my sweatpants and it was me who felt like vomiting at the thought of being on the receiving end. 

I grasped her hands, my vision clouded with my tears, and I could only shake my head ‘no’. I had pleaded with her to give me her words, yet I myself wasn’t able to do the same.

I didn’t understand what was happening to me. 

I crumbled and shrunk. Was smaller than the kitten inside her that meowed to me. Didn’t know whether to leave or to stay over, only that if I were to remain in the closeness of our lessening frenzy, something ugly would occur. I found myself in a state of mind where I needed to be taken care of, but letting her do it strengthened my fear. I needed Jungkook to come, but that meant he would get the wind of the fact that I betrayed him. 

I was paralyzed on the spot, with my cock hard and aching, and Kitty studied me as if she could read each and every horrendous line of the decadent poetry of my mental state. And then she tied back the strings of my sweatpants, careful not to touch my private parts, and folded her hands on her glistening thighs. 

“Can I make you something to eat?” she asked, her eyes as shiny as the traces of her arousal, round and softened, the slits wide and innocuous. So different from the way they looked when I first regarded them. 

The large, hot tear that plopped onto my cheek answered her for me. As if she called it out, my stomach grumbled. 

She rose on her bare, wobbly feet and pulled my head onto her lace-adorned bosom. Brushed a hand down my hair at a snail’s place like she internally knew that it wasn’t possible for me to linger in her tenderness, that once she reached the nape of my neck that I would withdraw. And she gave me a radiant smile once I did—as if I wasn’t vile, worthless and loathsome. 

Reassured me that it was okay like I deserved it. Like I deserved her. 

And while she made me ramen and boiled two eggs for me, the demon in me pressured me to leave without a word. Almost pushed my muscles into action, my legs to take a step back, but I resisted. I resisted with the little strength I had by crossing the distance, no longer watching her from the dark corner of her kitchen. I stood behind her, not holding her, not caressing her—because I couldn’t. I couldn’t draw closer. I couldn’t touch her in a non-sexual sphere because I feared what would have happened to my mind if I did. 

In spite of that, I said the words that she deserved to hear. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being able to give you what you want.” 

She turned her head and gazed up into my eyes. It was so intimate that I couldn’t understand how we ended up here, how we ended up acting like this when we knew each other for merely hours. I couldn’t understand why it felt the way it did when she was merely looking at me and I longed to scratch off the outer layer of our bond that it gained from our lust, that protected it so well that even I couldn’t erase it. 

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.” 

I couldn’t say anything to that. My hands agreed with her, but my abused heart didn’t. I could only sit down at her table and eat the food she made me, thinking about how everything our bodies did was natural, yet those actions left an unnatural aftertaste within that the food couldn’t flavor differently. I existed in oxymorons with her, ones that I took to bed with her. 

And I held them instead of her. 

I awake with a jerk. 

With the brass, sharp and strange feeling that I did something wrong, that I made a mistake so enormous and calamitous that it will take a lifetime to pay its mending debt. With a long wave of Kitty’s turquoise strand loosely wrapped around my hand resting between the snugness of her pillow and mine. With her spine protruding towards me while she’s curled on her side. With a surplus of the dream I have emerged from as it drifts with me towards the bright light of consciousness, where I’d rather not be right now. 

And the memory of it opens against my eyelids when I close them. Her straddling me, her bouncing on my cock as her eyes flutter in the middle of her perfervid, red-hot orgasm that might as well have been mine. I sense her weight on me as if she wasn’t softly snoring beside me, but sitting on me with my length sheathed inside her to the hilt, shuddering and praising me, her breasts following the movement of her hips and—

I sit up and fist my hair, trying to breathe out evenly, but I fail. The damned air comes out in pathetic staccatos that permeate me with a zealous anger. And when I rip the covers off of me, I see that I was right. 

Her orgasm was mine. 

A large wet spot stains my boxers, the white fabric translucent due to the quantity of cum that oozed out of me in my sleep. It’s not sticky, nor is it dry, which means the dream caught up to me right before I woke up and came like a fucking teenager that has just discovered women. 

What makes this even worse is that I’m rock hard and so needy that I’m willing to wake her up and beg for her. Beg for her kindness. Beg for her softness. 

But I can’t. 

Anger and lust might lace well, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t use her when I know I have to keep my distance now and not allow us to step over the threshold of our desires. I should’ve listened to Jungkook and not let her shatter that mountain of respect for him, not let her set me free from my fixation on him. I should’ve stayed in the car and kept my promise to him that I would come back. 

I stand up to my feet and I detect the silky ghost of her dyed strand on my palm, the only singular softness I might ever feel for the rest of my life. And I wish it would end now, so I wouldn’t have to face her and the possible heartbreak I would clothe her in—and so I wouldn’t have to face Jungkook and clothe myself in regret and shame. 

I go and search for my Sun-mi as I walk over to the living room to put on my sweatpants from last night, but I stumble upon a dead end. The realization that I had been tricked by my demons for all these long years swathes me in iciness so cold that I shiver and my vision blurs. The realization that I’m all alone are the ropes that stifle my lungs and they swell against it, the flesh overspilling. I call out to her from within, a feeble high hope, and radio silence greets me upon this fine morning. 

The only honeyed good morning I’ll ever receive. 

I sniffle, willing the tears to fuck off because I’m exhausted of feeling so much, of being so vulnerable in this world that seems so be so set on destroying me. My girlfriend is dead. She’s not with me, nor will she ever be. She hasn’t been sending me guidance and fuzzy feelings. She’s buried six deep under and I dispersed the soil over her with the same hand I used to make another girl come, the same hand that still feels her hair like a knife I seem to be clutching, despite the excruciation I give myself, despite the blood that pours out and splatters on her stark white carpet. 

I sit on her couch and check the notifications on my phone. I have one text message from Jungkook and two missed calls from him. It’s so like him. Had it been any other member, the bar would’ve been spammed so much that I myself would have to get out of bed and silence it. 

I click on the message and read it, carefully. 

We need to talk in the morning. Coffeestand at 11 am

Fuck this shit. 

I check the time. It’s 10:20 am. I haven’t slept this long since the pandemic. Which reminds me that I haven’t been to that small coffee shop with him since before this fuckery ingrained itself in the face of this doomed world. Jungkook knows what I’ve done, but I don’t allow myself to feel. 

No regret. No shame. 

Nothing. 

I place my head in my hands and do some breathing exercises, anxiety invading my boundary and my decision to be numb. I fight, even though I’m so weary of it, and my mind spins. There’s not enough air in this room and when I go to look around to see if her AC is on, I find her standing by the doorframe of her bedroom. 

Puzzlement twists her puffy, morning features. The light glimmers in her eyes so glaringly that there’s simply no need for the sunlight right behind me that I now sense cradling my back. It has awoken hand in hand with her and I have to stop myself. 

No feeling. Numbness, only. 

I feel nothing towards her and I want nothing to do with her. 

Last night was a mistake. She was horny and I was lonely, vulnerable. There’s no bond between us. She’s merely Jungkook’s pretty friend. And I don’t see the starved, neglected kitten out in the open of her being, her former seductiveness a mat beneath her that she’s resting on, purring. She’s not lifting her small, bony head at my attention as I peer into her eyes and watch her tense features melt and relax under our spellbinding eye contact. 

And her words don’t affect me when she asks me if I’m okay. 

I don’t disintegrate when she walks towards me, her bare, sleep-kissed breasts bouncing underneath her pellucid, lacy night dress, ruining me, reminding all over again of the wet dream I had, of the way she pinched them right before I stirred awake. 

I stop her halfway with roughness that I regret as soon as it digorges out of my mouth and I wish, with all of my own godforsaken being, to take it back. 

“Can you, please, put something fucking on?” 

I palm my forehead, tearing my gaze away from her and the way her face falls, and when I run my hand down my eyes, I encounter the traces of my weakness still wet and very much visible to the naked eye on my cheeks. I’m hot all over, regretful, shameful and hateful of what I’ve become because I believe that, deep down, I’m not my anger. 

I may believe it faintly, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe it at all. 

I’m not my anger and I don’t treat people like this. I exude respect, self-control and kindness. 

This is not me. 

And yet I still act like this. I hurt and I’ve hurt the beautiful girl in front of me that I can no longer face. I grab my things and I walk over to her corridor, sliding my foot into my shoe while staring down, with even blurrier vision than before, the red Jordans I let her wear last night. 

“I have to go,” I mutter, willing my voice not to betray me, but to be smooth, steady and gentle—unlike me. Jungkook’s image flashes in my brain and how he must be already waiting for me in the coffee shop, as punctual as he is. And I don’t hurt just his friend further, I sink the knife I still clutch inside my heart so deep that I lose my life in front of her. “Do you have a spare mask?” 

She untangles one of her arms crossed over her breasts and rummages in a little, white, polyester box perched on her kitchen bar. Wraps that forearm tighter around her when she hands me a new, ivory mask without looking at me. 

I twist the knife deeper in my heart and I long to take her face in my hand, instead of the mask. Take her and kiss her for her kindness until she moans into my mouth like she did last night. 

But I don’t. 

I thank her for the mask and I leave. 

Jungkook is waiting for me outside the coffee shop with a pink umbrella. A tall Statue of Liberty dressed in black, holding up a torch of my failure. He reminds me so much of her that it might as well have been her, standing in his place. 

I had texted him that I was on my way, even though my doleful heart begged me to dial his number and vomit all of my feelings into his ear. Cleanse my guts of the regret that gorged on it. Despite the fact that’s not something I normally do. Jungkook is the one who does and I’m the one who listens, who fixes, who comforts.

I could never let him know that I’m the one who needs it now. 

It had rained softly when I stopped by my apartment to take a quick shower so I wouldn’t have faced him with cum stains on my sweatpants. Gooseflesh marred my skin when I walked through it with my head dipped low, the cloud my very contrition that poured down on me. I was shivering as the liquid anthropoids crawled upon my bare arms because I left my jacket on her bathroom floor. None of us went to wash up before bed. 

They seemed to have fucked off to another city, but once I went by foot to the coffee shop, they descended again. Taunted me. Obscured my tears from Jungkook who was as kind as her, running up to me once he saw me to shield me from the rain. 

No wonder they’re friends. 

I don’t greet him, nor do I listen to him tell me off for not bringing an umbrella. I focus on burying my feelings the way I buried my girlfriend, six feet deep, and the final sifting of the soil is the cigarette I wordlessly pull out of my pack. Jungkook blinks at me. 

Then, holds out a hand. 

No wonder he’s my brother. 

I give him one and light it up with my white lighter, studying the way his brown pools zero in on tip flaming up in a soft orange tint. And when those gentle eyes shift to mine, I feel like weeping all over again. 

He puffs the smoke out away from my face. I follow him, hiding my tears by flicking my gaze in another direction, sucking on the cigarette as I bring it to life and pocket my lighter. And as the fume blackens my treacherous lungs, I have to rub my eyes in order not to reveal my emotions to him. 

But Jungkook sees through me regardless of my efforts. 

“Start talking,” he encourages, crossing his arm over his chest like Kitty did and my heart pivots on its axis, slicing through my flesh. The smoke curls around us in the pink shadow of the umbrella. “We don’t have much time. We have to be back at the company in an hour. He wants to talk to us.” 

He doesn’t have to mention his name—I know full well who he speaks of. If the said person saw what we were doing, he’d have a stroke and it makes me suck on my cigarette harder. 

“About?” 

Jungkook sighs, takes a drag and puffs the smoke sideways through pursed lips, his eyes lost in the distance somewhere behind my legs. “He never said. Just acts all high and mighty. Demands our time when we need it to rest in order to give our best before the concert tonight. I’m sick of him.” 

I humorlessly chuckle because I don’t think I ever heard him admit something like this. Hobi and I, we have these discussions nearly on a daily basis, but Jungkook never had the guts to admit the unfair, inhumane way we’re treated by the company we keep alive and thriving. Not just for us, but for the other groups under the management.  

I take a little happy drag of the poison, feeling a little more at ease with him. Enough to dig up my feelings and stain his hands, so I wouldn’t feel so alone. 

And I do. 

I prepare it, my nails black and muddy. I dig out the regret over my words, the ache in my heart from the way Kitty’s face fell, the mental agony from the fact she may never want to see me again and that I may never see her—that she won’t come to the concert tonight. 

And in the silence, as I look at my dirtied hands, I get an eyeful of the way I’m holding not just the fragments of the earth, but of wildflowers. Wildflowers of her scent, the heady perfume of her arousal that I can still smell under my nose because I didn’t have the heart to wash that part of my face. It was all I had of her for the time being. Petals of her beauty, her giggles and her moans quiver in my palms and the memory of her poking me with her toe in my cheek resurfaces in my mind. I smile so vivaciously that it hurts, though differently. I don’t regard it as sexual but as something innocently delicate, precious and endearing. And it deepens my regret that I spoke to her that way, that I made her feel ashamed of her breathtaking, picturesque body by lashing out my anger at her. 

