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 standit.
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.”
Yoongididknow.
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’tcome 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.
Athunk, 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.
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 thisoutfit 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 daretry 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 thiswas 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.
summary: There are a lot of people in this world, good, bad, and those in between. And there was him, the man of excess, the man that made Min Yoongi think, society is stupid as shit for saying what I can and can’t do, and so Yoongi does what he wants and that’s getting his dick sucked by the Twitter user yourowndionysus, because he is, in fact, the “Best suck out there by far.”
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; important! male OC is pansexual and Yoongi is bisexual / pansexual; threesome smut (fem reader, the faintest D/s dynamics (male OC being the dom and the other two being sub), m-receiving oral with all the tongue (at one point, two mouths on one dick), fingering, handjob, reverse cowgirl, forced orgasms, m-masturbation, cum-eating / feeding); non-idol!BTS - blue-haired, music producer!Yoongi x male wiyllt x female friend!reader; Yoongi’s POV
–
“F…Fuck…”
Warm, wet, tight. He sucked in a shallow breath, staring into dark, dark eyes that seemed to be smirking at him even through those mauve lips were currently full and occupied.
“Show me,” he gasped out, not looking away, unafraid. “Show me your tongue.”
The tightness subsided and the pink tongue snaked out, flashing out around his hard length, the silver-ringed hands sliding down his tense thighs to hold his balls and bring them to that sinful mouth, licking all over, flicking expertly at the space between them before drawing a sloppy saliva-covered figure-eight on his nuts, making Min Yoongi hiss and tip his head back, feeling the head of his cock rub against the roof of the mouth of another man, a man currently giving him, once again, the best blowjob of his life.
“Fuck, yes, fuck, you’re so good…”
Yoongi didn’t give a shit about societal rules.
Society sucked ass and in the worst way possible. Who decided that they could dictate what and who he should be doing? That was some bullshit as far as Yoongi was concerned. He didn’t really like people anyway. He could like a person, but people? Nah, fuck that.
Yoongi would rather have a nap in his studio than go socializing with large groups of people.
He took him deep again and Yoongi bit his lip, his hand coming up and tangling his fingers in that black hair, pushing it back from its usual sweep on the left side of that face, breathing hard as he watched those eyes watching him, strong hands once again on his thighs, ringed fingers fanning out, every one decorated with silver except the left pinky, pressing in, leaving indentations of said rings. Yoongi clenched his jaw as he felt the head slide into that throat, tight pulses far too controlled to be involuntary, waves of pleasure shimmering through him, deft tongue still swiping along the underside, fuck, Yoongi still didn’t understand how he could take it so deep and still move his tongue while controlling his throat muscles, it made no fucking sense, no sense at all. It felt so, so good, such a perfect image before him, looking down at dark eyes and that face bobbing up and down between his legs, the three silver coin necklaces jingling with movement, offering music to this erotic display, hands poised on his thighs to spread them wide, even his shapely ass and that back– fuck, that toned back and that familiar tattoo.
Whatever god out there decided that such a man should be created was clearly having some cruel joke with the universe.
Yoongi couldn’t decide if it would have been better or worse if this guy had been born a woman.
Either way, he was screwed, now, then, and in every interaction they had.
“I like this.”
“Hm?”
The silver-ringed hand pointed to the monitor in his studio. “This track. I liked it a lot.”
“Oh.” Yoongi wasn’t sure what to say to that.
The hand lowered, accompanied by a low hum from mauve lips. “I think I might get a tattoo of the lyrics.”
His eyes widened. “You? A tattoo? I thought you said you would never get a tattoo. Too indecisive.”
That wide smirk greeted him, complete with one of those rare dimples indenting his cheek. They never seemed to show around anyone else but him. “Yeah, I did say that, but that was before you decided to sing to me.”
“I’m not singing to you,” Yoongi snorted.
The other male ignored his rudeness. “I think it would be better to have it in English though. Make people wonder what it means. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Hah…tch, do whatever you want.”
He did. The man who named himself yourowndionysus on Twitter always did whatever the fuck he wanted. That was one of the reasons Yoongi liked being around him. People… well, there were many types of people. Good, bad, and most stuck in between with some mix of the two. And this one…
“How about you live like that?”
Yoongi frowned, hearing his own words sung back to him. “What?”
The man grinned, turning around and tugging his black t-shirt up, up a slim, defined waist, up toned muscular back, making Yoongi’s eyes widen as the tattoo was revealed, under the left shoulder blade and lined up against the spine, six English words stacked on top of each other, plastic taped over the freshly inked tattoo. Yoongi’s English was garbage, but he could read it just fine.
“What if you live like that?”
The other man chuckled, lowering his shirt. “I could have directly translated it, but it wouldn’t really make sense without the context of the rest of the song and I’m not interested in being featured on one of those Engrish blogs like a poorly translated road sign, although they arehilarious…”
“Why?”
Those dark, dark eyes flickered to him. He was taller than Yoongi, around a hundred-and-eighty centimeters.
“Why what?”
“Why did you get it tattooed?”
They stared at each other.
Yoongi hadn’t missed the rare moment of rambling. It was very unlike him. Looking at his face now, there was absolutely nothing giving him away. Just a measured gaze, observing Yoongi closely, the neckline of the black t-shirt low, exposing prominent collarbones and three silver coin necklaces. Yoongi knew what kind of person he was.
The things he did.
Those dark, dark eyes waited.
Yoongi had met him by accident, in the middle of picking up a girl before she noticed someone behind him at the bar, her face twisting in fury as she grabbed her drink and bolted from Yoongi mid-conversation to throw her drink at a man in a black denim jacket, a man with long black hair, dark eyes, mauve lips and silver rings on every finger except the left pinky, swiftly jerking out of the way as she tossed her drink at him and yelled at the top of her lungs.
“You asshole, you never called me back!”
Sucks to be you, lady, he calls me back.
Yoongi leaned forward.
Something flickered in those dark eyes even though he didn’t back away. When he spoke, it was a soft, gentle whisper.
“I try not to fuck my friends, Yoongi.”
“That sucks.”
And Yoongi kissed him.
Yoongi didn’t give a shit about what society considered right or wrong. There were too many ways to judge a person. He wasn’t going to waste his time thinking about it. He didn’t like people, and he rarely liked a person in general. Even rarer that he wanted to kiss someone. Even rarer that it would be someone who got his lyrics tattooed to their body. And certainly not someone who was his accidental friend because of a chance meeting of, why didn’t you call her back, and, I don’t call back people who would throw a drink at me the second I appear and it was a one-night stand or at least I thought so, turning into, you sound like an asshole, then, I’ll buy you a drink and convince you otherwise.
