Yoongie - Tumblr Posts

Come to Bed

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (f)

Genre: Fluff

Rating: T - SFW

Word Count: 410 (she's short, but we love her like that)

Warnings: Yoongi is painfully sweet, breast holding mentioned (but it's out of comfort between two consenting adults nothing more)

Disclaimers: this is just fiction

Summary: Yoongi is tired as all hell and wants to hold you while he sleeps.

“Darling.” You heard Yoongi’s whine grow near as he padded down the hallway. You took your headphones off and paused the lo-fi you were listening to while finishing your day’s work just when he entered your office with messy black hair that hung in his eyes, and with the sleeves of his white shirt hanging over his hands. He walked over to you and tugged on your sleeve before stepping behind you and moving your hair to the side. He eased his hands on your shoulders and ran them down your arms as he leaned over and kissed your neck softly and slowly, lacing his fingers between yours. He gave a low and rumbly whisper. “Come to bed.”

You smiled and leaned into his touch as he continued to pepper your skin with kisses. You sighed and closed your eyes.

“Darling….” He whispered into your ear and skimmed his hands up your arms again. “Come to bed. I want to hold you.”

You stood with a closed smile and let your hand fall into his hand as he guided you to the bedroom. He waited for you to slip into the bed before he shut the lights off and made his way to the bed. He shuffled in next to you and wrapped his arms around you as you nestled your back against his chest. He rested his head against yours and sighed before eventually falling asleep. You listened to his steady breathing and the soft moans he made when you shifted again a few moments before you succumbed to slumber.

In the morning, Yoongi woke first and blinked against the light sneaking in through the drawn curtains. He looked at the clock on your nightstand and remembered it was his day off. He looked down at you and grinned when he realized you had rolled on to your back at some point in the night and his hand had found your breast, cupping it lightly. He fought back a yawn and went to kiss the corner of your mouth, but wound up kissing your jaw instead. Too tired to care, he kissed your jaw again and let his eyes sink shut. You mumbled under your breath and rolled towards him, nuzzling your face against his neck as he wrapped you in his arms and kissed your temple. You slipped your leg between his thighs and gave a low hum as you both nestled down and fell back to sleep.

holy. shit.

moving day (explicit)

genre: domestic-ass smut (honestly kind of fluffy bc i am Whipped For Min Yoongi)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: you manage to entice your boyfriend into taking a break from unloading boxes to unload something else instead.

word count: 2.6k

contains: explicit sexual content bloop bloop !!! established relationship, up to you if it's idol-verse or not idk 🤷‍♀️, cunnilingus, blowjob, reader gets a facial oop, tiny bit of praise kink, long-haired yoongi with a hair tie on his wrist 🥵🥵, yoongi has domestic soft dom energy, reader is yoongisexual lmao

A/N: my water sign placements really Jumped out with this one...... that's all i'll say lmao i am lowkey embarrazzed and not responsible for any delulu feelings this may stir up 👀👀 BUT BOY IT SURE WAS NICE TO WRITE A YOONGI THAT ISN'T THE ONE FROM LDOMLT !!! even i need a break from that asshole sometimes 😂 hope y'all enjoyyyyy 💜

this is also on AO3!

~*~

“Remind me again why we didn’t hire movers?” The question comes out strained as you struggle to lift a particularly heavy box.

Your boyfriend watches you carefully to make sure you’re lifting safely– if you have to hear him say ‘with your knees, not your back’ one more time, you think you might lose it. Then he grabs another box off the truck and follows you up the drive to the house.

“I didn’t realize you had so much crap,” he says with a wry laugh. You make a mental note to get him back for that later.

A bead of sweat rolls down your temple, and when you finally deposit the box on the kitchen floor, you reach up to wipe it away with the back of your hand. The heat wave that’s been ongoing for the last few weeks is stifling, but Yoongi made a huge fuss about not turning on the AC until you got everything off the truck. Something about how you’d just be leaving the door open, and he’s not going to waste money to air condition the entire street.

Your boyfriend is such an old man sometimes, honestly. He’s lucky you love him.

Yoongi’s mouth pulls down at the corners as he struggles to read the label on the box in his arms, determining where he needs to drop it. It’s one of the many endearing faces he makes that you find so sexy, even though you objectively shouldn’t. A little thrill of excitement runs through you at the reminder that this is, in fact, really happening. You’ll get to see all of him, every morning and every night.

His face, and… You follow him down the hall, appreciating the view. His cute little butt, and…

Gingerly setting the box on the floor, he stands upright and sweeps his hair off his forehead for a moment in an attempt to cool down. His hair.

Yoongi claims he hasn’t gotten it cut because he’s been so busy with all the planning and packing required for the move, and maybe that’s true. You have also threatened to burn down any salon he makes an appointment with, and it was a joke, but god. He looks so fucking good like this. If he actually admitted to keeping it long just to make you happy, you’d probably propose on the spot.

He glances up and catches you openly staring, sticking his tongue out to indicate how overheated he is. Then he waggles his eyebrows and your core throbs a little. Fucking hell, the things this man does to you.

Your heart jumps in your chest as he walks back down the hallway to close the distance between you. Before you have time to process it, his thigh is slotting between your legs, his hips pinning you against the wall as he finds your lips with his own. It’s enough to make you gasp into his mouth, and you can feel his smug smile at your reaction.

Yoongi loves to make you come undone.

He pulls away far too quickly, and you whine a little at him leaving you unsatisfied. Not that you could ever get enough of kissing him, but you’d at least like to try.

“Come on,” his voice is quiet and low in his throat. “We’re nearly done with these boxes. Then we can properly christen this place.”

You don’t want to move any more stupid boxes. You want him to turn you around and take you right up against the wall. But you lose your will to argue when he gently strokes your arm with his hand, and you look down to see the thin black elastic around his wrist.

Since the two of you got together, your friends have relentlessly bullied you for this fact: you are insanely whipped for your boyfriend. They’ve dubbed you “Yoongisexual” at this point because literally anything he does becomes a kink for you. Including the simple act of wearing a hair tie around his wrist. It’s something you’ve done for most of your life, so when he kept complaining about his long hair getting in the way, you bought him a pack of elastics, mostly as a joke.

But then he started wearing one around his wrist, and you realized very quickly that it was no longer a joke.

You slip a finger under the thin black band and tug on it gently, and he smirks at you, because you both know exactly what he uses it for. “Soon. I promise.”

As much as you want to be good and do what you’re told, you’ve run out of patience. When Yoongi moves to head for the front door again, you tighten your grip around his wrist, forcing him to turn back to you. Then you slide his hand up your skirt and beneath the waistband of your panties so he can feel how soaked you are.