It deepens it to the point that I lament it. And my smile falls—just like her face. 

Jungkook watches me. Has been watching me this whole time while I dipped inside myself. And he brings it back up, stubbing out his cigarette with his sneaker on the wet ground. I follow him—ready and not ready at the same time, but I feel vastly in me that I should tell him. And that he won’t ostracize me. 

“Let’s go inside so you can tell me.” 

I merely nod.

Jungkook takes the first step in front of me, keeping me shielded from the rain that begins to thicken. Maybe it grew tender from my memories—maybe it’s not as sinister when it comes to her. Maybe the rain can be mellow when she’s in my life. 

Except that she no longer is. I pushed her away. 

Under the roof of the coffee shop, Jungkook shakes the umbrella off of its sopping wetness and I can’t stand the sight of the rain. I walk inside, squeezing through him, mutter a quiet hello that the person behind the counter doesn’t hear. She’s tapping away her heart on the screen of her phone, her long nails clicking loudly, her round glasses pinched at the ball of her nose that fog up with each of her breaths due to her sagging mask. Tufts of hair spread out in all directions from her messy updo and she doesn’t lift her head at the sound of the bell ringing once Jungkook comes in. Her typing movements gain more speed and verve and I can’t help but to laugh to myself. She must be fighting someone on the other side—and I wish I could fight Kitty, just so I could talk to her. Just so I could still have her in my life. 

“What are you having?” Jungkook asks, a glistening puppy drifting his big pools on the menu suspended above the girl’s curled form. He doesn’t take the humid weather well. Invariably sweats like a dog. A cute puppy dog that never stinks. 

I was too busy being jealous of the girl possibly fighting her boyfriend to notice what she offered to make. I glance up, noticing the words are written in white chalk and some western options are embellished in a pretty cursive that must belong to her, which reminds me that one of our mutual friends worked here before the pandemic. I wonder if he’s still here or if someone else manages the place. There’s no way Beomseok was able to write in this pretty lettering. The man has problems with Hangul and to this day I don’t understand how he graduated with honors. 

Kudos to him. 

I reread the options and find only coffees with so much milk to make you sick for days. The only strong coffee is an Americano, but I need something stronger. 

“Don’t they have anything with whiskey in it?”

Both heads turn simultaneously in my direction and I laugh, dryly. The girl’s thumb hover in the air before she blinks, flings her phone to the surface of the counter and stands up, drawing close to us. 

Jungkook elbows me. “It’s 11 am.” 

“If we have a meeting after this, I need the whole bottle.” 

He laughs through his nose. “Fair enough.” Pivots to the girl, leaning his elbow on the counter and fixes his mask. “One americano for me. Do you, guys, still do flavor shots?” 

The girl taps in his order and only looks at him with her eyes while her chin keeps facing the monitor. “The times have changed but our brand coffees haven’t. What flavor shot would that be?” 

Jungkook nearly springs into the air. I swore I could see his puppy tail wagging. “Banana, please.” 

I scoff. If I were to drink a banana-flavored americano, I would’ve spent my day on the toilet. Jungkook throws me a dirty look before he focuses on the girl again. I shake my head, smiling, lightweight. 

“Okay, so, one banana americano for me and one bland americano for the grumpy guy. I’ll be paying for both. Can we sit here or is this to go only?” 

She proceeds to tell him that the mandate is still rubbing its shit all over these walls, but since we’re the only ones here, we can sit with our masks down. Jungkook thanks her and leaves her a tip, asking her if Beomseok still comes around. My ears perk up. I would’ve loved to see the guy. 

“I had to take the shift for him this morning, actually. The poor guy has some kind of a stomach bug. Are you, guys, friends?”

Jungkook nods, but doesn’t say anything else, which I’m grateful for. Beomseok was my classmate, the only friend I had in Daegu before I moved to Seoul. He didn’t support my decision to leave everything behind, but we reconciled, years later, when he followed my footsteps and we met at this very coffee place that he rebuilt with his own hands. Helped out the ahjussi who owned it; sweated blood, sweat and tears. And when the old man died, he left it in Beokseok’s hands, legally. 

I sit by the front windowsill once Jungkook brings me my coffee and sets down his, the banana flavor sailing through my nostrils as I take off my mask. I make a face at the sweetened scent and Jungkook raises his eyebrows at me before he shakes his head in dismay. I take a sip of the dark liquid, basking in the warmth that clings to my bones. 

But when he mentions her name, I spit out the coffee that I had yet to swallow. 

“What?” I ask, embarrassed. I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence and my cheeks flush. Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles—his brows quirking as far as they can and I wish the ground would swallow me up. 

Choking at the sound of her name? What has happened to me? 

“I said—” His bunny smile forms and I know I’m fucked, knee-deep in a quicksand of shit. He won’t let me live it down. “That she loves this flavor as much as I do.” 

I run a hand down my face. Jungkook chuckles into the plastic of his drink, wiping down my coffee on his plain black sweatshirt. 

“Which reminds me that you have stuff to tell me.” 

Anxiety pinches my fingertips. I was ready—or half ready—outside when he loosened the tensity of the atmosphere. But after the way I embarrassed myself in front of him, I don’t think I’m capable of telling him how much I fucked up. 

I’d rather suffer in silence and on my own. 

I look over at the girl. She’s sat back down on her stool and she’s reading the messages, her thumb trembling in the air before it swipes up, the other one in her mouth, her teeth nibbling on her long nail. 

The way I caressed Kitty’s fingernails bolts through my vision and my throat dries. I’ve shifted to the point that I begin to miss her and like the girl’s thumb, my jaw shakes. I still it, I hide it by propping my fist against it. 

Jungkook stares me down, urging me with his eyes and it works on me. I work well under pressure and he knows this. That guy is a puppy-fox hybrid and I hate him as much as I love him. 

“I don’t know where to begin,” I admit, and it’s true. It’s as vulnerable as I was last night and I can’t grasp how that emotion still breathes in me. I’m hoping it disappears as soon as I let it out, disappears into Jungkook, where it will be safe and locked. 

Jungkook takes a long sip without taking his eyes off of me. Smacks his mouth right after. “Did you fuck her?” 

It’s me who raises their brows at the brazenness of the question and I wish it were as simple as that. I wish I had fucked her and left her while she slept. Ended the story like that without any strings attached—without any additional chapters. But what I feel for her, the bound that is irrevocably unrelenting between us, exceeds a saga. That exceeds this entire lifetime. And I can’t admit that to him. 

“No,” I mumble, unable to reciprocate the eye contact, unable to tell him what we did because I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to see her the way I did—let him in on her horniness. It was private and it was for me. I want to honor that and protect that privacy for her. It’s the only thing I can do now. The only right thing. My hands have gone mute. “But something did happen between us. I slept over and in the morning I fucked it up.” 

The vagueness of my words graces me with the fuzzy feelings I was used to before today, but I don’t trust them. I don’t fall for it—and my anxiety skyrockets, enough that a lump lodges in my throat. 

Jungkook doesn’t blink and I don’t wish to know what it means. “Fucked it up? How?” 

How do I tell him without spilling the entirety of me? Without disclosing that I coped with my girlfriend’s death by falsely believing that she was transcendently still with me, guiding me? 

No one can ever know that about me. Not even the being up above. 

“I wasn’t in the right mind to see her bare, so I had a go at her,” I mutter, my voice breaking and I take a sip to camouflage it, the warm liquid heating up the incoming of my past anger. “I regret it and I wish I could take it back.” I caress the fabric of the mask, crumpled on the wooden windowsill, and my lamentation blackens. “But she doesn’t wanna see me anymore.” 

Jungkook pulls his phone out of his pocket and places it beside his coffee. It startles me, but I concentrate my gaze on the only physical, tangible presence I have of her. 

“Did she tell you that?” 

Something opens within me, but once again I don’t trust it. 

“No.” 

“What makes you think she doesn’t wanna see you again?” 

I don’t answer, finding the question stupid. I toy with the ear strings of the mask, recollecting the way I did the same movement with her fingernails. And I don’t want to drink the coffee anymore. I don’t want to go to a work meeting—nor do I want to be here at this coffee shop. I don’t want to be anywhere; I don’t want to exist. 

Jungkook sighs. I still don’t look at him, gripping the string so hard against my knuckle that my thumb turns white. 

“You like her.” 

I do, but I don’t profess that, vocally. It’s pointless. As pointless as the course of my personal life. 

“Did you exchange numbers?” 

I shake my head ‘no’, the corners of my mouth naturally rounding in a frail pout. The thought of having her number and having the opportunity—

“If you see Yoongi sometime before work, make sure he’s well.” 

My head shoots up. Jungkook is bunny-smiling at his phone while holding his bizarre drink in his other hand. The remnants of my past anger magnetically affixes within me, creating a dynamic windstorm in me that really pushes me to lash out at him for taking the piss out of me like that. I grit my teeth, clench my fist, hold back with all my might that I feel my shoulder act up, paralyzing me with a pain that forces me back down until I curl in my seat—like that bespectacled girl. 

Defeated. 

“I can’t believe this is happening—”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing my softness back for him. Clutch my shoulder while he’s distracted. “Don’t fuck with me, Jungkook-ah. I’m not in the mood.” 

He hums in question, flicking his eyes at me. Seeing the state of me, he grows serious and locks his phone, setting it down. “I told you not to touch her, did I not?” 

I open my mouth to say something, but I run on empty, closing it back down. This is the reaction I anticipated and now that it’s here, it feels right. It feels like I deserve it—like I deserve to be told off. So I listen, my knuckles against my mouth, and I stare, numbly, at him. 

“I shouldn’t have let you take her home in the first place. I knew this would happen. I saw the way she looked at you when I introduced her to you. She was in a trace, hyung. And when you were the one to tell me she felt sick, I knew this was bad news,” he breathes out, his shoulders as broad and menacing as his words, and my guard collapses. I know where he’s going with this and I brace myself against it, brace myself against the cold, hard truth that will sever me in half. But I’m wrong. What he says next is something I never expected to hear from him. “Having a go at her is the worst thing you could’ve done to her, but she’s strong. She’s the strongest person I know besides you—”

His voice recedes and the background of this brown coffee shop dissolves into a pitch blackness. I sit in the middle of a tunnel, beaten and overpowered, his silenced words driving past me like cars, and I can’t move. A myriad of scenarios that explain why she’s the strongest person he knows darts through my brain, connecting with the big question mark of why she evanesced in her body in Hobi’s presence. And the reason why Jungkook disapproves of us fluxes over me like those liquid fuckers. 

She was hurt, badly, in her last relationship. And it feels as though I’m back on my side, on the hard ground, while it pours, the lights of my scooter streaking through it. 

“—but she obviously cares for you, unlike the others. She wouldn’t text me that if she didn’t, so take her fucking number from me and fix this. Grow a pair.” 

I blink at him with fluid sight. Brown evaporates through the black. 

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

And all of a sudden, I’m aware of what I’m doing when I seize his phone. See for myself that he wasn’t fucking with me like I thought he was. And I copy her number into a new contact. 

My thumbs hover in the air—just like the girl’s behind me. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ second part here

SMOKE, iv. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook)

genre: angst, heart-wrenching fluff

word count: 6.5k

summary: everything that hurts must begin to stop at one point. 

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: DOMESTIC ABUSE, oc gets triggered a lot in this chapter, dissociation, anxiety, alcohol consumption, a brief mention of physical violence, religion, praying, jk and oc smoke together.

note: hi, my babies. i'm here with another chapter. i really like this chapter a lot and i like where it's heading, so i hope you like it as much as you do. let me know what yout think. sorry, this is a bit short, but i didn't want to drag it out, esp. if everything that needed to get settled did. i love you all soso much, mwah.

When Jungkook appears, uncanvassed, damp and abysmal, in the field of my swimming vision, I have to stop dead in my tracks to see if my inebriated brain isn’t playing tricks on me. 

He’s sat on the half-wet stone of the staircase leading up to the street where I live. My apartment complex is just straight up, a minute away from where he’s waiting for me, and the wheels within my brain cells begin to whirr and turn, reminding me that I tapped on the crescent moon icon on my phone before I absconded to my girl best friend for a heart-to-heart conversation and a new set of nails. Misty-eyed, I recounted to her the monochrome poetry lines that bloomed through last night between me and Yoongi and wilted in my bare, sleep-cloaked hands this morning while she filed down the freshly baked acrylic powder. The moment she heard the deadly words that were spat at me, she flung her rosy, tiger-print file across her station, got up to her feet without a word and came back with a bottle of my favorite pink nectar in even pinker, fancy glass, certainly not meant for wine. 

And I downed each and every refill in one, singular gulp everytime she moved onto the next step and my hand was free. 