Those mauve lips on his, stealing his breath, a silver-ringed hand cradling his cheek and Yoongi was convinced, although he had been convinced a long time ago that night at a bar.
And now that mouth was on him, his own fingers in that black hair, and Yoongi didn’t care about anything except how he felt and how he was making him feel, seeing it in those dark eyes with blown-out pupils, nails and rings digging into his thighs, leaving marks on him. He couldn’t help it, just couldn’t help his hips moving, thrusting lightly in between those soft mauve lips, moans falling from his mouth as that throat adjusted for him, letting him do what he wanted, meeting his movements, burying him deep in slick tightness, pulsating around the head every time he descended, speeding up, stealing his breath without a kiss, Yoongi’s head tipping back to the headboard, ash blue strands of his own hair sticking to his face, lost in that tongue and that mouth, knowing who it was and wanting to cum into his mouth because it was so, so good, the best, and he could not be told that this was wrong on the sole basis that said mouth happened belong to a man.
Yoongi was convinced he was the best and he would always be the best.
“A-ah… harder, oh, fuck, yes, fuuuuuuuck…”
The pressure in his core was unbearable and he moaned deeply, spilling into that mouth, forgetting to breathe for a moment as the overwhelming ecstasy took over, his fingers curling into that hair, black locks standing out against his fair skin, shudders overtaking him, closing his eyes and whining as that throat constricted, drinking his orgasm in deliberate, small gulps, letting him feel it drain from the head, shocks of pleasure and sensitivity heightened by his held breath, pushing himself to the limits of lust.
It was so good that Yoongi had completely forgotten about anything else around him.
“Oi, hey, I haven’t finished you yet–”
The warm mouth left his cock. Yoongi untangled his fingers and laid there, spent.
“Heh, I know. I was holding myself back.”
A click of the tongue and Yoongi opened his eyes to see the woman beneath his friend getting up and frowning. Someone he invited for this, previously sucking his dick as he sucked Yoongi’s. A close friend of the other male. “I hate that you can do that.”
“Youtaught me that.”
“Well, I hate that you learned.”
Thatsmirkon those mauve lips.
Yoongi would never be sick of it.
Before this, that smirk had ticked his head, looking down at him. “Can I invite a female friend of mine this time?”
He had raised his eyebrows. “Something wrong with only me?”
“Don’t be silly. She just has different equipment. Trust me, you’ll like her.”
He did.
Yoongi liked her very much, especially when she leaned down and wrapped her lips around his spent cock, fuck, clearly taught by someone very skilled, probably the one who also leaned down to nudge her slightly. She retreated, focusing only on the tip, and Yoongi gasped as he felt two tongues on him, one lapping at the sensitive head, saliva dripping all over the slit and the underside, the other on the rapidly hardening length, sliding down, taking one of his balls in his mouth, Yoongi shuddering at the sight of those long fingers with silver rings sneaking between soft thighs to find wetness, a whimper around the head of his cock as fingertips pressed against a slick clit, rubbing gently. Not to be bested, she reached between those powerful thighs, gripping that semi-hard cock, and began pumping it roughly.
Holy shit.
If he hadn’t just came, Yoongi was quite sure he would have blown his load at the sight alone.
A woman and man all over him, two tongues on his cock, wet and dripping, so much sensation, so much pleasure, watching them try to get each other off at the same time and she was losing, of course she was, her body shuddering at the swift, precise stimulation of her clit, hand stopping around that thick, hard cock, fuck, looked so fucking good in her hand, and she pulled back, gasping for air, clutching the sheets, viscous juices sliding down her shaking inner thighs, whining against Yoongi’s thigh as the other mouth closed in, taking both of Yoongi’s balls in his mouth now, what the fuck, both at once, tongue everywhere, stimulating him all over, his own cock smacking wetly against that cheekbone and black hair, dark, dark eyes smirking at him, witnessing his sinful ecstasy.
“You’re evil, fuck…”
Those mauve lips popped off his balls and grinned like the devil.
Yoongi did not and would not ever regret kissing this man.
The things that happened in that head of his? Yoongi never understood it, but he wanted it, waiting patiently as he rolled the condom down on Yoongi’s cock and positioned his female friend over him, reverse cowgirl – damn, she had a nice ass – his brief moment of admiration cut short as her tight, wet pussy sank down on him, clamping down his stiff length and his cock responded in kind, getting harder and harder, sinking into that vice, her voice shaking but still spitting sparks.
“This isn’t going to work, oh God…”
She leaned back, her back against Yoongi’s chest, and he pushed her further, wrapping his arms around that body and squeezing her tits – mmm, very soft, he approved – and then he saw what was going on, that smirk between her legs and his legs, nails digging into her thighs as that long tongue extended and slapped her clit wetly, lapping at it as she moaned, Yoongi instinctively pinching her nipples and turning her moans even more wanton, not even caring that his cock was only partway in because she was still so tight, her hands gripping her ankles to avoid squirming too much as her clit and nipples were assaulted, so Yoongi did the most logical thing he could think of.
He thrust his hips up.
“F-Fuck!”
He clenched his jaw and fucked her from below, a little awkward, a little erratic, but it didn’t matter, that smirk retreating, replaced by fingertips of a silver-ringed hand, rubbing fast and hard, crawling up to hover above their bodies, so clearly in control that he didn’t have to say anything at all, simply rose above them and forcing her to cum repeatedly on Yoongi’s cock by abusing her clit, making them both moan, Yoongi from the pulsating massage of her punishing orgasm and her from those fingertips on her most sensitive spot, the other hand coming up to cup her chin, leaning in sweetly, a long, almost chaste kiss if it wasn’t for Yoongi fucking her roughly from below at the same time.
The other male backed up, strings of saliva following, the breathless whine of the woman in his wake, irritation and desire in her voice.
“I hate you.”
That smirk returned, long tongue flickering between teeth. “No, you don’t.”
“I’m thinking about it, I swear.”
Yoongi started a little as the weight shifted on the bed, the hand between their legs leaving, and now the other male let Yoongi have more control, thrusting up from below and she rolled her hips into him to meet his movements, extending the stroke, making it better. Yoongi wasn’t surprised. She must be good if she was friends with him.
A shadow cast over his peripheral vision and Yoongi turned his head, freezing, suddenly face-to-face with dark, dark eyes and mauve lips swollen from use.
“I love seeing your face, Yoongi,” he murmured.
In those eyes, Yoongi knew he could feel however he wanted without shame.
“Kiss me.”
That mouth on his, soft and lovely and comforting, and Yoongi leaned into it, slowing down slightly, but she seemed to understand, riding him slowly as the kiss lasted, tongue sliding in, flickering between his lips, so soft, so gentle, making him want more, more, Yoongi furrowing his brows and gripping that plump ass on top of him and moving his hips again, trying to get more, but that mouth left him, drawing back with now shiny lips from his kiss. Yoongi clicked his tongue sharply, not bothering to hide his annoyance, but the other male simply smirked, messy black waves framing the left side of his face and leaving his undercut visible, his body rising.