“How am I supposed to go back to lifting boxes when you did this to me?”

A groan escapes his lips as his fingers brush over your drenched folds and circle around your warm, wet center. You smile because you know damn well you’re on equal footing in this relationship: Yoongi is entirely whipped for you, too.

He presses one of his perfect fingers into your tight heat, curling it to rub circles on your g-spot, and you inhale sharply at the feeling. Your head tilts back against the wall, your eyes fluttering closed. “Ah, fuck.”

Yoongi grunts in response, and when you open your eyes again to take him in, he’s looking at you like he’s ready to devour you.

Withdrawing his hand from your panties, he slips the other between your back and the wall, encouraging you to stand up and move towards the kitchen. You follow the direction of his touch, knees instantly a little weak. When he guides you to the island in the center of the wide, sunny room, you turn back to him in confusion.

He wastes no time on explanation, arms wrapping just under your ass to pick you up and set you easily on the counter. You squeak at unexpectedly being lifted off the ground like it’s nothing: he really is getting shredded from all those Pilates classes.

Yoongi is already working to strip you of your shoes and socks, and the look on his face is so focused, with a blazing intensity that’s bordering on anger. Fuck, you love it when he gets like this. It only takes him a matter of seconds to finish the task, and then his hands are reaching up your thighs.

“What about the boxes?” You ask demurely.

“I don’t give a shit.” Yoongi says, his voice deadly serious. “The neighbors can have them.”

You lift your hips to assist as he pushes your skirt up and grabs the band of your thong, pulling it down and off of you entirely. He sends it sailing over to the other side of the kitchen, and now there’s nothing separating your cunt from the cold marble countertop. He grabs you by the hips and scoots you forward just a little more, until your ass is almost hanging off the edge of the island.

You want it so bad, but there’s still a tiny part of you that protests. You have to say it. “But Yoongi, this is where we’re going to eat.”

When he glances up at you, quirking an eyebrow, you realize what you’ve set him up for. “I know,” he says coolly. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Just as you open your mouth to argue, Yoongi reaches for the hair tie on his wrist, deliberately poking at your known weakness. Pulling it off, he places it between his teeth as his hands reach up to run through his hair. He rakes the dark strands back into a small, low ponytail at the base of his neck, then grabs the elastic out of his mouth and loops it around a few times until it's secure.

You think to yourself that you have no idea how you got so lucky, and then he brings his mouth to you and that thought is reinforced a thousand fold.

With a heady sigh of relief, you lean back, bracing yourself on your elbows and draping your legs over his shoulders. Yoongi’s already groaning against you as he slides his tongue up your dripping wet folds. He loves the way you taste, would spend hours between your legs if you’d let him– which sometimes you absolutely do. And he’s fucking good at it.

It would be impossible to make a full ranked list of all the things you love about your boyfriend, but his tongue is definitely in the top five. He traces it up to settle at your clit, flicking against the sensitive bud with short, deft strokes, and you make a mental correction as you groan and buck up into him. Top three.

He slips two fingers into your pussy this time, and your next moan is nearly a sob as he starts to press down hard with them against your front wall, matching the rhythm of his tongue. “Yes, baby, fuuuuuck,” you cry out.

“Mm-hmm,” Yoongi hums in response against your cunt, and the buzz of his mouth drives you fucking crazy, as does the satisfied look on his face that you see when you glance down. Your boyfriend loves doing things he’s good at, which certainly includes making you come.

And you’re already close to the edge, a fresh wave of arousal gushing out of you as he takes you apart so expertly. You’re sure you’ve made a mess of the counter beneath your ass.

You’re so worked up now, inches from your orgasm, that you can’t keep quiet, moans interspersed with breathless swearing and pleading.

“Fuck, Yoongi, please, don’t fucking stop,” you whimper, and his pace only increases slightly, his perfect rhythm never faltering. You can hear the squelch of his fingers curled inside you, the slick slip of his tongue across your clit, flicking over and over, and your legs are starting to shake.

“Ohhh shit,” you groan loudly as you feel your core start to tighten around him. You reach one hand forward to brush a few loose strands of hair off his forehead, reveling in his absolute perfection as your climax approaches. “God fucking dammit, Yoongi, yes, yes–” your words break off with a loud moan as the wave of pleasure surges and your walls begin to pulse. Your arms tremble with the effort of keeping you propped up as your orgasm rips through you, your back arching violently.

It feels like you’re coming forever, and Yoongi gently slows his pace to ride you through it, your cunt fluttering around his fingers again and again. He waits until you give a soft whine of overstimulation, then finally withdraws, trailing light kisses along your hips and thighs.

“Oh my god, I love you so much,” you manage to gasp, and you hear him laugh a little.

“Come show me how much,” he instructs, and you don’t need any more encouragement. Your legs threaten to give out as you slip off the counter, and you sink to your knees as gently as possible to avoid banging them on the wood floor. You pull his dick out of his sweatpants and can’t help but make a soft, appreciative noise at the weight and thickness of him in your hand.

You’ve never dated anyone who gets as hard as Yoongi does just from performing oral. When you think back on your exes, you usually had to coax them to attention after eating you out. But you’ve never had that problem with Yoongi. You swear he nearly gets as much pleasure from it as you do.

This thought is all but confirmed when you take him in your mouth, tasting the salt of the pre-cum that’s already leaked out of his tip, and he groans at the feeling. “I’m not gonna last long, baby,” he admits, and you take that as a challenge.

You grip his thighs with your hands and start to bob your mouth along his length, hollowing your cheeks and applying extra pressure with your tongue in exactly the way you know he likes. You swear you feel his knees nearly buckle.

“Fuck yeah,” he hisses. “Good girl. Just like that.” You hum a little, pleased at the praise, and pick up the pace at which you’re swallowing him down.

Yoongi doesn’t babble quite as much as you do when he’s close, instead preferring to make heady little grunts and groans; they’re the sexiest sounds in the world as far as you’re concerned. The low timbre of his voice is enough to make your cunt flutter back to life, as is the way he squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back, hips bucking into your mouth to match your pace.

“Baby,” he groans, and you glance up at him again, not letting your tempo change. “Wanna paint your face, fuck. Can I?”

He doesn’t do it particularly often, but you know finishing on your face is something Yoongi loves. It’s one of the many, many things you had no interest in until this man waltzed into your life and pulled out all the freakiest parts of you that you didn’t even know existed.