And Miyun… as much as she erupted in her idiosyncratic rage, her work on my nails was immaculate and untouched by her vivid lava. Curses and funny remarks, that yanked the weight off my shoulders and wiped it out using her vigor and red-hot magma, shattered the room until I laughed so hard that the alcohol dipped into my system far quicker than usual. She glued on the crosses I had asked for while I chortled, and she shushed me, breaking into a soft, non-obvious laughter that she tried to keep at bay while her hair fanned around her. Cherry-red, long and lustrous, curling on the smooth skin of her arms. The laughter died down and silence replaced it as she laid down the last layer of top coat over her artwork—and I felt a certain inspiration seize me. 

“What if I dyed my hair red, too?” I voiced it out, a seawave of different kinds of co-existing emotions ebbing and flowing in me. Airiness and offense, care and distance. And they were all roped around the memory of Yoongi in me like the roots of flowers in a colorful meadow soil. Vast and expansive, yet delicate and frail. One sweep of the wind’s harsh breath and they tilt—and remain tilted. 

I do, too, despite my efforts. 

Despite my ingrained fight to straighten and my strivings to be unaffected, unagitated and undisturbed by the way I was disrespected by Yoongi. They were all fruitless, however. Barren of my long-exercised resilience against the violence of men, my wariness and vigilance of them only strengthening. 

He took me to the far north side of paradise with his tongue and fingers in the middle of the night. And when the sun rose, he treated me like I dragged him to the deepest of hell and left him there to perish of starvation and thirst.

I should have seen it coming and prepared myself for it, especially when I had decided in my heart to take care of him, take care of the deep-sunk, nameless agony in him that prevented him from coloring our stanzas. But alas… it came to face me too soon, in my gossamer defenselessness.

Yoongi metamorphosed into the vermin that Ji-hoon was. His face faded on top of his while my ex-boyfriend’s body remained intact, broad and fear-instilling. And when Yoongi stood up so quickly, I sailed back, against my will, to the sheer realm of brutality that I had dwelled in, years ago. Yoongi with Ji-hoon’s body, abandoning me after I got myself into trouble. For wearing too much make-up, for having long manicured nails, for dressing a certain way that was impertinent in our relationship. He would leave a bruise for every mistake I made to discipline me, to ascertain that I would learn from it and never do it again. And I did learn after I was depleted of color-correcting concealers, the sinews I would use to raise my hands and tap the cream product in, erasing my foolish mistakes from the eyes of Jungkook, Minyun and my parents. 

I fought for too long during the relationship. For my freedom, for my dignity. And I fought for too long after the relationship to go through it all over again. 

I dreaded being hit when Yoongi stood up from my couch. Flinched when he went around the coffee table past me because I anticipated the swing of his arm with my eyes boring holes into my carpet. I had flexed my muscles to brace myself against the incoming physical pain so hard that I nearly gasped, pathetically, for air when he walked on into the corridor. 

But I still couldn’t look at him. 

Although I knew, rationally, that Ji-hoon wasn’t present, I didn’t let up until he shut the door behind me with a soft click because my body didn’t connect to my clear-headedness. It was caught in a fight or flight response like an ensnared bird. 

And this must’ve been what Minyun was seeing when she contemplated me, paused in the middle of dusting her station clean with her pale-pink kabuki brush. Because she resumed right after once I reciprocated her gaze and curled her lips under her teeth. 

“We can go to Olive Young then, and stop by 7-Eleven after to get some snacks and drinks.” 

She reflected on my wound and didn’t hesitate to cradle my head and bring me to a safe refuge. 

And I didn’t hesitate to wrap my arms around her and hug her until all those oxymoronic emotions, which I felt towards Yoongi, dulled in the smallness of me. 

I let her take the lead. Choose the vibrant, deep cherry tint that would annul my trigger and dye me anew. I sipped on my iced cherry drink for the occasion while she glided the brush along my strands, splattering most of the orange paste on the thick wisp of the symbol of my connection with Jungkook, the only man in my life who never used his manliness against me. I thought about him as she rubbed it in; and I thought about Grookey. Thought about how, in that very moment, I was saying goodbye to the self I possessed while being attached to them. 

And when Minyun washed my hair and curled her round brush through it, the stark contrast to who I was before overwhelmed me so much that I began to weep. 

I couldn’t recognize myself, I didn’t know who that girl in the mirror was. But something told me that she was stronger than who I used to be. And while it felt petrifying to be standing alone in the crook of my past self and my current self, the longer I gaped at myself, the more I adapted to the assurance that she was emanating. 

She wasn’t going to take any shit from any man ever again. Certainly not with darkly, sequoia-kissed hair like that.

Minyun brushed her thumbs under my eyes and shifted me deeper into the refuge by grabbing my shoulders and guiding me to her balcony, where she sat me down on her chair while she crouched in front of me. Sliding a tiny cigarette into her IQOS and taking a puff, she leaned over to the square table and grabbed her pack, nudging a longer, classic cigarette between my chapped lips. 

I never smoked on my own. I would take hits from her slender, pink case of flavored air or steal her cigarettes when I had enough buzz from the alcohol in my veins. Forget about it the following days and weeks that we wouldn’t see each other because I was such a hermit. But I didn’t want to be one anymore—I wanted to spend more time with her from now on. With Jungkook, too. 

“You look so pretty with your new hair,” Minyun said, sweetly, leaning back on her sock-clad heels in her Louis Vuitton slides, wrapping her arm around her knees like I did around my chest last night, and I inhaled her compliment along with the drag of her cigarette. “We’re twins now.” 

I had become such a fragile egg shell that her words multiplied in me as they settled in my lungs, bursting and imbuing me with pigments of confidence. And I beamed through my tears, a light protruding through clouds, as I exhaled the smoke. 

It felt as natural as breathing—to claim her cigarettes and make them a thing of my own. 

In place of Grookey. 

It’s what Jungkook spots first, instead of my hair, once he senses my presence and lifts his head, standing up to his feet, towering over me. And he must’ve been waiting for a long time because his scolding words are flung out first before anything else.

“Where have you been? Do you know how scared I was? I called you up. I rang your doorbell and you wouldn’t answer. All day.” 

I take a long drag just to stabilize myself, gratitude unfolding in my sternum for the way he isn’t manly. 

He’s merely caring. 

Hovering above me, moving his arms in my proximity, features stern in his soft manner, and yet I’m not threatened by my fear because I know him, because I trust him. Trust that everything about him is securely soft and boy-like, round and endearing—even when he raises his voice a little at me. 

Minjun and I took another bottle of rosé to her balcony that we finished by passing it to each other and smoking like there was no tomorrow, so the liters of the nectar that flit in my bloodstream elevate how I see him and my body is naturally inclined to do something I normally wouldn’t do. 

And much to Jungkook’s surprise and a little bit to his dismay, I listen to that hushed tone of my heart and obey it—discovering that it is an aid and nothing else. 

“Since when do you—” 

I silence his stupid, yet valid question by wrapping my arms around his neck, careful not to nip his skin with the hot prickle of the cigarette. Its orange tip envelops us in a soft glow in the middle of the darkening evening, the smoke surrounding us like a protection ring. It takes three beats of my heart—which in reality must be his and surely not mine considering the numbness that has descended, fully, in me—for his arms to move and swathe me in complete safety. 

He’s rescuing me, like Minyun did. Bouncing off of her and finishing the job, without knowing a thing about it. 

We become one, singular form of a penumbra, dressed as we are in this unlit shade. Jungkook with his cargos and baggy sweatshirt; me with my tracksuit that’s too big for me. His neck is cold and I scatter a little bit of my warmth upon that skin, regretful that he waited for me this long because of my foolish forgetfulness. 

My dearest boy best friend. 

I squeeze him harder and Jungkook buries his nose in my shoulder, fisting the fabric of my hoodie on my back. 

And then, he sniffs my hair. Makes a Korean sound of discovery and surprise. Pulls back just to look at me with narrowed, inspecting eyes. Drags me to the nearest street lamp—and I watch his eyelids grow to their original, bulbous size. 

Roundie. 

He has noticed my hair, at last. 

Fluffs it and completely destroys the impeccable blowout that Minyun gave me. 

“What the fuck, Jungkook?” I grumble, pushing his hand away, but, like my hoodie, he fists both of my wrists in one hand and sinks the other one into my length, following the diligent curve that Minyun created. 

I huff, and the sound is deadened by the devastating words he utters, disappearing into the prickling coldness of the air. 

“What did he say to you that made you do this?”

I dwell in silence, my numbed emotions leaden, dented and yet sharp enough that I feel their resurfacing pain. 

I look away, untangling my wrists from his hold. Jungkook unclenches his fist, but the ash from my cigarette lands on the back of his hand. I gasp, quick to brush it away, however he’s quicker. Doesn’t make a sound in response. Shakes his hand and steals my cigarette, puffing on it. 

My mouth parts. Shock strangles me. 

He smokes? 

Jungkook’s seriousness droops as he chuckles, dryly, at my reaction. He takes a step back, slides a hand in the pocket of his pants, coalesces into the shadows of the early blooming night. 

“I didn’t know you smoked either,” he says, smiling in that lopsided way of his, a large dent in his cheek. And it feels as though I’m getting to know my best friend for the first time. What else is he hiding? What does he do, in utmost normalcy, when he’s not with me? 

He dips his chin to look at the cigarette before he flicks his thumb across its ivory butt. The ashy particles fly to the rocky ground in tandem with his smile. And his mind travels back to this morning’s misfortune, as rapid as a rocket shooting up beyond the clouds. 

“I’m not giving this to you until you tell me what he said. The last time you did something to your hair like this was when you left that good-for-nothing son of a bitch.” 

A fleck of memory appears before my eyes. Me dousing my hair in black dye with my own hands while Jungkook stood by; him putting my star clips in my no longer virgin strands to distract my tears, me sliding the same ones into his, making a middle part and laughing until my stomach hurt. He had healed me by just being with me, not expecting words, not expecting any explanations. 

Him asking me for them has a great meaning, a certain hastiness that I know full well has a stabbing pain, and I feel his fear, instead of mine. Understand, all of a sudden, why he waited for so long.

And I put him first, just so that emotion unclenches its fist from him. Nod my head to let him know that I’ll tell him, bare my heart for him. 

I walk backwards and sit down on the stony stairs. Jungkook joins me, right beside me. Takes a long drag of the cigarette as if to prepare himself for what I’m about to share with him—and I need the same smoky courage. I take it from him, puff on it and give it back to him. He gives me a gentle smile and I recognize the reason behind it.

A new form of bonding settles between us. 

I reciprocate the smile and gather my words in the brief silence. The wind helps me as it breezes through my hair, fondles my face ever so gently and when I lift my chin at its attention, my eyes stumble across the full moon. 

I breathe in its pristine energy. Let my lungs be full of its beams—and let it cleanse me, thoroughly. 

Jungkook’s patience helps me, too, as he quietly finishes the cigarette, stubbing it out on the step. Ready to listen. 

And so I begin. 

“I invited him upstairs because I wanted to,” I start and realize that I have to come forth with the truth. Deem that he deserves to know. I look inward, quickly, and try to detect any obstacles in me—but I find myself empty, cleansed, a dried fountain with no drops of water, yet I am free. With the alcohol still trickling in my bloodstream. “I didn’t feel sick. That was a lie.” I flick my eyes to his reaction, catch him widening his eyes and parting his mouth and I decide it’s time for another cigarette. I pull one for him and myself, lighting it up for the both of us. “I didn’t want you to know that I got triggered. I’m sorry for that.” 

Jungkook blows the smoke in the other direction, away from my face. He furrows his brows in pity as he leans his elbows on his outstretched knees. 

I expect him to yell at me… but he does the exact opposite, soothing me down to the marrow of my bone. 

“Triggered? How?” he asks, his voice so muted that I barely hear it, lips pursed in that eternal pout of his and mine mirror it, naturally. I appreciate his gentleness so much that I lean the side of my head against his shoulder. And he leans his against the top of mine. 

“I guess I wanted to be alone when I left the room and I found Hobi at the end of the hall. I sat with him for a little while and when he started talking, I realized he was drunk and my body gave up on me. I dissociated like I used to after the breakup. I thought I was better, that I healed from it, but it’s been a long since I was in the company of men, you know? I didn’t want to disappoint you, especially when I’d promised you that it wasn’t happening to me anymore.” 

I hear him take a strong puff and I reflect him, doing the same. Then, he sighs and extends his legs, his back rounding forward. I watch the smoke make patterns in the night-tinged air and I breathe differently, now that I’ve pulled the skeleton out of the closet. And even though my emotions are numb, my softness deepens when Jungkook takes the bony creature into his arms and begins to dance with it. 

“You could never disappoint me,” he whispers, his words the music for the dance, and I wrap my fingers around his clothed forearm, just holding him there, needing it. “You should’ve told me. Did you think I would tell you off for it? Of course not, you silly goose.” 