“I like your blue hair. It’s such a nice shade of slate blue.”
He felt his neck heat. “Shut up.”
That wide smirk with that flash of dimple that only seemed to show around Yoongi.
“No, you.”
And he shoved his dick into Yoongi’s lips.
He sucked in a breath, wrapping his mouth around the long thick length, shivering as that ringed hand cradled his head and thrust a few times, not letting Yoongi have control by his tongue. He frowned around that girth, glaring up at him, but those dark eyes reflected only amusement, ruffling his hair.
His scalp tingled all the way down his spine and to his core.
“I just need a little wetness, thanks.”
You–
But before Yoongi could protest in any way, his pulled his cock out, saliva splattering on Yoongi’s chin as he backed up, Yoongi sputtering, you asshole, followed by a knowing laugh, yeah, he is, and now the other male was straddling both their bodies, one hand on the headboard and the other now wrapping around his cock, silver rings gleaming, the swollen red head peeking out between long fingers, covered with Yoongi’s spit and centimeters away from shaking tits.
“You wouldn’t,” she growled.
The three silver coin necklaces dangled down, jingling ominously.
“I would.”
Yoongi sucked in a breath as he watched that hand begin to move, stroking his cock over bouncing tits as Yoongi rolled his hips up into that tight pussy, the squelching sounds so wet that they were loud and audible, his spit on that cock, his cock fucking her hole, gaze shifting and finding dark orbs looking back down at him, holding his bed and fucking his hand, panting, and finally Yoongi saw the satisfaction on that face, pleased that he was orchestrating this, delighted that he had made him and his female friend orgasm before himself, something cruel yet powerful about the fact that his own orgasm would be from his own hand, hand covered in silver rings gripping tight, tight like the velvet walls around Yoongi’s cock moving in and out, out of that haunting gaze and staring back at that beautiful cock wrapped in long fingers and silver rings glistening with saliva, visibly twitching, closer, closer, closer.
“Fuck, oh fuck, Yoongi, you’re so good, fuck!”
Yoongi wished he could speak, but he could not, his helpless attempt ending in a choked gasp as his stiff length was brutally massaged and clenched by harsh tightness, sending him over the edge, tumbling with a hoarse groan as he spilled into the condom, his cock jerking and shuddering, shooting sparks of electric ecstasy through him and her, their moans in unison, depraved and lewd, and above them, a dark chuckle, smug, confident, overpowering.
“Heh.”
It was absolutely infuriating.
A sharp hiss and white strings shot all over her chest, streaking all over her tits, clinging to her skin, painting it with cum, directed between measured pants, his hand shoving the head onto her hard nipple and she whimpered, looking up at him with Yoongi as he pushed the sensitive nub around with the throbbing, slick, purple-red tip.
“Mmm,fuck, yes, so nice…”
Dark, dark eyes looked down at them, the man named Dionysus on Twitter reflecting his namesake with his toned, picturesque body poised over them like a god.
“You… are crazy…” she panted.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he is,” Yoongi agreed, chest tight, still trying to catch his breath.
He grinned.
“You two like it.”
The fingers of his left hand dipped down.
“Open your mouth.”
He didn’t specify who.
They both opened their mouths.
He covered his fingers with his own cum, the thick white liquid clinging onto his skin, silver rings glinting in the bedroom light, scooping it off her tits, and pushed them into her waiting mouth.
“Suck.”
She sucked his cum off his hand. Loud. Noisy. Swallowing.
After she finished, he pulled his fingers out with a sharp pop, gathering more, collecting his orgasm over her skin, her soft moans vibrating through Yoongi from her core, coating his fingers with it and raising his hand.
Yoongi’s mouth was still open.
The other male shoved his fingers and his cum into Yoongi’s lips.
He looked up into those dark orbs, seeing the pleasure he was giving, running his tongue over those fingertips, not needing to be ordered, already knowing, sucking it off those long digits, slipping his tongue in between them drinking the satisfying saltiness, staring into darkness full of excessive pleasure, and he knew he was safe, safe to do whatever and be whoever to those eyes, trusting probably a little too much, but he didn’t care, not at all.
Yoongi was going to live however he wanted and no one could stop him.
-
“I’m going to need a thousand-year nap, you asshole. Of course, you would find another perfect dick in this world. I can’t believe I agreed to this and I need a shower, jeez.”
“See you next time,” was the smirk’s response.
She looked furious as she slammed Yoongi’s front door shut.
“Nice friend.”
“She’s very nice. I like her a lot.”
Sometimes Yoongi would look at that back tattoo and then he would catch him watching, small smile on those mauve lips. He never said anything though. He just looked at it and the other male watched Yoongi, smiling at him. Those rare dimples sometimes appeared, but only with Yoongi. There were a lot of people in this world, good, bad, and in between, and there was him, the man named Dionysus on Twitter, just a person.
Just a person.
Just a person Yoongi admired because he lived how he wanted, inspiring Yoongi that he, too, could live how he wanted, so he did and spent these moments with that smirk and those silver rings.
apparently I have an unofficial zombie au living purely in drabbles lol
OT7 plus you worry about what to do next. Jungkook reveals what’s on his mind. When night falls, the dead thrive and the living reflect.
warnings: language, violence (zombie blood, dead bodies, mentions of zombie eating flesh and humans turning), angst (at the undead situation), fluff / comfort, continuation of thisandthis
pairing(s):yoongi x reader
–
“If we carry the cans, it’ll slow us down but, if we don’t, we might run out of food. There might be a trolley or cart somewhere around here…”
“A shopping cart? Like homeless people?” Kim Seokjin sounded mildly offended.
You shrugged. “I mean, we are homeless. For the time being.”
Silence.
Seven sullen faces looking down.
Outside, night had fallen.
Around them was blood, but no bodies. The others tried to clean the blood, but you told them it was better to leave it.
“Why?”
“Harder for them to smell the fresh meat.”
“W… What?”
“Us.”
You weren’t sure if that’s how these zombies worked but cleaning up the blood was fruitless anyway. It would only soil cloth and every resource was precious in times like this. You all had dragged the second-time dead outside, far away from the hanger door of the main warehouse, towards the next warehouse over. Best you could do with the time restraints before it was fully night. Hopefully, there would be no undead visitors before dawn. If there were, they would be attracted to the readily available dead meat.
Eat that first.
Zombies don’t discriminate.
The thought made your stomach churn uncomfortably.