Which is why when he asks, you don’t hesitate. You slide off him with a wet pop and sit back on your heels, staring up at him with your eyes wide and your tongue out.

“Goddamn,” he grunts as he brings his hand to his cock, pumping himself hard and fast. “So fucking good for me.” He only has to stroke a few more times before he makes a final strangled whine, white ropes of cum spilling out of him and across your waiting face and tongue.

Yoongi milks every last drop out with a few gasps of effort, and you giggle a little despite yourself. You just love him, every part, every noise.

As if he can read your mind, he says it back. “Love you. Fuck.”

You try to hold your head still to keep any rogue drops from running into your eyes. Yoongi looks around, and you see a worried expression start to cross his face as he tucks his dick into his pants.

“Shit, baby. I don’t think we’ve unpacked the towels yet.” Your shoulders shake a little in more disbelieving giggles. “Hang on, hang on,” he calls back to you as he disappears out of the kitchen, moving quickly.

It’s only for a brief moment that you have to just sit there and laugh, beads of cum trailing down your jaw, and then he returns, dropping onto his knees next to you. He’s holding the roll of paper towels you’ve been using to clear errant dust in the new house as you go.

“Should have planned ahead. Let me clean you up.” Yoongi says softly, tearing off a few sheets and dabbing at your face. He soaks through them quickly and has to grab more. “Fuck, you made me come a lot,” he says with an embarrassed laugh, and that only makes you laugh more.

He wipes the last of it from your temples, then lets the damp crumpled sheets drop to the kitchen floor, taking your face in his hands and pulling you in for a sweet, gentle kiss. You smile against his mouth in an overwhelming daze of happiness.

When you break away, he presses another quick kiss to your forehead, then murmurs against your hairline. “Well, that’s one room down. Let’s finish this up, and then you can help me decide if I should bend you over the couch or my desk first.” You bury your face in his shoulder at the mental image, and his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer. “God, I fucking love you.”

the dream ends, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: What happens when a dream ends? You awake.

act one, dancing on dreams >> act two: dreaming in reality >> act three: was it a dream >> act four: lucid dreams >> act five: dreams are made of this >> act six: dream sirens >> act seven: wildest dreams >> act eight: nightmare >> the dream ends

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; depression; alcohol consumption; self-destructive behavior; mention of experiencing a panic attack; reader is pansexual; angst / fluff / feels; mentions of and alludes to smut; non-idol!AU - friends with benefits / lovers with Yoongi and JK; switches between JK, Yoongi, reader, and omnipresent POV

a–dick–ted au. It is recommended to read all other parts before this one, as it alludes to many moments in all the previous parts.

–

"Why didn't she want me?"

Day in, day out, skirting responsibilities, making excuses, his life and heart falling apart, promises broken, nothing mattering, friends trying to step in and him pushing them away, everything balancing on a thin, thin line, slowly, gradually, crumbling.

"What did I do wrong?"

Most nights, lost in a haze, playing the game of will he wake up tomorrow or not.

"Jungkook, get up."

That tired voice, raspy with strain and pain, drifting down. Hands reaching under his armpits and hoisting him up with a grunt of effort, because he was bigger, younger, and stronger than the body trying to carry him, but he couldn't bear it, couldn't believe it, couldn't stand it.

He reached out for another beer, but a pale hand covered his, gently pulling his hand away, squeezing his fingers.

"You've had enough."

The thinner body was holding up his fragile self, struggling. He clung onto it, clutching onto the leather and burying his face into the collar. Black hair. Pine, leather, whiskey.

"Hyung..."

That small, weak voice wasn't his. It wasn't. In his head, he was confident, happy, playful, holding her hand and dragging her to him, on top of his body once more, rough, wild, passionate kisses, warmth and desire, his forever dream, his never-ending moment.

"I'm here with you."

He hadn't even realized how loud the house was, bumping into people and stumbling as Min Yoongi dragged him along, holding him protectively, blurred faces and strange shadows all around, and he couldn't look at the people around them, judging and scrutinizing, shaking their heads. He chose to stare into black hair instead. The stench of alcohol was so strong. It was disgusting, but he couldn't avoid it. In his stomach, his mouth, his lungs, threatening him, drowning him from the inside out.

"I still..." he slurred, voice cracking, unable to finish.

"I know," Yoongi said gruffly, but it was consoling somehow, the way he said it. "I'm right here with you."

Yoongi did know.

When he closed his eyes, he could see it, her profile, the shape of her eyes, the tilt of her head and her cascading hair. The way she looked at his room, inspecting the music memorabilia, knowing they were all parts of him. The interest, the awe, the…

He would call her name and she would face him, those plush lips parting, looking right at him.

And he could feel it. He swore he could, and he said so that fateful day, slamming his fist to his wall, sliding down, the tears stinging his eyes, he swore that it was real, that look in her eyes.

Like she wanted him.

Like she needed him.

Jungkook swore to Yoongi he saw it in her eyes.

No.

That day didn't happen.

It wasn't real.

In his head, Jungkook was still there, in his apartment, clutching the photo behind his back, looking into her eyes and her looking back.

Like she loved him.

-

He had to close his eyes to see her, because she wasn’t there when he opened them.

She would knock on his door and he would open it and pull her in, her voice saying his name, a mixture of indignance and fondness, clutching his shirt, his hands flipping up her skirt, revealing her black panties at his front door before he closed it, pressing her body against it, deep, hungry kisses, her hands holding his face.

"Jungkook... I could have walked in on my own, you psycho."

Her chastising him, but, somehow, she didn’t seem to mean it at all.

"Sorry, noona. I don't care."

And she would click her tongue, but she would pull him closer, his smirk against her inviting lips, already pulling her into the apartment, her hastily kicking off her black boots, him pulling off her jacket, sliding his hands up her thighs, moaning into her mouth at the softness of her ass, the way she filled his hands, perfect, always perfect, lifting her so she had to hold onto him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands tangling in his silver hair.

"Jungkook..."

Every second, every moment, so real he could almost taste it, taste the desire in her kiss, taste the lingering artificial sweetness of the gummy bears from her tongue, taste her skin on his lips and the way it vibrated with her moan, her thighs squeezing him, making him hard with that action alone.

His name, floating down to his ears.

"J-Jungkook..."

He couldn't get enough, never.

He didn't want anyone else, never.

He would whisper her name against her skin and she would shudder at the feeling of his tongue travelling across her throat, her moan filling his ears, his head, his heart.

"No one else but you."

Jungkook would dump her on his bed where a large lump would grunt in annoyance, pulling down the blanket, small smile on that disgruntled face once he realized who it was, Jungkook pushing her up against Min Yoongi and her squeak of surprise.