I chortle, and the smoke comes out in staccatos that are guided by my tender laughter. And he melts it with his following words. 

“How can I help you? Should I get you a therapist? I don’t want you to take meds for it…” he trails off, clicking his tongue and fishing out his phone from his pocket. His fingers move on the keyboard of his screen and the letters I read fracture my heart and glue it back together all the same. “Grounding techniques. Breathing slowly while counting. Different sounds, walking barefoot, blanket, ice cube or cold water—”

My mouth opens before my brain registers what my weakened heart longs to say. 

“Yoongi splashed cold water on my face and neck and that brought me back,” I spew out, tiny tears lining my vision at the memory, at the feel of his cold, solid hands, at the sight of his wide, fearful eyes that relaxed when he realized that I was back in the present times. “He saved me.” 

I blink them away; I smoke them away. 

Jungkook sucks in a breath, clicking on an article about dissociation and scrolling down. “Yoongi and I will be your therapists, then. For free.” 

I look away and withdraw from him, twiddling with my fingers. My heart enlarges, yearns for it—yearns to create a link to his beyond the physical bound we have, reach out for him like a child for its father, but my fear of being triggered again, of being afflicted by his pain slaps its arms away from him. 

It’s not meant to be—Yoongi is not the one for me because if he were, there wouldn’t be any barrier between us. And with that knowledge, my obsession with him, slowly and painfully, dissipates, leaving my frailty and my willingness to help him, if he’d ever need me, in the hands of God. 

But knowing the faces of manliness and ego, Yoongi won’t allow himself to be helped by me. And that bruises me more than the words he flung at me.  

Jungkook senses my absence more vividly than I want him to, and his head swivels in my direction, the article momentarily forgotten. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, prodding me, and it’s me who sighs this time. 

I take the last drag and gaze at the moon as I speak. “Yoongi can’t help me when he needs help himself.” 

The yellowish face of the bulbous planet nods at me and I feel, ever so slightly, at ease, leaning my elbows back on the steps. That is until a lump forms in my throat and, inertly, I ask the feminine luna for her strength, for her resilience, and I ask her to help me become my new self that resembles her so much. 

Jungkook locks his phone and stares at me. “What happened this morning?” 

And perhaps she does nurture me with what I need through her radiance after all because I don’t hesitate to tell him. 

“I wore lingerie to bed that was see-through and when I looked for him and found him crying on my couch, he told me, ‘can you, please, put something fucking on?’ and left,” I unravel, violently, mimicking Yoongi’s coarse morning voice, and Jungkook scoffs, averting his gaze. He sucks hard on the last of his cigarette before throwing it away with the same nerve, shaking his head as he thinks about those poisonous words. Validates me, like Minyun did. 

It takes several heartbeats and several more moonbeams puncturing my sternum before he turns back to me. 

“Check your phone.” 

A wrinkle between my brows. “Why?” 

“Just do it.” 

Without understanding why he wants me to do that, I comply. I pull out my phone from my purse, the light from the screen bathing me in stark blue. Jungkook chews on his bottom lip as he watches me read my notifications from him, Minyun and Netflix. And when I say nothing, he tilts his head and reads them on his own, only to groan and place it in his hands. 

Then, he stares off into the distance. 

“What?”

He takes my hand and drags me to my feet. “Come on.” 

I yelp and Jungkook yanks me to the patch of grass by the street lamp, kneeling by the gravel. And I can’t speak as he builds a praying altar of rocks, leaves and sticks. I can’t speak when he holds it in place and makes sure it doesn’t collapse, as small and sturdy as it is. And I can’t speak when he adorns it with an abandoned, pink flower petal that he finds nearby. Places it on the top of the last stone, against the flesh of the damp, green leaf that is propped by a petite rock. 

And in my silence, once he’s done, he tugs my hand down, sinking me to my knees. Sits back on his folded legs and presses his palms together. 

“God, I know that you know I don’t believe in you. My dad probably talks to you a lot about me, so I’m sure you know who I am. I don’t come to you because of me, though. I come to you right now because my friends need you,” Jungkook prays, his voice mellow and subdued, meant for my ears and the ears of God that I myself believe in, but don’t have a relationship with. I settle down into my respect for his bravery and kindness, closing my eyes, and I feel him enveloping his fingers around mine on my lap. My heart thumps and my other hand finds the way to it—I pin my palm to the left side of my chest, cradling those full-blooded strikes, willing the corners of my mouth not to quiver. “My dad says you know everything and right now I really hope that you know what Yoongi went through. I ask you, sincerely, to give him strength to be a better person. To make sure his feet don’t walk backwards but forward with the girl beside me. I also ask you to help her to not dissociate anymore, help her not remember that son of a bitch, sorry—that guy that broke her. And altogether, I ask you to heal them both. Also, make sure Yoongi mans up a little and texts her like I wanted. Or just do something, anything. Give him ideas. Make his balls grow or whatever. Thank you. Sorry for all I did. Amen.” 

The tears fall and I can’t halt them, nor do I want to. Lightness floods my chest, my mind, spreads all over my bones, and I breathe out in hiccups. I agree with his prayer by whispering the same ending word and when I glance at Jungkook, I see him meditating, privately, on something on his own. 

It inspires me, comforts me and impassions me to do the same. 

I flutter my eyes closed and quieten my breathing. 

Dear God, if I was wrong and this is for me, allow me to take care of Yoongi. Help us find a way towards each other and cleanse my heart from all the pain. 

And then the words spill, my prayer prolonging, and I discern that they don’t root from me, bathed in the glimmer of the moon as they are. 

I forgive him and I’m giving him another chance. Give us the opportunity to better our actions and communicate our pains. Give us the strength to do so. Give us the words. Give us peace of mind and clarity. Thank you. Amen. 

My tears have dried by the time I’m finished with my internal prayer. Jungkook has patiently waited the whole time, holding my hand, and he gives me the lovingest, most wholesome smile I’ve ever received in my life when I face him. He kisses my knuckles and I feel, strongly, that it seals our prayers. 

Helping me stand, it’s him who hugs me this time around. I bury my face in his chest, fisting the back of his sweatshirt like he did to me when I arrived. We remain like this, underneath the lenitive moonlight and the merciful eye of God that I sense upon us. And I know, in the abyss of my weakened heart, that I shall never forget about this moment. 

“Did you also feel that lightness in your chest?” Jungkook asks onto my hair, and I nod, too lost in my brimming, alive emotions—no longer numb, but erupting in tender colors—to answer. Love, thankfulness, delicate joy and that persisting lightness. 

Grabbing my shoulders, he breaks the hug and grins down at me. He glows underneath that street lamp, a pure whiteness lining his form, the tiny twinkling freckles of stars scattering upon his skin and I love him. 

I love my best friend. 

And the more I look at him, the more I’m reminded of the way I put the star clips in his hair and I think it would only be right if he were to wear them right now. 

I link my arm around his. 

“Let’s go inside.” 

The moonlight shone upon our way, ascertaining that we didn’t stumble. Reached a standstill and formed a ring around us when we stopped by the door to my apartment building and had another cigarette together, this time another shared one because I felt as though I had inhaled too much smoke throughout the day. 

The stars poked at my back in our silence, encouraging me to break it, and I did—once it was my turn to puff. I thanked him, earnestly, for the prayer, showed him my nails embellished with little silver crosses, ones he gaped at with utmost fascination before it all spurred something in him enough for him to share with me what went down earlier in the morning after Yoongi left my apartment. 

Crestfallen Yoongi, drenched from the rain, murky, cloud-bearing; the very one I know. Jungkook had to, essentially, extricate him from the force of his innermost downpour, and I waded through the torrent with each information he provided me. 

He was profoundly regretful and made a fool out of himself by choking at the sound of my name—something that made my cheeks ignite with coy flattery and my fingertips to tingle. The knowledge that he rued his actions wove through my prayer and quelled me, my heart and my mind, until there was no ounce of ache that bothered me. 

I entered a state of sobriety, plopping down onto my couch with a small basket of hair ties and clips. Jungkook wasn’t really cognizant of what I was doing as he focused on telling the story, describing, in his teasing manner, the way Yoongi looked like while he spoke of me. The way his cheeks flushed and light burst in his eyes. He was so preoccupied with the task that he didn’t flinch when I brushed his hair with my Kuromi tangle teezer, nor when I put up his hair in two pigtail buns and secured them with matching, violet Kuromi hair ties. 

His hair felt brittle in my fingers from all the bleach the stylist used on his hair. Briefly, I remembered the way he specifically asked her if there was a drugstore alternative to the professional dye and he went to buy it for me that very day and we splattered it on together, with him choosing the strand, of course. I made a mental note to talk about his hair with him later. 

I grew hot when he shifted to the part, where he read to him the message I sent for him. I had cleaned the whole apartment in effort to rid myself of the residue of my trigger, but my care for him remained because I understood where he came from. What I hadn’t known was that after listening to my heart and typing out the message, I would get tormented by my mind so viciously that I had to seek my girl best friend. My care for him sank to the bottom of me and the offense I felt resurfaced, swallowing me whole. 

To know, in the present time, that Yoongi thought it too good to be true, grew smaller when Jungkook began to tell him off, washes it all out and I am a brand new canvas. 

I take off my hoodie, aflame. 

“He really thought about what I said to him and he even put your number in his phone. I visibly saw him opening a new text message and typing something,” Jungkook says, exasperated, and I have to chuckle to myself—he looks so damn adorable with the two minty buns, but he’s still missing those clips. I search for them in my basket, reveling in that fire of his, which his words are permeated with, the heat stifling me. “I thought he sent it to you. I didn’t see him do it because I got a call from Namjoon, asking where we were. We had a meeting right after—and that’s also something I need to talk to you about.” 

My ears perk up and I freeze with the clips in my hands. 

The smile Jungkook gives me this time is cheerless. 

The sweat that coats me morphs into a layer of iciness. 

“We’re going on tour abroad next month,” he imparts and my heart closes. I disintegrate, the clips falling out of my hands. And the stars blanketing the heavens outside must do the same, plummeting to the ground, conjointly, with me. “We were supposed to have another concert tonight, a secret one that would be made into a docuseries, but then America fucking called.” 

That means no hanging out with Jungkook, no star clips; no seeing Yoongi and leaving things as they are—unfinished and still aching on his part. 

And that leaves me alone with my thoughts. 

I pout, my heart dead silent. 

“When will you be back?” 

Jungkook gathers the fallen clips and sets them down upon my open, vulnerable palms. Manages to warm them up in that brief exchange. 

“There aren’t many tour dates. I’ll be back before—”

My phone pings in the kitchen. 

And before I can breathe, Jungkook scurries to his feet and flees. 

Grabs my phone and holds it in front of my face, so the detector can unlock what the notification hides. And once it does and his eyes sweep over the lettering multiple times, he squeals. Springs. Beams like the warmest star he is, personified firelight. And I’m more happy that he’s happy than I’m happy about the fact Yoongi has done something. 

For me. 

Jungkook slides the phone into my clammy hand and I let out a little breath. Instagram has notified me that a certain person that goes by the name agustd liked my post. I smirk, cupping my face, while I click on the notification to see what exactly he liked. Jungkook sits beside me and looks over, laughing, vehemently, through his nose before he starts clapping. 

My stomach jumps, stirring my butterflies awake. 

I’m wearing a knitted set in the picture, nearly pellucid with how stretched out and purposefully ripped the fabric is, and I’m sat on my vanity table in my room with my arched back facing the mirror, my long black hair obscuring most of the sheerness of my spine. 

Is that a truce? Liking a picture where I’m wearing something so akin to the slip that broke us this morning? If he did, then that’s an intelligent move in the chessboard of all toxicity. 

And I like it. 

I blush, profusely. But then another notification rings through my living room and Jungkook stills beside me. We share a look, both of our mouths parted, before he steals my phone, though I slap his back and retrieve it from his grasp, the shifting causing the message to get opened. 

I run a hand down my face. “You clicked on it and now he can see I’ve read it, Jungkook.” 

He merely laughs. “So what? Read it.” 

I groan, tipping my chin, focusing my gaze on the letters, and my heart thrashes in my ribcage. And their meaning propels it to fly on the wings of my butterflies. 

The letters tremble in tandem with my hand as I read them. 

“I’m sorry for my behavior this morning, you didn’t deserve that. I hope you allow me to make it up to you as best as I can. Car drive tomorrow at 8 PM? Food’s on me, you just bring your playlist, moon kitty. And your sneakers. Yoongi. Jungkook gave me your number.” 

My heart stops mid-flight. And I don’t see Jungkook’s eyes abounding in the glow of the stars. Neither do I hear his laughter and his praises for Yoongi because I walk backwards into myself. 

Bring your sneakers. 