You coughed, trying to clear the deflated air. “We can try and search tomorrow. Then we’ll move on the next day, try to find a new location. We can’t be sitting ducks.”
A small, tentative hand rose. “Shouldn’t we stay in one spot? The police will come eventually, right?” Park Jimin asked.
You scratched your head. “It will most likely be military and they will probably shoot anything that moves. They’re trying to contain the horde. They’re not gonna wait to see if we’re coherent.”
“You don’t know that,” Kim Namjoon insisted. “They might.”
“They’re scared,” you said softly. “Maybe you can trust the men in charge, but the soldiers? They’re just like you and me. They don’t understand what’s going on. If we run into military patrolling and one of them freaks out and shoots one of you dead, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Namjoon sighed. Heavy, weighted.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
Jeon Jungkook, the youngest, frowned. “Then we have to avoid them. Can’t trust them.”
You didn’t know these guys. Not really. But you weren’t going to let them die in your watch either. Not because you were noble. Mostly because you had witnessed enough death of the undead already.
You really did not want to see the death of the living.
“Maybe the government has set up safe houses for survivors. We should look for one of those.”
You were surprised that it was Jung Hoseok who said what you were thinking. He gave everyone a small, heart-shaped smile as they looked at him. He shrugged.
“I saw it in a movie.”
“All of our knowledge is from fucking movies and video games,” Min Yoongi muttered behind you, sighing. He rubbed his temple. “We’re so fucking dead.”
“No.”
Kim Taehyung, who has been silent for most of the discussion, shook his head, dark brown waves of thick hair floating with his movement.
“Not yet, so we’re not gonna act like it.”
You nodded.
“Okay, first watch, two people. Everyone else sleeps. Then we switch after a couple hours.”
-
“I can’t sleep.”
“Yes, you can. I can help.”
Min Yoongi held up his fist.
The youngest scooted away from him and sat down next to you on your other side. He pulled up the black bandana over his nose and you heard him wince.
“It stinks.”
“Stinks more out here than in the office.”
The rest of the group were sleeping in the administrative office of the factory. Yoongi and you were sitting outside the hall of the offices, facing the open warehouse of abandoned assembly lines, watching the large, open hanger door. There was no electricity. Maybe you could try to manually close it, but then that would block a potential escape route.
And you all needed every escape route you could get.
Moonlight filtered though, lighting Yoongi’s pale skin and Jeon Jungkook’s bright brown eyes.
“You should try to rest, Jungkook,” you whispered gently. “You might be the only coordinated person here,” you added with a small chuckle.
Jungkook shook his head, long black fluffy hair drifting about. “You’re here now, noona. You’re pretty good.”
“Pfft, I’m about as strong as a wet noodle.”
“The zombies are like soggy noodles left too long in soup. You’re more al dente.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. You could tell by Jungkook’s sparkling brown eyes and shaking shoulders that he was trying to contain his laugh.
“Yoongi, gimme your fist.”
“Got you.”
Jungkook put up his hands, calling for peace.
“I just wanted to talk a little. Then I’ll sleep. Promise.”
Both you and Yoongi cocked an eyebrow in disbelieving unison. Jungkook lowered his bandana to show off his pout. The little mole under his lip was barely visible. He pulled it back up when Yoongi sighed in defeat, settling back down.
“I wanted to ask… how you guys met.”
“Tinder.”
“Amanda.”
“I stole his coffee order and he chased me for three blocks.”
“I was her cat and then I turned into a man by voodoo witch magic and then we had sex while she contemplated whether or not she was a furry.”
You jerked your head to Yoongi’s weirdly specific joke and weren’t quite sure if he was on crack cocaine or had a really imaginative mind. He stared back with a deadpan look.
Jungkook blinked at your obviously (right?) fake explanations.
“What?”
You coughed up the truth. “Kim Seokjin. He’s friends with my friends and my friends set me up on a date and Seokjin pretended he needed Yoongi to help him with something, but dumped him at the restaurant and bounced. So, we ate dinner.”
“Then we went back to her place and had sex.”
You gawked at Yoongi.
He didn’t blink.
“For something around three days. My phone died. Forgot to charge it. Didn’t realize what was going on until the power flickered at her place and we turned on the TV and saw this mess.”
Yoongi gestured to the blood around them.
Jungkook’s eyes were huge like dinner plates.
He was still trying to process that you two had sex for three days. Maybe he thought it was continuous or something. It wasn’t. You two took lots of naps, but Jungkook didn’t know that. You almost added that caveat, but decided against it. Whatever. Let him think Yoongi was a sex god.
He kind of was.
You smirked slightly, but quickly composed yourself.
Jungkook seemed confused, impressed, and slightly jealous.
Yoongi continued, pretending not to notice Jungkook’s expression. “Anyway, yeah, that’s why I arrived late. I was busy doing important things.”
“Person, rather.”
Yoongi nodded sagely at your addition.
“Yup. Taehyung’s map was also shit.”
“Could have used more words and descriptions.”
“We had to make it quickly,” Jungkook piped up. “There were a bunch of zombies and hysterical people. Everyone was screaming. Namjoon-hyung and Hoseokie-hyung were trying to direct them to safety but…”
You saw a darkness fall over his face.
Sadness.
“I… watched them turn. In front of me.”
Jungkook scooted closer to you even though you were a literal stranger and not his hyung. Like he needed a human presence, easily trusting you, because how could he not? Who else was there to trust?
Everyone else around you was dead or worse.
“I had to kill them,” Jungkook whispered, his previous cheerful silvery tone trembling, muffled by the bandana. He placed his head against your shoulder. He was bigger, stronger, more muscular than you, but he seemed small now.
A little hollow.
“Minutes before they were living, breathing human beings…” he mumbled. “And then they weren’t.”
Fucking shit.
Yoongi sighed beside you, moving closer to you and Jungkook.
“Until then, I thought it was kind of like a game… like they weren’t real people, you know?” His voice was becoming smaller and smaller. Guilt. Despair. “But they were. I saw them.”
The youngest lowered his eyes by your neck and buried his face in the crook of your shoulder.
“I killed as many as I could until I couldn’t take it anymore and begged the hyungs to leave.”
You felt small drops of wetness on your skin.
“I’m not strong, hyung… noona… but you all say I am, so I keep trying…”
I can’t sleep.
These were kinds of things he couldn’t tell his closest friends, not directly. Friends relying on him to fight, to be their light, to be their youth to keep them going and remind them to fight for his tomorrow. But in you, the safety of a stranger, the safety was someone not quite yet aware of their reliance on his strength…
I can’t sleep.
Yoongi wasn’t there. He didn’t know.
There was safety in that too, his close friend who didn’t know. Yoongi hadn’t started leaning on him yet. He had been relying on you. You and your crazy ideas and your video game references mid-fight to distract his head and your head from reality.