"Yoongi? What are you doing here?"

His hyung pulling up her shirt, humming in response.

"Can't stand being at mine sometimes."

Unhooking her bra, tossing it aside, so Jungkook could lean down and scoop her breasts to his face, flickering his tongue over them as Yoongi tipped her head back to look into her eyes.

"More fun for you, right?" that raspy voice would taunt, deft tongue flicking between pink lips.

And he would watch, watch his hyung kiss her and feel her body strain under his teasing touch, her back arching, shoving her tits into his face, his lips closing around one of her hard nipples, so good, so delicious, Yoongi's tongue playing with her mouth, whines buried in her chest.

The world could tell him no.

The world could tell him to wake up.

The world could tell him right from wrong.

But Jungkook would never believe it. He would never believe this was wrong, her in his hands and in Yoongi's hands, her pressed up against them at the end of the night, her quiet breathing its own rhythm and song, the dreamlike melody of his days and nights and Jungkook would never want anything else like he wanted these moments.

Never.

In his world, it was just him, his hyung, and his noona.

Then, he would open his eyes and she wasn't there.

It was him, his hyung, and the alcohol.

Staring into nothing, emptiness in his soul.

"I still want you..." Jungkook mumbled, crumpled in the hallway of some random house, the world around him alive, but he saw none of it, lost in the world in his head.

"Jungkook, get up."

-

He thought he knew what the worst feeling in the world was.

He really did.

What a joke.

He had seen a lot of shit. He grew up yelling and fighting to create his music, straining relationships, severing ties. He met terrible people, got screwed out of time and money, went to bed hungry, heard of his friends’ arrests or, worse, their deaths. It tore him up, it crippled him from the inside, and it manifested as his darkness, the depths inside him that threatened to swallow him up when there were too many people, too many pressures, too many fears. All these, and he thought he had experienced the worst feeling in the world.

But he was wrong.

The worst feeling in the world was watching Jeon Jungkook throw up on the fucking grass, rubbing his back as he retched out the contents of his stomach, most of it being alcohol tainted with bile.

It was disgusting, pitiful, and it hurt him so, so very much to watch.

“H… Hyung…”

Fuck, his broken, weak voice hurt him even more.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out some paper napkins, handing them to the younger man to wipe his mouth as he looked around. He let Jungkook be for a quick moment as he rushed back into the house, pushing drunk people aside to find a cooler, snatching a water bottle from half-melted ice. The change in temperature shocked him for a moment before he gritted his teeth and strode back out, finding Jungkook walking alone, swaying and stumbling, bumping into cars, his silver hair matted and stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“Yoongi-hyung…?”

He sounded so lost.

Me too.

“Jungkook.”

He had to shake his shoulder for Jungkook to turn around. He had to unscrew the cap and bring the water to the shaking lips, tipping it slowly, letting the younger man drink. He had to tell him to swallow, otherwise it seemed like he wouldn’t.

It hurt him.

It was the worst feeling in the world, shoving Jungkook into a taxi, avoiding the disapproving look of the driver as he handed him the crumpled bills, dragging him back to the apartment building, going to the third floor and Jungkook furiously shaking his head, tears streaming down, please hyung, no, not back there, please, and him agreeing, walking past, up to the fourth floor, his chest tight as he opened his apartment, the corner unit, seeing his still-open bathroom door.

Mocking him.

The flash of memory, absolute panic and yanking the bathroom door closed, locking it, tearing at his skin, his clothes, sinking down into the tile, terror and loathing rolled into one, tormenting his mind and his soul, inner voices telling him he couldn’t do it, couldn’t perform on a stage with that many people and seeing so many eyes on him, telling him that he wasn’t good enough, that he deserved nothing good in this world.

It didn’t matter if they were lies because, in that moment, he couldn’t tell the truth from the lies anyway.

A tentative tap on the door, soft silvery voice cutting through the thoughts.

“Hyung? Are you okay?” Jungkook had asked. The doorknob rattled. “Do you need help?”

“Don’t come in here,” he had growled, animalistic and in pain.

The rattling stopped.

He heard movement, as if someone had gotten to their knees. He heard weight; palms pressed to the wood. And then, gentleness, like a small light in his darkness.

“It’s okay, hyung. I’ll help you.”

Help? No one could help him. No one. No one did this to him. It was all him. It was all in his head.

“What do you need?” Jungkook had murmured quietly. “You can ask for anything. Anything. I’ll do my best to make it happen. I promise.”

He hadn’t replied.

A thunk, like a forehead to wood.

“Yoongi-hyung. Please. Let me help you.”

Despair.

Silence.

His mouth had opened and her name had drifted out like smoke.

“Okay, hyung. Okay. I’ll get her. I promise.”

We’re not a moment, right?

Now, the heavy weight on his shoulder slid down, almost falling to the floor, but Yoongi caught him, caught Jeon Jungkook’s drunken state and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him inside, leaning him against the wall and taking off his shoes, helping Jungkook out of his, his own self broken inside, but hauling the larger, younger man down the hallway to his bedroom, settling him on the bed and adjusting his head, Jungkook losing consciousness, lost in his dreams once more.

And no matter how much Min Yoongi wanted to fall apart, no matter how much he wanted to drink all of the whiskey inside this apartment and pass out along with Jungkook, hoping and praying that he never woke up, Yoongi did none of that.

He sat and stayed with his dreamer, brushing the silver strands out of his face, not falling asleep so he could be there for him in case anything happened. Because when he was at his lowest point, there were only two people that stuck by him and one of them was gone now.

Yoongi did not want to lose the other.

He reached over and placed his hand on Jungkook’s chest, feeling the firm thud-thud of his heart.

“We’re not a moment, right?” he whispered to the air, pain slicing into his frail voice.

Only now, when Jungkook couldn’t see him, did Yoongi cry.

-

He knew he should give up.

She was just like him, running from the nameless demons in her head. Misery loved company and all that shit. Sure, whatever. He thought she would be upset when he told her he had no interest in relationships, that he didn't want to be her boyfriend, that he didn't believe in love.

That was the first sign.

The little sting when he saw her expression after saying that. She seemed relieved. He brushed it off, as he always did. Only playing around, treating it like a high-stakes gamble instead of what it was. He knew he would get tired and give up, eventually. He always did, before her.

He didn't give up.

Yoongi knew he couldn't.

The second sign was how easily he remembered her favorite things.

The kiss that made her wet, the moments of daring 'what-ifs', the way he held her in his lap and made her grind on him in public, not letting her focus on anything else. People? Yoongi didn't give a shit about people. It was only him and his girl.