I see myself getting hit for wearing heels. I don’t feel the pain, but I have a glimpse of the bruise forming on my cheek, a patch of red and purple staining me for weeks only because I wanted to feel pretty and feminine on our date night. And before Jungkook’s voice can get to me, the echo of Ji-hoon’s command fans out in me. 

You won’t dress like a slut when you’re with me. Take them off. That dress, too. And wear your sneakers. 

I was forced to wear jeans and Nike’s to a fancy restaurant while he sported nice pants and a polo. And much to his dismay, and later to mine as well, I still received stares and smiles. From men and women alike. 

The memory splinters at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. And I perceive that it’s just that. 

A memory. 

I didn’t dissociate. 

And vulnerability clutches me so tightly that I shrivel and don’t think before I fold myself into Jungkook, hugging him until the memory completely evaporates. 

Jungkook pets my head as I bury it deeper into his chest. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just a memory,” I heave, blinking rapidly, and Jungkook holds me to him, sifting his fingers through my hair. 

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, continuing with the movement that intersperses mollification all over my being, and I nod. 

As long as I have my best friend, I will be okay. 

“It happened this morning, too,” I admit, unafraid, and Jungkook stills for a moment. “When Yoongi got up from this couch, I thought I was gonna get hit again. And now when I read that he wants me to wear sneakers, I remembered the way Ji-hoon hit me because I wore heels that one time. But it wasn’t so bad. I didn’t dissociate. Your prayer helped.” 

Jungkook curls around me and holds me tighter, putting me back together, and I let him. 

I let him because there’s nothing else for me to do. 

There’s no one else for me. 

“He’s not here anymore. He’s not in your life. I broke his leg, remember? He can’t walk back into your life.” 

It’s the only memory, where he’s present, that brings me pleasure: Jungkook finding out I was a victim of domestic abuse and chasing him all over the city until he yanked him by the back of his shirt and beat him until he was unrecognizable. He broke his leg by purposefully driving over it with his motorcycle upon leaving, considering the deed done. 

“Every time your bad memories come back to haunt you, remember this one,” Jungkook advises and I pleat his words, stuffing them somewhere inside my sternum, where I can return to them and remember them like he said. Use them as a weapon.

Something tells me that now I shall need it more than I ever have before.

“Yoongi isn’t like him, I promise,” he continues, seeping his boyish warmth into my skin as he cups my face and makes me look at him. I feel as though I have run a marathon with the way I breathe spasmodically and Jungkook sees me, composes me by leading me to take deep breaths that subdue my nerves. “I regretted letting him take you home but for a far different reason. Underneath all that pain is a good person. A romantic that has lost his hope, but if there’s anything I can depend on, it’s the fact that Yoongi will find what he’s lost. And he’s halfway there. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have texted you.” 

I ponder his words, my heart collecting all those stars that have plummeted from the heavens, and, internally, I use their light to help me comprehend the deeper meaning behind his words. A romantic that has lost his hope. I wonder what meadow of agony he walked through—and I wonder how much it would devastate me if I ever were permitted to place my bare feet upon his footprints on that flowery soil. 

“You can trust him because I trust him.”

I slide the star clips beneath the space buns I twisted his hair in and I nod. 

“Let’s text him back.” 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ third part

SMOKE, v. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook & taehyung)

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 8.2k

summary: everything that hurt has stopped.  

pinterest board: smoke / playlist: moon kitty's playlist / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: yoongi is perfect, mutual masturbation, lots of lustful thoughts of sex and oral, yoongi's pov—literally the biggest warning, sex toys, desperation, praise kink, neediness, mentions of punishment & an actual punishment, too.

note: this might be the best chapter in the series and unfortunately, it's the last chapter i post before my hiatus. thanks to my bestest friend in the world, @tkslovechild, this series is finally moving forward somewhere and it's not a source of my depression anymore. i hope you all enjoy this chapter, my babies. see you after my hiatus. i will miss you all, terribly. luna loves you forever.

side note: make sure to listen to oc's playlist. it's so good.

The lights must be blaring, in the bizarre simplicity of our current happenstance, and the toys for adults must be tinged with a variety of colors, but my eyes are moored on the prismatic delicacy of her utter engrossment. 

Pupils wide and swallowing each detail of the display of the instruments of pleasure, my cock is so tight in my pants that I struggle for air, my fists clenched by my sides, ever so ready to snatch the product she points at just so I could become the means to make that joy explode further in her. She teased me in the car with her naughty songs, with her coy glances at me to suss out whether I caught onto the meaning—when in reality I tried my fucking hardest not to give in to my imagination and crash my car. Her body was curled so divinely, facing me, and my hands gripped the steering wheel until the leather squeaked. We laughed about it, she blamed me for farting, and I longed to kiss her until she would shut up. 

And I should have—because now she’s teasing me with her utmost fascination with a certain clit sucker. 

Whatever color it is. 

It was her idea to head inside this store. We drove around through the moonlit streets of Seoul for an hour, listening to her playlist reverberating throughout the vehicle. With the windows pulled down, the miscellaneous paraphernalia of her soul—the erotism of persona, the melancholia of her heart and the despondency caused from her pain—rumbling out of them, letting everyone see and hear the echo of her newly bloomed enthusiasm and the sprightliness of her being. She was alive at night, alive with me, liking the principle of me learning about her through this artful form. And I liked her liking that. 

The songs spoke what our mouths couldn’t, communicating for us, because we acted as though my own pain didn’t break us apart. In the vivacity of the car drive, in the lapis lazuli of our own exclusive, atmospheric globe, I didn’t tell her off for being bare for me the previous morning. No, I took off her night dress and drank from the sweet nectar of her bosom, right there on the ivory of her plush couch until she drenched it so well that she blushed. 

In fact, it’s the only thing I voiced out in terms of the conflict. 

Perhaps it was due to the influence of her songs, laced with the heady aroma of her energy—fuck, if I know, but I didn’t regret my words. 

Not this time. 

And her glimmering cheeks flushed like they did in my imagination, tightening my cock in the easy way that she was only capable of doing. I seized the tension between us—and I might as well clasped my hand over her thighs, which were still turned to me, with how her breath hitched in her throat in reaction to my brazenness. 

It was the reason why she wrapped her fingers around my wrist when we walked by that sex shop en route to the restaurant I chose, stopping me dead in my tracks. She held our sexuality close to her chest, not adding to it in the car, but unraveling it there, in the middle of the street, with strangers passing by. Gave me a look only a moon kitty like her could, mischievous yet innocent, and tilted her head in the direction of the store. And I knew, deep in my heart, that it was the little creature inside her that dragged me in—no longer neglected, but attuned to my attention, to my care and the respect I wafted towards her. 

There were no two sides to her, and on no account did we stand on the opposite sides of the chessboard with our agonies, despite the fact all I could see was the monochrome of its pattern once I regarded her enthrallment. 

Somehow, we are unified at this very moment,  and I crave to buy her that clit sucker. 

“Choose a color,” I rasp, and my cock agrees with me, twitching at the idea of her picking a color of her liking, one that can match her nails or perhaps the dark wine of her hair. One that bewitched me so profusely once I observed it under that soft white light of the interior of my car, its sleekness dipping into my heart that began to thunder for her. One that absolutely pales in comparison as I look at it now, the red dull and bleak, my sight unfolding in colors. My craving expands when her eyes widen at my seemingly brainsick idea, digging into mine while her tightened lips quiver in a smile. I smirk, enjoying her coy reaction, and I take this teasing into another dimension, austerely because I want to—and because I can, because we can. “Maybe the red one to match your hair.” 

Her gasp melts into a delicate laughter that tickles my insides and, mindlessly, she runs her elongated fingers through the ends of her hair at her tummy. Taps her long, cross-embellished nail, on another package beside it. “This one has the thingy that vibrates inside you.” 

It’s the same rose toy, but with a silicone attachment with a bulbous end. I’m not sure how those violent vibrations inside her walls can feel pleasurable for her, but the way she gazes at it—with a smirk akin to mine and lowered long lashes that languidly beat against the tops of her cheeks—propels me to seek my answer. 

I take it in my hands, inspecting it further. And I notice that the petals hide a small tongue in their center, simulating an oral sex for her lonesome times. 

Heat clings to my skin as I grow feverish. I am leaving for a tour in a few weeks. Who will be there to eat her sweet little pussy? 

The apples of her cheeks blaze in pinkness, regarding me as she is, and I lick my lips. “This one licks your clit. Do you think it’ll do a better job than me?” 

The rose tint deepens at my teasing words and all I can think about is how she’s gonna press those petals deeper and deeper into her folds, digging her long nails into the silicon surface just like she dug her nails into my scalp. And suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. 

I fast forward. 

“Do you want this thing or the bullet?” I ask her, impatient, but for what—I don’t know. What I do know is that I can’t stay in this place any longer with my imagination bursting forth and clouding everything negative I ever felt towards this girl. And while the newness crests joy and contentment in me, I need to be distracted from the lust that has become so natural between us. Or else, I bend her over in this aisle, rip the package open and use it on her while I fuck her dumb. 

I might become unhinged. Just for her, just for the flush blanketing her features. Just so I have her positive feelings in my hands. 

She’s too overwhelmed to respond, redder than her hair and it’s endearing. Kitty cups her face and turns around, letting me see her back, and I do the thing I unknowingly wanted to do the moment I inched closer to her. 

I brush my hand down her noble spine, clothed in the sheer fabric of her tight top that exposes her camisole underneath to me. I hook my fingers on the belt loop of her baggy jeans and bring her back to me. Her gasp is so tender and so unlike her when she collides into me, her fists bunched on the top of my chest, her hair a mess—tangled on her forehead and eyelashes and I’m awestruck. 

By her beauty, by the way there’s no end to her. And I want to keep acknowledging myself with the inexhaustible wholeness of her until I’m gray and stooped in the old age of my affection for her. 

No gold, no golden power staining my hands. She’s silver and I am desperate for that moonlit glory to mist my veins. Privately, for me and her. A thing only we know of. 

No Sun-mi, no Jungkook. 

Pinching the strands of hair away from her face, she seems to be swimming in a thought I’m very curious about. Even more so, when she engages her hands and hangs them over my neck. Calmness relaxes the muscles of my stomach and I take a detailed note of that. 

No anxiousness, no winged demons beneath. 

This is right. This is how it should’ve been from the start. Playfulness, a little bit of lust, and a whole lot of exuberance. Nothing else, at least not this early on. 

And even though I asked her a million naughty questions that I’d love for her to sophistically answer for me, something whispers in my gut that I should share my thoughts with her. And without a hint of fear, I do. 

“This is good, isn’t it?” I murmur, tipping my chin, my body leading me to lean my forehead against hers and I do—I do, I do. Kitty sighs, oddly validating me, and I continue. “I mean I wasn’t planning on buying you a fucking clit sucker tonight, but I’m glad we’re here.” 

She laughs and I lift my head, needing to see her expression of delight. And atypically, my mouth rounds in the same grin and the same laughter spills out of me. 

One that breaks into an indecent groan when she finally graces me with her response. 

“You know, they have rose toys for men as well. So if I’m getting one, you’re buying one, too.” 

It’s like she palmed me over my jeans with her words, but I disagree with a fraction of it. 

“Wrong. I’m getting you one.” 

She appears to be stunned by my willfulness to not let her spend a dime when she’s with me, her mouth parted and her head cocking back just once. And when she closes her pretty, half-glossy mouth, curls the pillows under her teeth and drops her eyes, her palms sliding down my chest, she accepts it. 

And I feel like a man, not a skeleton of who I used to be. 

“You’ll be getting two, then.” 

I chuckle. Draw near to her ear, sinking under the waterfall of her hair, and I hear her breathing harden. “I can get three if you can’t decide,” I flirt, pulling back more to edge her than to stuff my hand with the other toy that includes the bullet, holding it up for her. Her pools sparkle as she looks at them before perching up at mine, melting.

I bite my lip, feral; and I don’t wait for her to answer once I stack them up in one hand, pivoting on my feet. 

“Wait.” 

She steals the box with the bullet and puts it back to its original place. Replaces it with a male version of it, her smile cheerful and full of mischief. I take something else that I cover from her sight, which glides upon the display of all kinds of different cock rings and whatnot. 

Little does she know what I intend to surprise her with as soon as she allows me back into her girlish lust. 

My heart hammers in my chest in tandem with my cock as I pay for it. And I hope that she gets the memo. 

That she’s not just a fling—and certainly not just a friend. 

“Do you think your toy will pass through security?” 

Had I not swallowed my noodles, I would’ve spat them out at her black little outfit. Kitty giggles at my reaction—at the frozen tension in my face as I gaze up at her from my bowl, the soup dripping from my chin. Our movements are simultaneous—hands letting go of our chopstick, but while mine reach for a napkin, hers rummage in the white plastic bag I set down on the empty chair beside me. 