I can’t sleep.
You placed a hand on his hair and felt Yoongi shift and put one of his hands on Jungkook’s head too. You patted the soft black hair, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp. Yoongi spoke quietly, stroking the younger man’s head.
“Hyung and noona are here now. We are strong together.”
summary: Min Yoongi will always be the one. The one on top, the one above all others, the one who has a space in your heart. Sometimes, Yoongi questions it. You have to remind him that no one commands you like he can, and he reminds you that no one can take you from him.
yes, I have been planning this ever since I released ‘headspace’. happy birthday Yoongi! <3 I would have pretty words for you, but I literally write smut about you, so how about you notpractice your English here because I know you’re secretly fluent. I’ll give you the ‘I-love-you’ speech some other time XD
–
“I’m here.”
You felt his fingers trail down your exposed arms, drumming down your skin. He took your hands, tracing your silver rings, humming satisfyingly. A familiar view, a fair skinned wrist with silver chain bracelets. He curled his long fingers around yours, caressing the inside of them. You could smell his cologne, scarcely sweet and musky woods, just a hint here and there, wisps that seemed almost imaginary.
“To remind you that you’re mine.”
His grip tightened around your wrists.
A swift pull, spinning you around in your computer chair, tearing you away from the keyboard. Fluffed black hair, brushing against dark brown, cat-like eyes. A pensive smile and two silver hoops on each ear. All black, turtleneck, leather jacket, slacks. Your favorite.
Your shadow.
Min Yoongi.
“I… I can explain.”
The smile turned into a smirk.
“No need.”
He intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing them, unforgiving metal of the rings digging into both your hands. Leaned down, pushing your rolling chair into your desk so it stopped, husky voice against your chin. He stroked one of your silver rings, spinning it around your index finger.
“Yoongi…”
He purred your name, drawing it out syllable by syllable, letting it slowly assault your ears. Your skin tingled as he pulled you up, your loose black t-shirt too thin, feeling far too much as he tugged you to him, his inescapable gravity and wicked smirk.
“You smell different today,” he murmured, your bare legs brushing against his slacks.
You did smell different. Like burning wood and roasted sweet chestnuts, a new scent you found that instantly attracted you. That’s how you were. You encountered things and you immediately loved them, intensely, addictively, forever.
Just like Min Yoongi.
“Mmm.”
His hand traveled under the hem of your shirt, grabbing your thigh and sinking his fingers into it with a soft hiss. You bit your lip, closing your eyes, falling into the touch, letting it consume you. There were not a lot of things that could make you give in, but you believed in your instincts and trusted them. Your instincts always told you where to go, what to do, who to go to. With one glance, you could pinpoint if you would like something or not, even in unfamiliar territory. Your instincts always guided you to your loves. The things you loved always became significant, always changed your life, always had your devotion through time, space, and dreams.
They became obsessions and they never stopped.
Yoongi buried his face into your neck and inhaled, moaning softly.
“Smells so good. Warm. Like a comforting memory,” he mumbled.
“Reminded me of you.”
And it had. The second you smelled it; memories of his embrace had blanketed around you.
He lifted his head and his eyes were on yours. Half-lidded, plagued by dark circles, the loveliest black-brown in the whole world. You normally hated eye contact, but not in this space, not with him. Your hands slid under his leather jacket, wrapping around his waist. Yoongi leaned in, kissing you once more, pressing your body to his, leather and softness. He reached into his jacket and possessively tucked one of your hands in his.
“Sometimes,” he muttered against your lips. “Sometimes I think I don’t have your love.” His fingers caressed yours as you kneaded his waist underneath the turtleneck. “Do you not want me around anymore?”
A small smile drifted onto your lips. You reached up with your free hand and tugged the collar of your t-shirt down, revealing your silver necklaces.
“You’re always with me.”
Yoongi’s dark eyes traveled down your neck, to the first one, seeing the tiny circular overlapping pendants. His name etched in the lower one, his birthstone set in the upper one. A tiny, contented smile. The others were a tangle of chains and charms, but Yoongi was the one who mattered most, so he was on top.
Always on top.
“What if you lose that?” he teased.
You chuckled. “So what? I could lose everything I own, but I would still love you, Yoongi.” You placed your forehead against his. “My head could be full of someone else, but there is always a space in my heart for you.”
The things you loved.
They are always and forever.
He raised his hand and placed a single fingertip in between your collarbones. Your spine tingled, scalp prickling as he slid it up your neck, lips parting as he watched it travel over your skin, up your chin and onto your plush lips, nail snagging on the softness.
“Such lovely words, but this mouth can do such dirty things,” Yoongi breathed, the side of his curving upwards playfully. You quirked your eyebrow and opened your mouth, licking the tip of his finger with your tongue, smiling around it.
“I can have pure feelings and a filthy mind.”
Yoongi cocked his brow to match yours, smirk widening to reveal his white teeth. “And you certainly do. I have no idea how your mind works.”
And then before you could respond, Yoongi shoved two fingers into your mouth, rubbing them against your tongue. You chuckled, wrapping your lips around them, sucking daintily, tongue swirling, slipping between them, drawing figure-eights. His eyes on you, darkening, darkening, the sparks of desire stroked to black flame, burning intensely as you placed the tip of your tongue all the way down to the skin where his two fingers connected, down to his knuckles, his fingers almost down your throat.
“You have such a tiny mouth,” he purred. “Astounded that my cock can fit in there.”
Yoongi pulled his fingers out and you gasped, strings of saliva dripping down and snapping against your chin. There was something about his expression, not trying to trick you, not trying to seduce you, simply aware of what he was going to do and that he was going to do it. There was no one to stop him.
In fact, you patiently awaited it.
His free hand closed on the hem of your pajama shirt and slipped under, pushing your panties to one side and shoving his wet fingers into your pussy.
“Ah, Y-Yoongi!”
He smiled, sliding his fingers in and out, and you raised one of your legs, hooking it around his hip, one hand on his shoulder, moaning as he rubbed the inside of your walls, feeling all of you, watching your face the entire time, your pussy throbbing at the knowledge of being observed so intently. His other hand snuck up your back, drawing patterns on the thin black fabric, hardly a barrier from his touch, and then he traveled further up, running his fingers through your hair, tangling them at the base and yanking back, neck exposed, your moans deepening, saturated with lust, the pace of his fingers inside you increasing. You clenched around them, breath hitching at the pricks of pain, viscous juices soaking his hand and coating his knuckles. Yoongi leaned forward, inhaling your scent once more.
“Cum for me,” he purred, teeth on your neck, nipping lightly, pinches of red marks.