The third sign.

His.

Girl.

The fourth sign.

Jeon Jungkook confronting him, admitting his dream girl he wanted to lose his virginity with. Consequences? Yoongi didn't care about consequences. He only cared about how aroused he knew this was going to make his naughty girl. He lived his life without thinking about the future. He always had.

The fifth sign.

He liked it. Liked watching Jungkook do things to her, suggesting crazy shit, liked feeling her shiver after Jungkook wrecked her and then doing the wrecking himself, her fingers clutching his shoulders, her desperate kiss, asking for more in breathless whispers. It probably wasn't right, but Yoongi didn't give a shit, because when he was with her, it was paradise. When he was with her, there were no nameless demons to run away from.

And when she wasn't there, when the demons came back, there was Jungkook.

Jungkook pulled him from his nightmares with his dreams, his plans, his ideas. Compelling him, distracting him, redirecting his energy.

The sixth sign.

Yoongi knew, this time, this time was different.

He was the one who took the first picture. He took it himself, on his phone when she wasn't looking. He stared at that photo for hours, studying that profile, that face, those eyes, and he made a choice.

He told Jungkook.

And Jungkook to his own photo, as Yoongi knew he would, because Jungkook had never hid his desire in the first place. They printed them together. Wrote on the backs of them together. Held them nervously, together, looking into each other's eyes.

Afraid.

The seventh sign.

The way she said his name.

Her eyes, his paradise, their never-ending moment and their forever dream.

And the shattering of his heart when she dropped the photos and ran. She was just like him. He would have run too. But it was different this time. This time, Yoongi was on the receiving end and he knew how much it hurt.

-

He knew the way people talked about him. That he was a bad boy, A playboy. That he didn't care about anything. That he was a puny, good-for-nothing, shitty rapper. But he sold out venues, even if they were small.

That was him, Min Yoongi.

He could have walked away. Fuck it. This whole thing was crazy anyway. Didn't make any fucking sense. It shouldn't work and he shouldn't try to make it work.

We're not a moment, right?

He could have told Jeon Jungkook to get a fucking grip and stop moping, because fuck, he wasn't moping like him, right?

Right?

Yoongi would tell himself that as he held fistfuls of sheets, soaking them with his eyes, stifling any sound he made, Jungkook snoring loudly above him. He would stop before the sun rose, getting up to wash his face and throw himself onto the bed, the stinging pain of keeping his eyes open finally too much.

Was it always going to be like this? Forever like this, this pain?

He hated it.

Therefore, Yoongi made a choice.

He chose to care.

Yoongi was not going to give up and he was not going to let Jungkook give up either.

-

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hey, hyung.”

It was a quiet exchange. Jeon Jungkook straightened out the collar of his black dress shirt and stood up, brushing off his slacks. He paused before unbuttoning the first three, then frowned, and rebuttoned one.

“Need you to come with me.”

“For what, hyung?” He tried to sound as bright as he could, but it was all play-pretend.

“I made a hair appointment for you,” Yoongi replied, sliding his hand under the neckline of his white t-shirt and rubbing his collarbone. He didn’t look at him directly. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t need a hair appointment,” Jungkook chuckled, running a hand through his silvery-blond locks, slightly brassy now from the lack of care, but nothing some water couldn’t fix. No one would notice if he simply pushed it back and away from his face.

“I already paid for it.”

“W… what?”

Yoongi clicked his tongue, shrugging on his black hoodie. “Come on. My friend needed the cash. You like coloring your hair.”

“I only colored it because…” The sentence trailed off and Jungkook gave Yoongi a pained look.

The older male reached over and grabbed his wrist.

“You have to break the cycle,” Yoongi said softly, staring into his eyes. “I really need you with me. Please.”

Jungkook gazed at him helplessly, all dressed up and nowhere to go, because the places he wanted to go were destinations in his dreams, with her.

“Please, Jungkook.”

The grip on his wrist tightened, Yoongi’s dark brown eyes glistening. He turned his head away, but forced himself to look back, holding Jungkook in his resolute stare.

A stare full of thinly veiled pain.

“I can’t do this alone.”

And how, Jungkook remembered. All of his dreams had Yoongi in them too.

For a moment, he had forgotten that. For many nights and many days, he had forgotten Yoongi was always there, holding him up when he was falling down, being his eyes when the world was blurry, hiding his sadness so Jungkook could wallow in his.

He lifted his other hand and placed it over the pale one.

“Okay, hyung. Okay.”

-

“How you seen someone who looks like this?”

The kid took the picture from him, big eyes looking bigger in his round, bug-eyed lenses.

“Yeah. It’s the pretty noona.”

The kid handed it back.

“But I haven’t seen her in a while. I’m sorry.”

Jeon Jungkook smiled soothingly and patted the kid on the head. “It’s okay. I haven’t seen her in a while either. That’s why I’m asking.”

He stood up, tucking his now purple hair behind his ear. The kid looked up at him, mouth slightly open, in awe of Jungkook’s height. The kid was sporting a t-shirt with a cartoon character on it and blue pants that were a little too short for him, a colorful patch on the shin. Jungkook bowed pointedly to him even though he was only a young child. The kid continued to stare. He was about to turn around before the kid spoke up again.

“She seemed really sad.”

Jungkook paused.

“I used my allowance to buy her gummy bears. Did you know? She always buys gummy bears when she comes here.” The kid sniffed, rubbing the back of his nose as Jungkook looked down at him, the words stinging his heart. “But she seemed so sad. Like she was hurting deep inside, but trying to hide it.” He lifted his head, blunt bowl cut bouncing, dashing over to Jungkook and tugging on his jeans.

“Is she okay, hyung?”

The worst part was, Jungkook didn’t know.

The kid bit his lip, shaking the leg of his jeans, his mother behind the counter chastising him, saying not to touch the customers, but Jungkook held his hand up, crouching down. The kid looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He did not feel brave inside, but he tried to show that he was brave on the outside, smiling warmly, placing a reassuring hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay. I promise.”

Was he promising this random kid whose mom worked at the gas station?

Or was he promising himself?

-

“Hey, young man.”

Yoongi stopped at the stairs, keys between his knuckles.

He turned around.

A guy in a dirty khaki jacket and torn jeans with a swollen purple eye and a bruised cut on his lip. He was holding an empty bottle of soju and something else. A small, plastic package.

Yoongi’s eyes widened.