The table is too narrow, and it’s a blessing and a curse. 

Her vanilla perfume hits my nostrils and I’m convinced it’s what the moon must smell like. The box of the male toy is overly big for her hands and her hair shields her from me as she discreetly reads the description and the instructions. I widen my legs under the table, my bloodstream focusing on only one body part of mine, and I wonder if that’s what she was truly thinking of while she ate her own bowl of noodles. 

Fucking myself with a rose fleshlight. Away from her; across the sea. 

Jungkook must’ve told her about our tour. I wasn’t going to mention it tonight because I didn’t want to ruin the night with the sombreness of my work. As much as I looked forward to seeing our Army from that side of the globe, I wasn’t happy with the decision installed upon us—wasn’t happy that our management didn’t ask us about our feelings, whether we’re ready for it or not. It was more of a—you have a job now, do it well, cameras will be rolling—and that was the end of it. Namjoon sensed my dissatisfaction, slouching in his chair in front of me, with his jaw propped between his fingers and his eyes piercing through me but he, too, couldn’t say a thing. 

None of us could. 

It cast me to a deeper sea of my anguish that I didn’t want to stream into my ordinary life with Kitty. I was going to tell her as soon as my fresh emotions would’ve settled and we would’ve settled to the same extent, though having the toy be in the center of it changes everything now. 

It’ll be different. 

I won’t be a puppet, channeling my humanness through my love for our beloved Army. On the contrary, I will be a dancing fool, knowing I have someone waiting for me back in Seoul while being the epitome of my deepest longings and sentiments overseas. My heart, the toy and the means of our communication. 

I wasn’t going to bring the toy with me because if the members were ever to find out, I wouldn’t live it down. But if it makes that sparkle in her irises last a little longer, I shall put extra care into hiding it at the bottom of my suitcase. 

“You want me to take it?” I ask, softly, leaning back in my chair, one hand on the table, the other across my thigh. Her smile curves as she glimpses up at me, and I still can’t believe she pulled out an actual sex toy in a restaurant filled with hungry drunken people. If anyone recognizes me, I’m fucked. Majestically, devastatingly fucked if they take a picture, the said picture gets to our management and I have to write an apology letter on Weverse afterward. 

I’m sorry for having a personal life with a beautiful girl who’s unlike any shallow pretty faces I’ve come across. I will be more mindful of my actions in the future.

Fuck that. 

She can take it out of the packaging and see if it needs to be charged before we can use it if she so much as wishes so. 

We.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and something tells me that I have her to thank for that. 

“Well, I’m sure the Christmas spirit will get to you and you’ll be lonely. Also, let’s not forget it’ll be cuffing season most of all.” 

It’s funny she says that, considering what I secretly bought for her. Hysterical, in fact. Hilarious. 

It’s hidden in the pocket of my jacket, so even though she followed her curiosity into the bag, she still doesn’t know about the surprise that awaits her. I took it out when I let her walk in front of me, discreetly. It brought me more joy than I thought I was ever capable of bearing. 

Still, I wonder how much more of it I can be filled with. And I want to tempt it—brim with it. I reckon she’s the safest person to take that risk with, but the quiet, unknown voice in me adds that it’s not a risk at all. 

Quite the opposite. 

And the idea of cuffing her, both literally and figuratively, draws me closer to that cliff of brisk water of that ultimate joy and I want to get soaked. I want to drink. 

I want to be cleansed by it. 

“Would you like to be cuffed by me, little one?” 

It was automatic, the pet name streaming out of my mouth like that mini waterfall I seem to be dazed by. The question, too. And I’m not afraid, not even a hint of dread crawls upon me, and I find myself hoping that it stays. That everything I do and say from now on is of that automatic matter, unabashed, not blocked, not held back. 

I hope to be a real person with her. Without any ghosts, any demons. Any pain to scar her with. 

The little one doesn’t smile this time, shrinks in her flummox, but still I don’t fear, I don’t wish to grasp my words and put them back in my throat. Taking little steps means grazing your knees and I’m here to place band aids on her bleeding spots. 

I’m here for her. 

And my belief is supported by my actions this whole evening. 

The person I was yesterday is almost unrecognizable to me and I pray, I pray and I will pray once this night is over that it shall remain so. 

“I’m not sure what kind of question you’re asking me right now,” she murmurs, leaning her elbows on the table, drawing close to me like I’m drawing close to her, and it’s good enough. I don’t ask for anything else from her. 

“It’s the one you think it is,” I rasp, making her eyes widen slightly, and I have to chuckle. She’s so damn adorable, standing outside of her comfort zone, and my own eye is watchful over her, over her little steps, band aids ready in my hands. 

At the sound of my soft laughter, she drops her gaze, running her tongue over the inside flesh of her cheek—and there it is. That kind heat rushing through her. I want her to be smoldered by it. 

I want a lot of things when it comes to her, a phenomenon that forces me ponder if there ever will be an end to it. It’s better than feeling dissatisfaction regarding someone, digging a hand deep in them, expecting gold, yet plucking out stones that only cut your skin eventually. The more you dig, the bigger the wound. But I don’t have to do that in her. The little one, the moon kitty herself, gives it over, willingly. All of her silver moon dust, glory, and the ashes from her firelight. 

Maybe that’s how it should be. 

Not expecting, not reaching, but being given, being provided. 

Her eyelids lift and descend over the package in her hands before they root upon mine. And her response to my words keeps me company all the way to America. 

“Show me how well you can use this and I just might be.” 

Dead or alive, I blur between the lines. Jet lagged or just sick with love, it is a conjoined affair in me like the two halves of my heart. 

I miss her, even though I haven’t been able to unattach myself from my phone, the only tangible connection between us—the back and forth exchange of words, emojis and stickers that I had never used in my life but began to spam our conversations with once she coyly hid behind them. I miss her, even though I spent nearly every day with her until I boarded my flight. 

In Jungkook’s hotel room, the members share a meal together while I stay back, settled comfortably on the beige couch by the floor-length windows as the morning sun shimmers its rays across the walls. I’m sporting a hard-on, which I camouflage with a rough-textured pillow across my lap, due to the contents of our text messages. Hobi is slurping his ramen next to me, elbows propped on his elbows, posture slouched, oblivious to the fact that the girl of his platonic dreams is horny and challenging me to join her in her evening self-care. 

Yes, Hobi has developed a crush on the moon kitty and I was the first one to know. 

During the last of our leisure time in November before the tour, Hobi called me up and asked me to join him on his last drinking adventure before our work duties swallowed us. He lured me into his apartment with the two bottles of Hennessy that he had bought for the occasion and we talked work, we talked our management and we talked girls. 

He admitted to me how guilty he felt for triggering such unpleasant memories in Kitty’s mind after I shared with him the reason why I picked her up into my arms and walked away from him. I was purposefully vague in my speech, not wanting to disclose such privacy without her present, without her knowing especially, and Hobi respected that. Told me he thought about her since that day, remembering only the negative, tethered wisps that seemed to curl tightly in his gut. And I, drunk out of my mind, doting and devoted, shared with him that I wanted her. 

Made sure to emphasize in my admission that she was mine. 

It was the bravest thing I ever had done. 

Hobi understood, explained to me that how he regarded her was strictly friendly. Thought that she carried a certain elegance of beauty that was unprecedented in today’s culture, however, with which I enthusiastically agreed. Then he clutched my shoulder, the wounded one, with extra tenderness, looked me carefully in the eye, and gave me a groundbreaking word of advice that shook through my world. 

Don’t treat her like you treated Sun-mi. 

I didn’t grasp the meaning until we opened the second bottle and Hobi, seeing my puzzlement, fleshed out his wisdom. 

Don’t cling, don’t make her the air you breathe. Just live your life by her side and breathe your own air. You worked too hard to get here to backtrack. 

And I tried, within the little time we had together. 

We didn’t fuck, we didn’t devour each other’s bodies. We conversed, I learned her favorite color, the name of her favorite band, the dishes she liked—and the common ins and outs of her life. White wasn’t the only color of her soul, she liked red; that deep, dark tint one would only witness alive in the depth of the night. She liked the color of the stop lights, of the tail lights; she liked the way it bathed my face in gentle, undangerous fire whenever we would get stuck in traffic on our car drives—and apparently she liked my patience. 

Chase Atlantic was her favorite band. 

Tteokbokki her favorite dish. 

And I was her favorite person. A fact I already knew by the way she would kiss me at those favorite stop lights of hers. 

That was all we did. Kiss and converse. And I didn’t cling to her, didn’t make her the air I breathed. On the contrary, following Hobi’s wisdom, I fell for her in the purest of ways, which I somehow made possible in this befouled world. 

And, perhaps, she did, too. A deduction of mine because she began to smoke in front of me at some point. 

She was afraid I wouldn’t like it, a sensitive wound that she let me in on—a formless, unclear one that kept me wide awake at night, scrambling my brain to try and figure out what the fucker before me did to her. That was, until she told me, upon our last car drive during that last week we’d have with each other, that the said wound was caused by my own fault. 

I told her off for being bare for me at the beginning of the trajectory of our closeness and I sowed a poisonous plant of a hang-up in her. A block in her brain that pressured her to hide the “questionable” parts of her from me. 

But there weren’t any questionable parts of her—and I told her, after I pulled out my own pack, lit up one, grabbed her by the back of her neck and kissed her until her lungs were depleted of air. 

It was the bloom of our lust, particularly the vocal, intense apology I strung into her lips, kissing them deeper and deeper until they swelled. It was the beginning of our naughty text messages—right on the cusp of my absence, hooking onto my yearning and expanding it to heavenly dimensions. 

Yes, heavenly. Our closeness represented heaven as we had forgotten about our toys and remembered them during our hypersexual conversations. Face to face, we focused on the stimulation of our connected intellect, our intertwined characters; phone to phone, our bodies sought compensation.

And right now, upon the first morning here in the US, the moon kitty is persuading me into unpacking my suitcase and using the rose toy in my room. 

She’s straining, working so hard, sending me her little stickers of adorable, pleading animals, incognizant to the fact that I don’t need to be that much impelled to do it. She’s staying up for me, needy in bed—I made my decision the second she mentioned it. 

I merely delight in her saying please. 

I get off on it; it makes my cock rock hard and the concept of the members being around and unaware of what she’s doing to me—especially Jungkook, who’s stimming and happy to be eating after a restless night—heightens my pleasure, lengthening towards the heavens. 

If only I could take her there. With my tongue. Like I did the first time, holding her body down so she wouldn’t rise higher without me. 

pleaseeeeee, i’m gonna start without you if you dont get up rn 

I smile at the text message and I imagine her writhing in her bed, her bedsheets crumpled and tousled around her, her fingers tracing the curved petals of her rose toy—itching, impatient, needy; waiting for me. 

My cock grows. And I, too, meet my impatience. 

Just a second. Be good, I respond back to her, locking my phone and immersing myself in reality. 

The boys are uncharacteristically quiet, each one indulging in an activity of their own. Jungkook is huffing, his cheeks full and around, staring down his plate of food as if it was about to grow its own legs and walk away from him. Jimin is watching him with an endeared smile that is split by a secrecy all of us are aware of. Lopsided, its glow is shunned out by the tender, doleful layer of wetness in his eyes. And I know that his tummy will get full by watching him eat and that it will be his only source of fulfilling food for today. 

I clench my fists. 

Hobi beside me has finished his own breakfast and has entered his food coma, staring into nothing at the ceiling as he rests his neck against the backrest of the couch. Taehyung is looking at me in a way that brings my eyes back to him for a double take. With a smirk and a glint in the gentleness of his eyes, he flicks his browns at his own phone and nods his head, telling me something in the silent language that I don’t want him to. 

He noticed something he shouldn’t have. 

The words are flung out of me long before I comprehend what I’m saying, up and ready on my feet, covering my erection with the thick hem of my oversized shirt. 

“I’m gonna head to mine for a bit and take a shower,” I announce, making heads lift in my direction, and considering my situation, I cower in shyness, keeping my back to them as I walk towards the front door. 

“The stylist is coming at one pm and we have a soundcheck at three thirty,” Namjoon informs, and I pivot to look at him, at all six of them while my hand remains on the doorknob. 

Jungkook is rubbing his eyes and I take one last look at his faded mint hair, saying goodbye to it in my heart. I know what hair color I’m changing my silver hair to, thought of it on the plane and was immediately convinced it was my greatest idea. I nod, sweeping my eyes over the last five heads as if I was going to come back to them as a different person. 

Perhaps I was. 

I ignore Taehyung and his knowing smile as I leave, racking my brain, trying to come up with the reason why he’s acting like this. Did Hobi say something or was I not careful enough, divulging my secret out in the open with my face or my body language? Was the pillow over my lap and my eyes, all of my attention glued to my phone making it that obvious that I’m seeing someone? 

How would they react if they knew it was the Kitty girl? 