Pulling a little harder, thrusting a little deeper, sucking on the space in between your collarbones, your teeth sinking into your lower lip, whimpering as the sensitive skin was bitten and the insides of your walls roughly rubbed, grinding into his hand to stimulate your clit and it was too hot, too much, pushing you over the edge.
“Oh, fuck, Yoongi…”
Pussy clamping around his digits, pulsating violently, your juices sliding down the back of his hand and his palm, covering him with you. A short reprieve, Yoongi letting you ride the high, sighing in satisfaction as he felt your walls shiver with the aftershocks. His other hand released your hair and you panted hard, tipping your head back up, only to be forced to raise your arms as Yoongi yanked your shirt up. You pulled it over your head, shaking your hair out, now wild and messy. He snapped a finger on your black bra strap, impatient expression telling you to take it off. You undid it with one hand and, as soon was it fell to the floor, Yoongi ripped his fingers out of you. You yelped at the suddenness, abruptly turning into a moan as Yoongi took his slick fingers covered in your cum and smeared them over your breasts, circling around your hard nipples, pinching them in between his slippery touch.
“Fuck, I love these nipples,” Yoongi muttered, dipping his head down to your chest, breathing in the scent of your orgasm. “So fucking big and soft and hard, all at once.”
He wrapped his lips around one and sucked off your juices with a moan, cleaning up his mess by licking all over your breasts. He placed his two wet fingers around the other, pinching and tugging on it, trailing his tongue up and down, up and down, matching pace, drenching your skin with his saliva before collecting it all back up and circling the sensitive hardened nub with the wetness, flicking his tongue against it, gentle, intense, continuous, until you were shaking and shivering against him.
Your hands came up and held his head, pushing back his black hair, moaning as you ran your fingers through it, over and over, his large hands pressing your tits together and playing on your nipples with his lips and fingers, sucking hard.
There were a lot of words in this world and none of them could describe exactly how Yoongi made you feel, like he could set everything on fire while also being the water rushing through you, burning and drowning, his brown orbs looking up at you, silent, but clear with his lust, reflecting you in his eyes.
A mirror, so akin to you.
And yet not, because he was Min Yoongi.
His other hand fitted in the curve of your back, forcing you to arch more, trailing his tongue over your chest, humming at your soft cries.
“You always look so good no matter what I’m doing to you,” he mused, lazily licking off your other nipple.
“It’s because you’re the one doing it,” you panted, shivering as he blew on your wet skin.
“Hm, I don’t think so. I think you’re just hot as hell.”
He kissed up your chest, on your lips once more, sighing softly, your sharp sweet taste on his lips, both hands on your breasts, pinching your nipples with his knuckles. You whined into his mouth, and he shushed you with rough kisses as he rubbed them just as roughly, pain and pleasure, working you until you were breathless, gasping, pleading for more. He chuckled, releasing them, earning a frantic whimper, his mouth still pressed to yours. You heard him shrug off the leather jacket, dumping it on the chair. Nudging you forward to the bed, staying in stride with you, and you, grip on his turtleneck, yanking it out of his slacks, his smirk against your smirk.
“What if,” Yoongi murmured, hands enveloping yours, tracing your silver rings. “One of my rings was here?” Tapping your left ring finger, mischievous spark underneath his lashes.
“Do I get to put one here?” you teased, sliding one between his and wrapping it around his left ring finger.
“Ah, they should match, shouldn’t they?”
You grinned, tumbling onto the bed and dragging him with you, Yoongi quirking an eyebrow, tone rich and deep as he continued.
“You like white gold or platinum?”
You tugged his turtleneck up and off his head, letting it fall to the floor, running a hand through his fluffed black hair as you mused.
“I’ll let you pick,” you purred. “And then I can pick one.”
“For where?”
“For here.”
Yoongi sucked in a breath, narrowing his eyes and mouth at you, cheeks puffing a little, but there was no mistaking the amusement in his words.
“At least service him before you start putting him in prison.”
You unlatched your grip on his clothed cock.
“What am I, but of service?"
He watched your tongue trace your lips as you slid down, unbuttoning his slacks, zipper being teased down, a pleased smile growing as his clothes were tugged off, crumpling to the floor.
"Let me help you,” Yoongi drawled as you lowered your head, calm hands gathering your hair to a long ponytail, winding it around his palm before turning his hand around, fitting his hold to the back of your head. You raised an eyebrow at his smirk.
“It’s going to be like that?”
His eyes darkened, black hair falling over them.
“You love it like that.”
That’s true. Familiar words came back to you, almost like a mantra.
What if you live like that?
Tongue sliding out, licking him all over, dripping saliva down his length, his cock already hard and insistent against your lips, hot and trembling, pleading for attention, but you nuzzled past, wrapping your lips around one of his balls and swirling your tongue around it, listening to his deep moan, smokey and raspy, your name mixed with his sounds of appreciation, hand firm on the back of your head. You switched sides, back and forth, sucking one as you licked the other, accompanied by loud slurps that made Yoongi’s hips jerk, euphoric gasps filling your room.
“Fuck, that’s a dangerous mouth…” he hissed. “You could make anyone fall for you with your mouth alone.”
You snaked your tongue along his stiff length, side to side, tracing the contours with your wet muscle, finally coating the tip with a thick layer of warmth, seeing Yoongi watch you with hunger, his long fingers pressed into your scalp.
“Down,” he growled.
You obeyed.
Swallowing it all, all the way to the base, his cock twitching in your mouth. Yoongi gasped sharply, holding you down, your throat constricting around the head, barely able to breathe, but you were in Yoongi’s hands now.
Your favorite pair of hands to command you.
“Fuck…fuck…”
He tilted his hips and you fell on your side, silver necklaces jangling, steadying yourself with your elbow. Slow but forceful, sliding out and pushing back in, moaning softly as he fucked your face, your hands in his sides, nails digging in, whining around his thickness, pushing your tongue against the bottom to make it tighter, better, his strong taste coating your mouth, so good your mind was a bit hazy from it or was it the intensity of his thrusts that was leaving you breathless?
You tensed your throat muscles and Yoongi chuckled, breathing hard.
“You sure you haven’t practiced on someone else? You’re too good at this, fuck…”
It was impossible to reply, think, or breathe, clawing at his back, rocking your body with his, your own power intoxicating you, knowing Yoongi was close to his end by the increased speed and roughness, grip on your head unforgiving, bouncing you back and forth with the force of his hips, your wet lips smacking his balls and crotch, the head repeatedly burying itself in your throat, stretching it out just like how Yoongi would stretch you out soon.
“Fuck, I know you love it when I use your mouth like this,” he snarled.
I do. I love all the things you do to me.