“I heard, uh… I heard you were asking around for someone,” the guy mumbled, looking sheepish and out-of-sorts. “I think… I think I’ve seen her so I wanted to catch you and let you know.” He swallowed, sniffing hard and shaking his head, the flaps of his coat opening, revealing the Doraemon tattoo on his chest and many more. All cartoon characters.

The guy held out the gummy bears.

Yoongi lifted his own, speechless as the package fell into his palm.

“She was here… last night? Or the day before.” The guy scooted around, rambling on despite Yoongi not replying, standing at a random spot halfway to the stairs and the parking lot. “Just standing here. Holding the candy and this soju here.” He raised the empty bottle, pointing at the windows of the apartment complex. “Think she wanted to… But she didn’t. She handed these to me and drove away. Asked me to keep them.”

The guy scratched his head. Then he pointed at Yoongi, nodding, more to himself than to him.

“I think she’s a little like me…” the guy was saying, slightly incoherent. “Said… said her and her momma don’t talk anymore. Me neither, you know… she gave me up as a baby before I could even say ‘go ahead, bitch’… heh… hehehe… man… sucks…” He rubbed his lips and sucked in a tight breath, flinching in pain as he touched his bruised lip. “Anyway, I put some feelers out for you.”

Yoongi swallowed, clutching the gummy bears tightly, the crinkle of plastic cutting into his skin.

“W… why?”

The guy looked awkward, shifting his eyes.

“Dunno… I just… people are important, you know?” He winced, jerking his head away. “No… no one wants to look for me, heh. Only for the drugs.”

He shoved his hand into his dirty tan coat and wrenched out a handful of tiny bags, all with colorful pills in them. After a brief moment, he jammed them back into his coat, frowning.

“Don’t want her to end up like me.”

The guy with the Doraemon tattoo raised his head, looking at Yoongi. Underneath his coat, ribs poked out straining against colorful, inked skin. His teeth were crooked, a little yellow, but he smiled anyway, shrugging. A small light inside him, despite his appearance.

“Not when someone’s looking out for her, you know?”

-

You ran.

Ran through the cars, stumbling, searching for yours, chest tight, black hood falling off, black hair suddenly free, wild and tangled around you, dark waves shimmering in the moonlight and streetlight, the only lights you saw these days.

“Noona…?”

A broken voice, once silvery and mischievous.

You turned, seeing violet.

-

“Um…”

You looked up from your head hanging between your legs. The girl beside you smiled, moving the red lollipop between her teeth. You were sitting on the stone steps of the porch. The party inside was dying, everyone falling asleep or falling unconsciousness.

“I don’t want to admit this, but… thanks.”

You wiped her lipstick off your mouth with the back of your head. “What?”

“Well, uh,” she continued sheepishly, her voice flitting between raspy and silvery, a strange mix. “I broke up with my boyfriend earlier this week. Not because he did anything… but I did.” She rubbed the back of her head, white lollipop stick moving between her now pink lips, the red having been kissed off. “And I was gonna get wasted and fuck some dude, but I found you instead.”

You gave her a weird look.

She nervously laughed. “I didn’t bring protection. On purpose.”

You blinked, slowly.

She popped the lollipop out of her lips, tapping it in the air. It glistened with saliva.

“I thought maybe if I had a kid, I’d have some purpose.” She breathed out, heavy. “Stupid, right? Fuck, that’s so fucking stupid.” She scoffed, shaking her head before raising it to look at you. “But I found you and I realized how stupid I almost was. And you’re a better kisser too. You actually paid attention to me when I said it was too rough or that I wanted more. People who come to these parties, they’re not like that normally, you know? Nobody cares here. Everybody seems to forget people are still people when they’re drunk or being stupid.”

Your lips parted.

“So… thanks. You helped me realize that. I could have made a really dumb mistake.”

She scooted closer to you, laying her head on your shoulder.

“I’m gonna sit with you a little longer, okay?”

You looked down at her and she smiled back at you, gently.

-

“Hey, hyung, Jungkook.”

Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, standing in the gas station Jimin worked at, waving the two over.

“Are you two supposed to be hanging out while working?” Min Yoongi muttered, raising an eyebrow at Jimin. Taehyung slid off the stool behind the counter and walked around it, adjusting his olive-green beanie, wispy brown locks sticking out of the bottom.

The blond man shrugged. “Eh, the manager isn’t gonna know. I’m off in an hour anyway.”

Jeon Jungkook ignored the exchange, heading straight for Taehyung, his long, tied-back purple hair giving him a fierce look. “You said you heard something,” he said impatiently.

“Mhm, I asked some old friends, and, mind you, I haven’t talked to these dudes in ages because they’re kinda shitty. But it turns out some people are already keeping an eye out for her, so I guess everyone in the scene was on the lookout. She’s been, er… hanging out on the far, far side of the city.”

Taehyung grimaced, holding up his phone. Blurry pictures, but there was no mistaking who and doing what. Right out in the open, familiar positions. Jungkook grabbed Taehyung’s phone, flipping through them, brows furrowed, intently focused on the screen.

“She has an MO. No dudes. But… yeah.”

Jungkook handed him his phone back, lips pursed.

“You said you might know where she’s going to be next. Where.”

Not a question. A statement.

Taehyung exchanged a look with Jimin. Jimin’s eyes flitted to Yoongi, who gave him an unreadable expression, but there was an intensity there, as if he too was demanding an answer.

“Are you sure, guys?” Jimin asked, his light voice laced with worry. “You might get hurt.”

“Been there, done that.” Yoongi brushed off the comment dismissively, still pointedly staring at Taehyung.

“You sure she’s worth all this?” The concern obvious in the baritone, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure,” Jungkook snapped. “Now tell me.”

Taehyung frowned. “Neither of you have ever been able to commit to people before. She’s clearly moving on. And besides… two of you and one of her… that’s just–”

Jungkook’s hands flew out, grabbing the front of Taehyung’s shirt, shaking him furiously.

“Tell me where.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to protest, but then he caught the emotion trapped in his dark chocolate eyes, the barely-there waver in his silvery voice.

At any moment, it seemed like Jungkook was going to break down.

Taehyung’s gaze flickered to Yoongi, but the older man simply ticked his chin to Jungkook. Yoongi was better at hiding it or perhaps it was because he wasn’t as close. But there was something in the older man’s stance, heavily guarding the delicate heart inside, invisible strings holding him up, so thin they seemed ready to snap, but Yoongi was holding on, obviously seeing something Taehyung couldn’t.

“Alright,” Taehyung finally said. “Alright, I’ll give you guys the address. It’s at the far side of the city.”