I leave it be for now, my cock asking for attention. I fish out my hotel key card and close everything behind me. Taehyung’s all seeing eye, Jimin’s diet and I stoop in my homesickness. 

It’s been two days and I feel as though Kitty ripped my heart out of my chest and folded it somewhere inside her purse when we hugged for the last time. I reminisce on her innocent touch on my neck, the only place she ever touched me besides my hair, on her lips that pressed against that place her hands warmed as I video call her. 

She picks up, immediately. 

I can only see her round head, the red of her hair sprawled messily on the silky, light beige cover of her pillow while the rest of her body is shrouded by that material. She smiles at me, no hint of embellishment lining her face—and something tells me that she’s all bare underneath her bed sheets, too. 

I palm my cock, desperate. 

“How long were you gonna keep me waiting?” she asks, and proves me right as she raises a hand and props it behind her head, the duvet drifting down a little and exposing the beginning of her fleshy peak and my mouth waters. I licked and kissed that breast of hers once upon a time and I would do anything to have that opportunity right now. I would do a better job; I would drive her insane. Spoil her with kisses so harsh that she would reach a point in heaven that no one ever has. 

I think about her question and deem I could never keep her waiting long if I were all by myself. “You know who I was with. Was I supposed to pull out my dick in front of them?” 

She giggles at my bizarre response, shifting her head to find a more comfortable spot, and the wholeness of her breasts greets me.

Bless all silky beddings. The superior invention of all. 

“Oh, hello there,” I joke, deepening her giggles and she angles her phone so I don’t see anything, breaking me apart. 

I shall punish her for it. 

I set my phone down against the table by the wall and take my shirt off. My angle allows her to see the state of me that she created with her lust—by telling me that she was up and desperate for me, craving the toy that I bought for her and that she wouldn’t use it unless I did with her at the same time. I didn’t need any details, any obscenities that I know full well she’s capable of giving me. Just her admitting to me that she needed me, trusting me enough with that intimate information made me so hard that I couldn’t contain myself. 

I watch her eyes glide down my body that isn’t good enough to be regarded like she does, stopping at the weakness she’s effectuated in my groin. And I let her, the first person who ever looked at me with such raw, undomesticated hunger. 

And I wish she would eat me up. Get on a plane, get to this hotel, to my room and take her time taking out my bones. I am for her taking—and I have been since the first time our eyes linked. 

“You’re not really helping me right now,” she croaks out, her raspy voice enveloping around my aching cock and I can say the same. Especially when she shifts entirely, rolls over to her tummy and I can see her natural face better, the carmine of her hair that veils and tickles her cleavage, enough that she flicks it behind her shoulder, letting me be the witness to her bare skin. 

Now she’s punishing me. 

“Was I supposed to help you? I thought we’re helping ourselves,” I tease, and my words pull her mouth apart, even more so when I begin to take off my belt, making sure I tug it out of my belt loops swiftly. She bites her lip, ruining me, and I want to use that leather on her. I fold it in half and point it at her. “This is what you’re getting once I see you.” 

She licks the skin she bit onto, her eyes widening, and I quiver—I quiver because she likes the idea. 

“What for?” she asks, raising her voice a little bit, and I chuckle. 

“For being so goddamn beautiful.” 

Kitty blushes and curls her lips under her teeth like I’ve noticed she so often does. I like it so much, so fucking much that I yearn for her to do it when she takes my cock into her throat for the first time. 

I know she will do a good job, swallowing every inch. 

“Where’s your toy, huh?” 

My chuckle is savage this time, vibrating in my sternum and I watch her perk up at the sound like the kitten she is. I descend into madness, willingly, hasty to jump head-first into this thing, despite my following words. 

“You just can’t wait, can you?” 

Her ‘no’ is etched all over her flushed cheeks and I crave to kiss it, run my lips all over it so they can remember it beyond this day, this month—all the way into the new year. 

“Did you pass through security with it or does the entire LAX know what a slut you are?” 

Her words spring in me, exciting me further more, and I can’t help but smile and blush, like her. I drop my gaze, fondle the leather of my belt, and I feel little sparks of muted electricity shooting down my arms. My mind outruns me, picturing the way I physically destroy her for her bratty, delicious mouth, and my smile blossoms, denting into my face. 

“Your ass is gonna be red, little one. So fucking red you won’t be able to sit down.” 

She doesn’t back away at the threat and I visibly see my own reaction reflecting in her. And it’s my mouth that parts this time when she props her phone against something, rises her chest in the air and sits down on her folded legs. And I have to hold onto the table, with the belt still caged in my grasp, when she spreads her thighs and gives me the consent to see all of her. 

Her perked, full breasts, asking for me. Her soft tummy, perfect for my hands to hold. And my own personal ruination down low, between those thighs, glistening and sopping wet. 

“Not even like this?” 

My cock aches. I let go of the belt and the clanging sound accompanies me as I unbutton my pants. “Not even like this.” 

My desire lodges at the bottom of me, pent-up and animalistic. And I take my phone, rummage in my opened suitcase for the toy, lube and head for the shower. My manliness doesn’t even move due to how hard I am. 

Hearing the sizzling noise of the blasting stream of the shower, her brows scrunch up in confusion and I enjoy her obliviousness to her punishment. 

“You’re taking a shower?” 

I’m not too sure about how loud the toy is and I’m not risking having my members eavesdropping on our intimate act with their ears pressed against the thin walls. I’m absolutely not risking shit, locking the door behind me after I leave her in the small rectangular hole in the shower and dispose myself of my underwear. 

And when I step inside and the water dribbles down my sensitive skin, ignited from my lust and hers, I discover that my plan is working out perfectly. 

She can’t see anything. 

She can’t see the lower half of my body—and she won’t be able to watch the petal-ornamented mouth of the toy swirling around my cock. 

And that’s what she gets, talking like that. 

“Get your toy ready, kitty,” I say, letting the water drench me before I get the job done. I push my hair back and I hear her gasp, the sound making me stop my movements. I look over to her, swiping the drops from my eyes, and I find her humping her hand ever so slowly. I rage, beautifully, wishing that was my hand she was gliding her pussy on until I realize that I’m the reason she slid her hand down there. But that still doesn’t mean she’s allowed to do so. “No touching or we stop.”

My heart hammers in my chest when she complies and my weakness for her increases, filling up every part of me until she’s the very owner of me. 

I swell up with pride. 

“Good girl.” 

At my praise she plunges her wet fingers into her mouth and I lose my sanity. I lose my name, my identity, and the knowledge of my whereabouts. I’m not in LA, where I don’t want to be, carrying my responsibilities and the pressure of unfairness on my back, but I’m somewhere else entirely. All by myself in a place, where she’ll soon join me. A wintry island, just for us, where I’m not an idol, where I don’t have a job that forces me away from her, but where I’m free. Free to do whatever I please. 

“Good fucking girl. Let me have a taste.” I lean my palms against the edge of the hole and I die when she reaches her shiny fingers towards me, towards the camera. I hum, the sound interwoven with my gentle laughter, and I stop myself before I lick the screen. “Thank you. So good, Kitty. Now, can you be the best girl ever and lick your toy? Make it nice and wet for your pussy?” 

Her breath trembles as she exhales, reaching over for the red rose beyond the set-up of her phone. And she rests her chest against the mattress, upthrusts her bum in the air and while she’s this close to the camera, she darts out her tongue and drags it over the silicone hole in the center, her alluring eyes fixed on me. 

My arousal oozes out of my tip, scalding hot, and I suck in a breath, fucked out. 

“Fuck, baby,” I husk, my eyelids lowering as my whole body catches on fire, and I can’t respire. I grip the edge until my fingers are bathed in white. My desire asks for more. “Spit on it for Oppa.” 

She moans and I nearly explode, my memories of her noises when I was tongue-deep in her flooding through my mind, and I can’t take any more of it. Especially not the discovery that she’s keen on titles, keen on me being the dominant one. 

My palm itches for my cock, but I won’t give in. Not yet. 

Kitty gathers her saliva and she seizes all of me when she spits on it, circling her tongue around the rim, spreading it there. And then she whines and my manliness twitches, painfully, ridding me of any sense I had left. 

“Can we start now, please?” she begs, and I’m ready to give her everything. 

I moisten my lips. “Wait for just a little while, baby. Let Oppa get his toy ready.” 

And under her gaze, I squirt the lube inside the hollowness and all over myself, sighing and tilting my head back when I scatter the liquid along my shaft. The pressure of my fist is delicate, yet it feels as though I’m levitating. I’m confident it’s owing to the fact I’m being watched by those rounded eyes of hers and that she’s observing what her psyche has done to me. 

“I want to see you,” she whimpers, and I don’t feel like punishing her any longer. 

I unclench my fist. “What pretty word do you use when you ask for something?” 

She doesn’t even think about it and my pride enlarges. “Please.”

“That’s a good fucking kitty.” 

She sits up and nearly fucks her mattress, moaning into her hand—and I know, I already know that I won’t last long under these circumstances. 

I’m so eager to give her what she wants that I don’t perceive that she's never seen this private part of me before until she gasps so fucking loudly that I startle. I’ve set her on the lower shower shelf and her mouth is wide open, the toy prepared in her hand. 

“You’re so…” she trails off, shy all of a sudden, and I might pay for her plane tickets after my shower. I’m fucking her so hard that I’ll mark every single inch of mine inside her pretty pussy. 

“Tiny,” I finish for her, and she laughs in that dopey way, even though we haven’t even started yet. 

“Will that toy even… fit you?” she asks, her pools entwined to my cock, transfixed, and I long to kiss her. Despairingly. 

I look down to my little man, to the toy and eventually to her. “I’ll make it fit.” 

Her breath hitches in her throat, pleasuring me. “If you talk like that while we do our thing, I won’t be able to hold out.” 

I hum, deeply, my endearment. “Why is that a problem?” She’s taken aback, like she always is whenever we talk, and I tilt my head towards the toy in her hand. “I want you to ride it for me.” 

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and places the rose between her legs without taking her eyes off of mine. Ever so dangerous, ever so aphrodisiacal. “I want you to fuck it for me.” 

I groan, wrapping my fist around my shaft. “Turn it on, Kitty. Make yourself feel good.” 

She mewls long before she turns it on—and once she does, her chest arches towards me and her eyes flutter back. Her hips slowly find their rhythm as she begins to hump it, unsure at first before falling into its temptation. And then she’s loud, louder than the raging waterfall behind me, sprinkling me, and louder than me when I get to work and tug on my length. 

My noises bring her to me, but she doesn’t fix her gaze on mine—they pass down to my cock, her moans becoming needier, and she encourages me to join her. 

“Come on, Oppa, it feels so good.” 

I wade in a haze, spurred from her pleasure and now the title, unable to move my limbs. “Is it sucking on your clit?” 

She nods her head, stopping, but it brings forth more delight for her. She crumbles, her chest curving, and she saves herself from tumbling by propping her palm flat on the mattress, struggling—struggling to breathe, struggling to talk. 

“I—I’m not doing it if—if you’re not,” she stutters, her words melting into a whimper and I’m gone. 

It’s her energy, her desperation-fueled energy that pushes me to move my other limb and glide the mouth of the toy down my tip. She orders me to turn it on and I do, bending forward in the paralyzing pleasure it begins to give me. 

And it’s me who’s loud as it sucks on my head so vehemently that I, too, struggle. 

“Fuck, fuck—” I groan, lowering the toy down my length just in time for it to take the other direction, and I don’t moan any of her pet names. No, I moan out her name—and I make her come. 

My name breaks on her tongue and it is as my undoing as it is hers. I have to pull it out of me in order not to stop our playtime there, recuperating by watching her convulse while sitting on the toy as it completely traps her in the celestial realm of her orgasm. My cock twitches in the air, yearning to be inside her, and feel her walls spasm around it. I accept my death for the longevity of the bursting of her pleasure and I fall, I face-plant, drastically, for her. Deeper and deeper. 

No way back. 

“Good girl. So good. Oppa is proud of you.” 

She yelps, overstimulation grappling her, and I bite my lip so hard I break skin. She lifts her bum, quivering, and only when she catches her breath and begs me to come for her do I fuck the toy and chase down my own orgasm. 

And it doesn’t take long. Not when she topples onto the mattress and her face is what I come on while she, again, joins me, working her fingers on her clit out of my view. 

“You know I’m fucking you and not this toy,” I mutter, focusing the suction on my tip as I pound it. And when she moans my name and I hear the squelching of her hole, I throw the toy on the shelf beside my phone and use my hand to stain her face as if she were here with me, on her knees. 

My orgasm erupts and erupts, triggering hers, and we come together like this. Close, yet far away. Looking into each other’s eyes—never failing, never deteriorating, never diving into our past pains. 

Lightness blankets me and I feel as though I could fly and drift through this world without any burdens to bear on my back. Kitty looks well-spent and I suppose I reflect her all over again—and shall reflect her until my last dying day. 