He clenched his jaw and a grating hiss fell from his lips, thrusting deep and spilling down your throat, you whimpering as you swallowed hurriedly, hands splayed over his back and ass, holding him there so you could drink it all, tongue pressed along his length to feel his cock throb with every spurt of cum painted down your throat. There was no time to think about breathing, completely dazed by his strong taste and the forced manner that you had to consume his orgasm, visceral and obscene.
“Time for your other hole.”
You drew back, gasping for air, hair cascading around you as Yoongi let go, taking advantage of your hazy state clawing for oxygen. You barely registered him pushing you down to the sheets, hands and knees, ass up and ready, his own hands on your hips to peel your wet pussy lips apart, watching your glistening opening flexing, the reaction both your muscles and your desire.
Waiting for him.
Wanting him.
“Mmm, my pretty pussy,” he purred possessively.
Your body already knew what to do even if your mind was still trying to catch up. He took the condom from your shaking, outstretched hand and ripped it open. You didn’t have to wait long. He leaned forward. The swollen, hot head pressed against your opening. Not moving, chest against your back.
“Yoongi,please…” you gasped hoarsely.
“Please what?”
This fucking tease. “Please… fuckme.”
His hand crawled up the sheets, deft fingers dancing, up your wrist, and onto your hand, your silver rings glinting in the low light. He placed his fingers in between yours, lips against your ear.
“My perfect plaything, aren’t you?”
A swift thrust and you were moaning, fingers closing in around his, suddenly so full and so deep that you saw white for a brief moment, but there was no time, no time as Yoongi slid back and slammed into you again, crotch to ass, untangling his hand from yours so he could right himself and fuck you hard, just the way you liked, just the way you needed.
“Mmm, what a beautiful back.”
You buried your face into the pillows, his fingernails scraping down your skin, sending shocks and stings all over you, helpless cries at his wonderful scratches, the exact pressure so that he left marks all over you but didn’t break skin, so good paired with his harsh thrusts, making you claw for the headboard, planting your hands on it and bucking back into his hard length, heightening the pleasure and mixing it with pain, Yoongi’s satisfied grunts behind you, necklaces jingling on your chest. Sensation, sound, emotion, all of it, building up inside, winding the coil, tighter, tighter.
Nothing else mattering but being fucked by Yoongi’s cock.
“This body is for me, isn’t it?” Yoongi growled, racking his nails down your back.
“Whenever you want, fuck, oh fuck, Yoongi!”
He kept going, the fire of your orgasm burning hot, crashing waves threatening to take you under, but still he gripped your hips and fucked you into the bed, the bed frame squeaks drowned out by the loud squelches of his rock-hard cock reentering you over and over again.
“That’s what I thought,” he snickered, leaning down and earning a wail, so deep it felt like he was hitting your cervix, the head swelling as your walls clenched around him. “No one can take you from me, isn’t that right?”
You responded automatically, your body once again responding quicker than your brain could, the answer always there, lingering in your mind, unwavering, pure instinct.
“No one.”
The words rushing out with ravenous conviction, nails curling into the headboard, so much forced pleasure, savoring in Yoongi’s roughness, pussy pulsating so strongly that you weren’t sure what was an orgasm and what wasn’t. All over you, through you, in you, clouding your mind and thoughts. Absolute precision, knowing exactly how to fill you, and you clenching him back, molding to him to deliver the pleasure he loved, primal needs being satisfied, everything feeling so good that you became lightheaded, and yet you still found yourself uttering between moans and gasps, declaration being ripped from you because of Yoongi’s perfect cock destroying you mentally and physically.
“It will always be you above all others, Yoongi.”
His fingers wrapped in your hair and yanked back, the sudden pain making you scream his name, liquid gushing down his cock and balls, thick and viscous, sticking to both your inner thighs. Your name falling from his lips, a half-moan, half-hiss, his entire length jolting inside you, filling the condom, and Yoongi rolled his hips into you once more, feeling it all, every contour of your pussy constricting around his throbbing cock.
“Fuck…”
Two voices that sounded like one, rough, grating, instinctive, matching in time. Sparks coursing through your veins, body shivering with the aftereffects, squeezing the remnants out of him. His hand reached around; strands still tangled in his fingers.
Yoongi cupped your chin roughly, caressing your skin.
“Above all others, hm?” he breathed, the depth of his voice soothing your thudding heart. Both of you sinking down into the bed, knees giving out, and he was still inside you, gripped tight by your stubbornness, his arms around your shaking body. You closed your eyes, Min Yoongi surrounding you, invading your space with his possessive embrace, his unavoidable presence, his inescapable hold, and you, a willing captive, letting him take over.
His lips against your ear, a familiar purr, your always and forever whisper.
who said people are animals of wisdom? for me, obviously, we are animals of regret people change, just as I’ve changed there is nothing permanent in the world everything is just a happening passing through
My blog is named after ‘People’ by Agust D, the only song that I’ve ever felt every word and every line, rapped and sang with that exact pitch and emotion, describe me. I’ve always wondered, these thoughts I have, will anyone ever be able to put them into words?
summary:Some things that are normal for most aren’t normal for you and Yoongi. He moved in and sleeps in the same bed with you, but still all you do is hold hands and kiss gently. Everyone has their own pace. Not everyone lives in the fast lane. There’s just… this nagging feeling. You have to be honest.
warnings: rated M (18+) - mentions of a previous physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; smut (penetrative sex); there’s so much fluff you might die; also RIP to their heads XD; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader
rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.
You retreated your hand from the tuft of hair sticking out of Yoongi’s black cap. He turned around and raised his eyebrows at you. You ended up apologizing before actually doing anything or even touching the little black tail in the opening of his hat. He adjusted the brim and gave you a weird look.
“Something wrong?” he asked, tilting his head.
“No, uh… I…” You struggled to find the words. “I almost touched you. I wasn’t sure if you were okay with that.”
Yoongi smiled a little. “It’s okay. I know you’re there. And I know it’s you.”
He was sitting right next to you at your computer in your bedroom. You had set up a station for him, the two of you in the corner, occupying two computers ninety degrees from each other. All you had to do was turn to the right and he was there. He turned to the left and you were there. It was kind of cramped and not ideal, but it had to do for now. Yoongi worked on music at home. Some things Yoongi could only do at the studio, but some things he could do at home. You found him a decent computer and some hand-me-down equipment and it was good enough.
Actually…
It was miles better than it was before. He was surprised when you asked him if he wanted to work on his music at home. It wasn’t permitted in Yoongi’s previous relationship. But you saw he lamented sometimes, recording demos on his phone and wishing he had some sort of setup to do some things. You didn’t understand the technical aspects, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, right? It had become a fun project and now Yoongi was sitting beside you.