-

Purple hair, flushed cheeks, a lost look in chocolate eyes that were fixed on you, pink lips parted, mole underneath trembling with unease. White t-shirt, black cargo pants, and thick-soled black boots. His tattooed right arm made him stand out, along with his violet-colored hair. He took a hesitant step forward.

Fingers outstretched, trying to touch you.

Your eyes widened and you turned to run, but a firm hand closed around your wrist, yanking you to a mop of black hair and a pale face.

“We didn’t come all the way over here to have you run from us again.”

The anger in his dark brown eyes made you freeze, accusing you.

“Y… Yoongi…”

His name felt foreign to your lips, not having said it in weeks. You tried to pull away but Min Yoongi held on, gritting his teeth. Black and navy bomber jacket, white shirt, and distressed black jeans. How could you have known then – that this outfit would be the one that started it all?

“Who… how…?”

Yoongi scoffed, clicking his tongue. “A kid and a dirty guy with a Doraemon tattoo. Jimin, Taehyung. And even then, it took forever to find you.” He shifted, sighing heavily, eyes flickering to the moon, still clutching your wrist, almost painfully. And you saw it.

Pain, glistening behind the gates of his cold demeanor.

All of a sudden, a hard body collided into you, Yoongi letting go, strong hands spinning you around, grip on your upper arms so tight it felt like your flesh was bruising, your head jerking up, eyes wide, looking up to purple hair.

And tears.

Streaming down those high cheekbones, tan skin and quivering lips.

“Why?”

His silvery voice cracked as Jeon Jungkook shook you, harsh sobs racking his chest, drowning in his tears, your name on his lips, still so sweet in his pain, heavy, wheezing breaths as he struggled to speak, barely croaking out the words.

“Why didn’t you want me?”

-

Why didn’t they want me?

A question you asked all the time. To the busy, overworked adults preparing your meals and scolding you to follow their routines, dividing their attention among the unwanted. Then to the others, the same as you, the tossed aside, the other mistakes and secrets, just as lost and confused. No one could ever answer you, because there was no answer other than, they just didn’t.

And then.

Him.

Everybody said, Min Yoongi was a bad boy. Min Yoongi was a playboy. Min Yoongi didn’t care about anything. And neither did you.

There was no.

Reason to take anything seriously.

You couldn’t. And neither could he.

It took a dreamer to pull you and Yoongi out of the endless night.

-

Jungkook pitched forward, crying into your chest, smelling like laundry, the sea, and bitterness, large, hiccupping sniffles, wiping his tears and snot on your hoodie, and, as if by robotic knowledge of proper social etiquette, your arms raised, about to encircle him, but Yoongi slapped your hands down.

“Don’t you dare try to comfort him if you don’t mean it,” he snarled, glaring at you from behind Jungkook’s hunched-over form. “You hurt him enough.”

You froze at his hostile tone, his slap stinging your skin and your heart.

Yoongi clicked his tongue, jaw clenched. “Me, fuck, I don’t fucking matter. But Jungkook? Shit. He’s a fucking mess without you, drinking every night, blacking out sometimes, throwing up liquor and barely eating.” His pale hand came up and ran through his black hair tensely, anger streaked in his expression, tainting his handsome face. He sucked in a deep breath before facing you again.

“I thought you and I weren’t a moment.”

Jungkook’s tears were soaking through the fabric of the hoodie, drenching the space above your left breast.

“I told you I only felt right when I was with you or him.”

The harshness in dark brown eyes faltered, his deep, raspy voice softening, laced with hurt.

“I still feel that way.”

He closed his eyes, pale cheeks coated in moonlight and streetlights.

“Even if I shouldn’t,” Yoongi whispered, almost inaudible.

-

You scoffed.

“I don’t need anything. Or anyone.”

The girl with the lollipop chuckled, nodding lightly. “Yeah, well, maybe someone needs you.”

You said nothing, looking out to the lawn where some idiot yanked open a car door and vomited on the grass. Another guy was leaning against a lamppost, looking out onto the road, staring at his phone, seemingly waiting to be picked up.

“Hard to know, though. You can’t tell you need someone until they’re gone.”

For a long, long moment, you listened to the sounds. The party, the loud music, the lively yelling, the muddled conversations, glass shattering, vicious swearing, messy kisses. The sound of breathing at your shoulder, steady, rhythmic, beside you.

At this moment, it occurred to you.

This was wrong.

And you remembered a sunset, sitting on the roof of an apartment building, looking over the urban jungle, two heads on your shoulders, a different world.

The right ones.

You lowered your head. All the other times, you were always silent. Alone, staring at the Han River.

But not this time.

“Don’t… don’t know what to do…” you shuddered, collecting your knees in your arms, shoving your face in between your limbs, wetness sliding down your cheeks. “I’m such… a fuckup… so… stupid…”

A stranger’s hand rubbing your back soothingly, her voice a mix of raspy and silvery.

“Don’t cry...”

-

You placed your hands on Jungkook’s arms.

Pulled him towards you.

“Don’t cry,” you murmured softly. “Please don’t cry, Jungkook.”

He pressed his face into your breasts, shoulders shaking, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you so tight that it seemed like he never wanted to let go, wet sobs trapped against your chest. You placed your lips to the top of his purple hair.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” you said softly, lifting your head, seeing Yoongi standing behind Jungkook, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, I… I couldn’t believe it. I was scared. Really scared of those words. And I didn’t know what they really meant, not until…”

You can’t tell you need someone until they’re gone.

“I didn’t understand what it meant to love.”

You looked down, seeing that beautiful face stained with tears, his skin blotchy and flushed. You reached between you and Jungkook to wipe his tears, your fingertips becoming soaked with the river of despair inside him.

“I couldn’t believe that you two were okay with it, this crazy arrangement.”

“I said I wanted it,” Yoongi muttered.

“That’s not the same, Yoongi,” you chuckled wryly, raising your head to look at him, holding Jungkook’s cheek, feeling his larger hand coming up to press your palm against his skin. Your gaze faltered, not really looking at the destroyed lawn of this party house, but somewhere else, in the depths, into the past that haunted you, the only world you thought existed, the one that constantly betrayed you and didn’t want you. “Like how I thought I grew up and changed, but I didn’t change at all.”

Silence except for Jungkook’s sniffling.

“Neither did we,” Yoongi snorted. “He’s went back to being a drunkard and I went back to sulking in the corners of these shitty parties, skirting free alcohol.”

You frowned, clutching the white t-shirt. “He’s not a drunkard.”