I wipe my screen, my innermost craving still yet not satisfied, and I identify what it truly is. As she raises onto her knees, I lean against the shelf with my elbows and reveal it to her. 

“Let me see your pussy. Show me how wet you were for me.” 

She saw me up close, I didn’t.

It is only fair. 

She swears, enveloping her vulgarities around my name, and she obeys. Lies back down against her silky pillows and takes her phone between her legs, spreading them. She parts her wet folds with the two of her fingers and I salivate. Her clit is swollen and carmine from the intense sucking of the toy, glimmering in the faint light, her lips dripping and her hole squeezing around nothing. I wither in need, tasting blood on my lip, and when she runs all four of her fingers up her clit, I begin to heave. 

Hard, all over again. 

“Such a pretty pussy. Oppa misses it.” 

She purrs nonsense, as sleepy as she is, and the transfer back to reality is brutal. I check the time and it must be almost four AM in Seoul. I grieve the time zone between us, hoping the endeavor we shared was worth her staying up for me. 

“Good night, moon kitty. Sleep well.” 

She mumbles the same without omitting my newly deep-seated title. The three beautiful words for her form on my tongue, but I don’t say them. I save them for a better time, for the end of this tour, once I fly her to me. 

I watch her sleep for a little bit, my cock softening. Her hand is furled under her chin and I think about how she’s protecting my heart right in there. It doesn’t allow me to end the call, so I take a shower, place her on the sink when I dry myself off, on the table when I dress myself and turn my microphone off when I blow dry my hair. 

It is only when Jungkook knocks on my door and sloshes his sudden plan over me that I am forced to let her flow in her dreams without me and keep them undisturbed. 

What he tells me is my duty and I don’t hesitate to pocket my inconspicuous knife that carries too many bad memories. 

I thank him in my head that I get to wash those memories away with a different blood. 

What he tells me is this: “Come with me, hyung, we have a son of a bitch to mutilate.” 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ fourth part

I LIIIIVVVEEEEE FOR THIS!!!! njBFWEUKBFJV GWADDDDDD SO GOOD SO GOOD SOOOSOOS SOOOOOOOOO GOODDD!!! for the 1000th time i loooooove their bickering

Latibule: II

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: don’t do tag list my loves. Thank u for showing love to this fic, and also! Leave a comment and reblog

Masterlist, Latibule I

“Who’s that handsome man, dear?” Your elderly neighbor asked you as she peeked over your shoulder to look at the man who just wouldn’t tell you his name. He was trailing behind you, his face showing his apparent displeasure at having to wake up early in the morning. He detested the sun and he glared at the sky like it did him dirty. Who the fuck was sane enough to wake up at five in the morning?

Definitely not him.

Keep reading

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who still has your pillow on his bed, just because it smells like you. no matter how much time had passed, Yoongi swore that particles of your essence were still reveling in that white pillow; no matter how much time had passed, Yoongi swore he still felt you every night, when his thoughts were more violent and his heart asked for comfort, asked for you; no matter how much time had passed, Yoongi would never wash that pillow, fearing that the memories of you would drown in the sea of neglect that covered the entire space outside the bed, outside of Yoongi’s safe haven. yes, no matter how much time had passed, Yoongi would never be able to forget how your soul smelled like home. “i carry with me the weight of the longing you left behind. part of me wants to believe that it’s all just a dream. but when the moon is high and my thoughts suffocate me, it’s your comfort that i miss. it’s you that i miss.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who looks for you in every crowd. he knew he was just hurting himself, but Yoongi couldn’t stop his eyes from taking in each face closely, hoping to see your sweet smile on them, hoping to see your bright eyes on them, hoping to see you in the middle of them. without noticing, Yoongi always found himself in the middle of crowds, those places he always avoided and preferred to see from afar; but now, when your departure squeezed Yoongi’s heart and the longing for you guided Yoongi’s steps, he always ended up in the middle of the crowds, wanting, waiting, begging, to see you one last time. “your existence haunts me. the ghost of our memories wanders among the crowds, seeking from them the love they know only you can give. it’s a game without any victories.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who goes back to the places where he kissed you to relive the memories. the days were grey, painted in tones of melancholy, and Yoongi could only feel his heart sink. it was there that he kissed you for the first time, your shy smile was still stuck on the small park bench; it was in front of that tree that Yoongi said the first i love you to you, your nervous laugh still echoed through the tree’s branches; it was in front of that window that you stole a kiss that tasted like caramel, he could still see his rosy cheeks in the immaculate glass of the store. the entire city was a map of Yoongi’s happiest moments; in every corner, in every nook, in every neighborhood lived fragments of your soul and the memory of you covered every street with a permanent veil of pure guilt, regret, longing, love. “it is in these places that the beauty of your soul still endures. and it was in those places that i kissed you and loved you and swore to always love you. and i will always love you.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who spends sleepless nights wondering where he went wrong. had Yoongi forgotten any important dates? no. your birthday was celebrated with laughter, the smiles from your anniversary still painted works of art in Yoongi’s heart. would his work have interfered in any way with your life together? no. Yoongi no longer spent nights in the studio. Yoongi had already stopped locking himself in his office when he was at home. Yoongi had renounced his art, his passion, to be able to love you. but, was that Yoongi’s mistake? did he love you too much? was Yoongi’s love so big, so intense, so suffocating, that it only gave you one way out? a way out of his life? “tell me if my devotion was the cause of my destruction. i ask you. please, tell me where i went wrong so i can love you again. tell me what i didn’t do so i can have your love again.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who can’t look in the mirror without seeing you next to him. it was a constant agony that stepped and beat in Yoongi’s heart, squeezing tightly all the love he still felt, sharply attacking all the longing he had. and Yoongi only had to look in the mirror to feel it, to see it. there you were. always smiling, your hand gently holding Yoongi’s hand, your eyes locked on him. entire years were spent living next to you, living with you. entire days were spent in a weightless sea of pure love and fascination. and now, looking in the mirror, Yoongi felt empty, he felt incomplete. now, looking in the mirror, Yoongi’s heart manufactured a memory of you, cruelly reminding him that what was next to Yoongi was just the hope that still made his heart beat.

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who is slowly isolating himself. the crowds stopped hiding your face in them; the streets cleared every step you had walked; Yoongi’s house expelled all your essence without his permission. and now, lost in the middle of nowhere, without finding any hope in his sheets, in your pillow, Yoongi just sat on the floor and stayed there. still. the longing of you was the only thing that still made him live, still made him exist. every step Yoongi had taken, led him to that exact moment, to that point wh—

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who can’t say the word love again — for, without you being in his life, what meaning did that word have?

Min Yoongi Drabble Masterlist 📝

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Genre: Fluff 💜, Angst ☔️, Crack 💀, Horror 👻

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Silent Lover 💜

Bleach

[yoongi x reader] [1.3k+ of tolerable angst and fluff if you squint; nothing much going on but feelings are there]

A/N: I wrote this when I was missing Yoongi and weeks have passed and I'm still missing him. My bad on the late publish! Work and life got to me. :/ I hope you still remember me.

-

Yoongi hadn't moved since the moment he entered the shop and sat himself at your usual table at the corner of the artisan cafe. The spot hides you from everyone else, but you get a pretty view of passers-by. And while most patrons would avoid getting seated at the table, for you and Yoongi, it was a haven and you were just glad you didn’t have a lot of competition over the seats.

Thus, Yoongi thinks it's cruel, how, in a matter of minutes, the corner that once felt like a safe place for you and him, suddenly feels too claustrophobic for him alone. He wants nothing but to leave the place.

Your quick departure was a contrast to his static posture at the wooden seat—ruminating, processing everything. You left as quickly as you came.

He estimates you had only stayed for half an hour, and in those gone minutes, it was only you who talked while he was shocked and blindsided by what was happening that he was rendered speechless.

"Yoongi, let's break up."

No hello kiss on the cheek, or not even a curt Hi. You dived straight to the point. Your candor is a trait he appreciates, but today, he feels otherwise.

His brain struggled to comprehend what your words meant. He heard you, but somehow he didn't understand the words and all that followed. Yoongi is a man of few words—never one to talk nonstop or hold the mic at get-togethers; rather, Yoongi is a listener.

But just for today of all days, he hoped he was more vocal; articulate.

Yoongi heaves a dry rueful chuckle.

How unbelievable, he sighs.

Was this a fever dream? Did he accidentally fall asleep while waiting for you and if he wakes up now, will he find you still seated in your chair taking pictures of him as you muffle your giggles.

He finds himself bargaining to whoever was listening to let this be a dream.

The café starts to fill up, he notices.

For years, Yoongi sat on the very same chair his ass is at right now and across from him is where you should be… still—that's how it always was. He doesn't see the point of staying and saving the other chair now.

He looks around one last time. Yoongi holds on to the chance that you're still in the café pulling a mean trick on him and yet, as his eyes land on his pitiful reflection on the glass, he loses heart.

He lets a few seconds pass before he takes the cup of coffee he ordered for you, albeit it's too sweet and creamy for this taste, he'd rather not have it thrown away.

At least, he'd get to save something that shouldn't go to waste today.

-

People say when you do something in repetition, it dulls the emotion that it carries. He wonders how many more sad desperate voicemails must he leave before he stops the aching in his heart. He hates the yearning and anger that races within him.

"Y/N. It's Yoongi. Please answer my calls. I just... I need to talk to you. This can't be it—the end of us."

He isn't sure if he despises you for summoning these odd feelings out of him or it's himself he dislikes for acting this way.

Yoongi had been recalling the days you spent with and without each other before the day you broke up with him. He has been desperately searching for a reason—he needs to know why.

Was it something he said or did? Or was it something he DID NOT say or do? Or did you just wake up that day and decided you no longer loved him?

It's driving him insanely frustrated. He doesn't pray, but lately, he has been whispering pleas and promises.

One phone call—just this once. That's all he asked for.

His phone pings and on the screen pops up a notification from you—Meet me at Hakdong Park, 7PM.

-

Yoongi fidgets by the swings. His habit of biting his nails resurfacing and he faintly tastes blood as he nibbles on his thumb. He peeps at his phone to check the time and it's not long before it's 7PM. Just a few more minutes...

"Yoongi," you called, voice demure. He wouldn't have heard you if it wasn't so quiet in the park, aside from the cicadas chirping in the background.

Yoongi quickly stands up, but before he could run towards you for a hug, he holds himself back and roots his feet on the sand. Instead, he waits for you to walk towards him. And as you approach him, he wishes you would hold him.

Just this once, he pleads once again.

But unlike his last request, this falls on deaf ears.

You sat down on the swing beside Yoongi. He copies you and sits next to you—mindful that his knees won't touch yours.

He hears you let out a defeated sigh and he was ready to lead the conversation this time, but you speak first.

"I miss you." You turn your head towards him and smile bashfully. As if what left your mouth was something that shouldn't have been let out.

Yoongi can hear his heart beating, melting the bitter feeling you poured on his heart not long ago. "Then why didn't you answer my calls?" He wanted the words he spewed to be pointed, accusing. But that was never him, both of you knew that, unfortunately.

You hum as you scratch your nails in your jeans—a nervous tick of yours that Yoongi learned over the years. He also knows how to quell those nerves and his own hand starts to fidget as he lingers to reach for yours.

"I was afraid of what you would say." There were long spaces of breath between your words, as if unsure.

"You were afraid...of me?" Yoongi confirms. He's left more confused than the last time. He tilts his head to peek at you, but the darkness and shadows cover your face.

"Not exactly. I guess it's more of your words. I had to keep away from you because I was afraid you would change my mind...about the break up."

Yoongi hums and nods. "At first that's why I called you." He wouldn't deny it, because his first thought was to do just that. But as emotions settled and he found himself in a better headspace, he realized he wanted more to understand why you wanted to end things with him. "But now, I just need to know why. At least make me understand where you're coming from."

Keeping his crawling limbs to him, Yoongi clenches and unclenches his hands. He glances at you as you nod and visibly gulp air. He catches the shift in your eyes, and he knows how your mind works overtime. He wonders if you're thinking of an amicable reason to shoo him away or were there just too many reasons to consider that you had to take time and sort your thoughts?

The former has to be it. He always knew he was difficult to love—always lacking. Not enough of this, not enough of that. He thinks he's got your answer, and he thinks he might not be able to take it if he hears it from you—so he prepares to leave.

"I loved you too much," you murmur. Seeming afraid of your confession. Disregarding his earlier doubts, Yoongi stands from the wooden plank. He kneels in front of you and takes your freezing hands between his, bloodied thumb circling your knuckles.

It wasn't a reason he expected nor considered. His confusion must have shone through his face that made you let out a sad smile.

"You really should stop biting your nails." Yoongi watches in slow motion as you take his hand in your palms and lift them to your lips for a soft peck.

-