Jungkook laughed, moist and hoarse, wiping his nose on your hoodie. You made a face at him, slightly disgusted. Maybe you deserved it. He looked up, chocolate eyes glistening. Your breath caught in your throat, confused how someone like you could make someone like him feel this way. You carefully patted his eyes dry with your sleeve, dabbing at his wet lashes. His lower lip trembled and he leaned in, stopping just above your lips.

Fear.

Him and you.

“I want to know you want it too,” Jungkook shuddered, clearing his throat.

You looked back at him, lips parting, heart thudding in your chest, uncomfortable, oppressive, but this time, this time you didn’t run away.

Because this time, you knew how much it hurt.

You closed the distance.

“I want it. All of it.”

You kissed him, long and deep, your euphoria, your forever dream, and Jungkook kissed you back, desperate, hungry, grabbing your shoulders and kissing you again and again, wet, sloppy kisses, taking your breath away. Every kiss, every touch, familiar, right. Emotion flooded your ribcage, threatening to burst, but you had something to do, someone equally as important, so you placed your hand on his chest, stopping him, exhaling one word in his mouth.

“Yoongi.”

And Jungkook backed off, still sniffing, chewing on his lip and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, nodding in agreement, giving you the space. You faced him now, so used to running away that this felt strange, but you did it anyway, looking into his sharp, cat-like eyes.

Min Yoongi.

Stolen touches, mere moments, becoming bolder and bolder, until the ante was so high it was impossible to cross, and yet Yoongi had crossed it that fateful night when he asked you to take Jungkook’s virginity, and, without you knowing, without him knowing…

This, whatever this was between you and him, was no longer a moment.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m still pissed at you.”

You sucked in a breath. “Yeah, well, I do bad things.”

Yoongi curled his lip, narrowing his eyes. “You’re supposed to do them with me. You said you would. Or did you forget?”

You glanced down at the ground, then back up. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi clicked his tongue and exhaled hard. He looked away from you, but then abruptly jerked his head back, stepping forward, closing the distance, his hand coming up to circle around your head, long fingers burying themselves in your hair, glaring disapprovingly. He held you in place, forcing you to look into his dark brown orbs shadowed by black hair.

“Ah, shut up.”

And then he kissed you hard, brows furrowed, whispering into your lips, I’m sorry too, and you smiled helplessly, one of your hands resting on his waist, pulling him closer, your song, your never-ending moment, pine and leather and Yoongi, him saving you and you saving him, protecting each other from the nameless demons in your respective heads, although neither of you wanted to admit it. He ran his fingers through your hair, familiarity and comfort, letting out a puff of breath. He looked embarrassed, dark eyes shifting brusquely. His other hand touched your right, wrapping his fingers around yours.

“Let’s go home.”

Another took your left, squeezing it tightly. You looked up to see Jungkook’s still-red cheeks and sheepish smile. “You want to come home with us, noona?” he tried to tease, but it sounded more endearing than playful.

You raised an eyebrow, locking your fingers with theirs.

“Is it still called going home with you if I’m the one taking you there?”

-

epilogue: awake

You awoke to soft lips on yours. Tattooed fingers stroked your cheek, long strands brushing your forehead, silvery voice murmuring your name. You opened your eyes to black hair, cat-like, dark brown orbs looking at you under lowered lashes. His lips on yours, the scent of pine, his soft exhale of your name on your skin, making you shudder. Another pair of your lips pressed against your ear, his body hovering over yours and his.

“Yoongi.”

He smiled against your lips.

The bad boy that changed everything.

Your never-ending moment.

Four, eight, six.

“I love you,” you whispered softly, shivers running through you, the words foreign and alien, but you said them anyway, because they were the most special words in the world and you wanted to give them to Min Yoongi.

He chuckled, ears flushing pink, eyes shifting before focusing back on you, repeating it just as quietly, because he, too, wanted to give them to you, not written down, but from his mouth, giving voice to his heart.

“I love you.”

Why did it feel so nice, hearing those words in that raspy, deep voice? Why did it make your heart beat so fast? Why did it hold you and trap you, and why did you want to be trapped, trapped in this melody, these lyrics, this song, this never-ending moment?

Yoongi nudged you, indicating you to look to your left. You turned your head, looking up, seeing dark brown eyes, his purple locks brushing against your cheeks, the mole underneath his lower lip quivering. You reached up and touched his cheek gently, fitting your palm along his chiseled jaw, his own hand still cupping your cheek, naked body on top of yours.

“Jungkook.”

He leaned into your hand, smiling.

The wrong guy who turned out to be the right guy to pick up all along.

Your forever dream.

Four, eight, six.

“I love you,” you breathed, looking into those chocolate orbs, reminded of how much Jeon Jungkook liked you and how he always showed it. For him, you were always his dream and everyone knows that in your dreams, you don’t have to lie or hide. All this time, letting you see him like you, adore you, love you, avoiding the words because he didn’t want to hurt Yoongi, because he wanted his hyung to decide how this was going to go.

Jungkook always knew that Yoongi loved you, maybe even before Yoongi knew it himself.

Now, you finally said the words, giving him what he so very badly wanted to say, and now he could finally, finally say them back to you.

“I love you.”

He leaned down, a delicate kiss on your lips, smelling of laundry and the sea.

For a long, long time, you had wandered, small hands that became big ones, never having another to hold, living on artificial sweetness, missing a safe place, the place to go back to. But Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook changed that.

For you, they were what love really meant in this world.

Home.

-

fin.

-

the three before the dream before bed

--

masterpost

Dating advice | Part one

Summary: It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Drinking, low self esteem, eventual smut, I think that’s all for this chapter.

Authors Note: Here’s part one! I hope you enjoy :)

Next | Series masterlist

“You’re a man.”

“A keen observation.”

“What do men look for in women?” You say the words as if he hasn’t spoken, eyes firmly on him as if his face may also hold answers you don’t want to miss.

He looks a little taken aback by the question but recovers quickly. You’re not really surprised, you have only just entered this place, don’t even know this man’s name let alone him. It’s not a question you’d normally ask a stranger, in fact, it’s not a question you’d ask anyone but it’s been playing on your mind so much recently that you can’t help but ask.

The cold glass of cider the man poured you a few moments ago is between your fingers. You fiddle with the beads of water perpetrating on the glass waiting for an answer.

“I don’t think there’s just one thing.”

You sigh, deflate in disappointment, eyes falling away from the man as if he’s a lost cause, as if he was really going to give you the answer to a near impossible question. What had you really expected? The answer to life itself? Some simple answer that would solve all your troubles? No, you knew the answer, and yet hearing it said so plainly doesn’t help.

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