Yoongi spied the images on your monitor. "What are you looking at?“
You turned back. "Apartments. I’m just trying to see if there’s something bigger, so you can have your own music studio at home.”
He bit his lip. “I can’t afford that right now.”
You understood that Yoongi often mentioned money because it was a topic of arguments with his ex-girlfriend. You hadn’t gone into this expecting Yoongi to be rich. In any case, it was better for him to invest in his music. You had already told him this, but habits take time to be broken. Thankfully, your work paid well even though it was mostly clerical duties. There were perks to having worked at the same company for a long time.
“It’s okay. I want a bigger space too."
"You mean you want your dance studio back?” he teased.
You felt your ears heat. “I can use the living room… anyway, I want you to be able to work in peace. I haven’t seen anything good though.”
“Mmm, well, this kind of thing takes time and luck.”
You turned your head to look at him and found his face next to your shoulder. A handsome profile. His eyes shifted to look at you. Something flitted in those dark brown eyes. The nagging feeling came back, tapping inside your ribcage, rattling impatiently. You looked away, back at your computer screen.
Yoongi said your name softly.
“Is something wrong?” His voice wavered. “Did I do something?”
“No, Yoongi,” you replied, still not looking at him. The frustration inside expanded. You knew you had to communicate. You couldn’t not. If you avoided it any longer, you would be growing the seeds of doubt and you wanted Yoongi to trust you. To do that, you needed to be honest.
“I’m horny.”
Silence.
“What?”
You jerked a little in your seat, moving away from Yoongi before raising your head to make eye contact. Your chest felt tight, ashamed, even though it wasn’t supposed to be embarrassing.
“I’m horny,” you repeated, rubbing your fist on your thigh. “I don’t want to pressure you because I know that topic might be delicate. I just…” You kept looking at those wide cat-like eyes and then looking away, heart beating fast and heat building faster. “I find that I can’t really look at you that long without thinking about it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Silence. You felt your stomach knot.
“I don’t remember the last time I had sex,” Yoongi murmured. “I don’t remember the last time I wanted it.”
Ah. Right. That would make sense. Of course, that’s how he felt. Also, you weren’t exactly sexy. The octopus dancing didn’t really get the guys, so to speak. You could handle yourself. It was fine. He was just so… You wanted Yoongi to feel good with your touch, wanted his heart to flutter the way yours fluttered, wanted to see him breathless with want.
There was a weight on your thigh.
You started, looking down, breath at your throat. You were wearing loose gray shorts and the matching sweatshirt. Not a sexy outfit to get your freak on. But you were staring at Yoongi’s hand, kneading the fabric and your leg underneath and the heat was rising, heart racing.
“I think I need a reminder…” he murmured. “A reminder on how good it feels to be loved like that.”
Yoongi lifted his head and you stared into his eyes.
He leaned forward and closed the distance, kissing you softly, and you breathed him in, fitting your hand over his, guiding it up, gentle touches, turning in your chair to face him, and he was turning to you, holding you close, your hands skimming over his t-shirt, not trying to get more, just wanting to show your want, just demonstrating how you would run your hands over his skin if there was no barrier, and he stood up, making you stand up.
And then your heads banged together.
“Ow!”
“Motherfuc–”
You swore and Yoongi clamped a hand over your mouth, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head.
“Don’t ruin this,” he winced, removing his hand.
“My brain feels rearranged,” was your woozy response, cursing the narrow space.
Yoongi took your hand and pulled you away from the computers, towards to the bed, the same bed you two slept on, but didn’t touch, not like this. You only held hands or kissed gently. Late at night, when Yoongi was fast asleep, you would stare at his profile and wonder if he felt the same passion you felt, but it was weird to watch him sleeping, so you looked away and stared at the ceiling instead, thinking about him and his body against yours.
And now it was, his arms around you, pressing you to his chest, kissing your lips, cheeks, closed eyelids, making you laugh a little. Your fingertips on his back, tracing patterns, his gasp against your skin, cap falling off and tumbling to the floor, his black hair brushing your forehead.
“T-Touch me more…” he murmured.
He took your forearms and pushed them down, sliding your hands under his white shirt and then it was skin on skin, a needy noise between you two. With burning ears, you realized that was you, Yoongi’s hands on your shoulders as you explored his back, fingertips dancing up his spine, his pants in your ear, and then his fingers in your hair, messing it all up, rolling his body into yours.
Hardness.
You gasped, raising your thigh to press against it, and his hands slid down, and you looked up to see his half-lidded eyes hazy with desire.
“I want to follow your lead, Yoongi,” you breathed. “Any time you want to stop, we can stop.”
He nodded, leaning down to kiss you, deeper this time, tongue sliding in and playing with yours, your hands exploring the contours of his back. His skin, so soft, so lovely, smelling the vanilla and patchouli body wash you used because you shared the same shower and he used all your products. You shared so much with him, but there were some things you couldn’t share. Not yet. Not until he gave you his sign that he was ready.
You never told Yoongi, I love you.
The most precious words used in this world, turned to a poison dagger to hurt him, so you never said it, not until he was ready to hear it, not until he wanted to hear it. You knew Yoongi knew. You would hold his hand, draw a heart in his palm, small things like that, and he knew. He’d squeeze your fingers and smile a little smile and that was enough.
Maybe you were tiptoeing too much, but it was impossible to tell, because everyone is different and not even Yoongi himself knew what trivial actions or words would bring back unpleasant memories. He had spent so long repressing them that it was hard to tell reality from fantasy. He didn’t know what to be afraid of because he tried so hard to make them disappear.
You drew a small heart on Yoongi’s shoulder blade and he gasped, pulling you closer.
“I… like when you do that…” he mumbled, sounding a little embarrassed.
“Draw hearts?” you questioned, tilting your head.
“Yeah… on my skin…”
And then Yoongi surprised you.
He backed up a little and pulled his shirt over his head, taking your hands and placing them on his chest, not saying anything, but you could see it in his eyes, I don’t look very good, and you pressed your fingertips to his chest, over his beating heart, looking up at him.
“You will always be perfect to me, Yoongi.”
He gave you a wistful smile, believing you and not at the same time. “You have weird taste.”
You drew a small heart over his, feeling him shiver at your touch. You grinned brightly. “That’s how you know I’m devoted.”
He chuckled, closing one eye, looking sheepish. You waited, letting him work through the emotion, trying not to put himself down, taking it for what it was. It was not an easy thing to do. You had to be patient. Yoongi took your hand and pulled you to the bed, a familiar environment.
“I want to make you feel good,” he said.
“You don’t–”
“I want to,” Yoongi reaffirmed, looking you in the eye, determination in his tone. “I want my hard work to be the reason you feel good.”
You shouldn’t say it. Well, maybe it will lighten the mood. You struggled internally and then leaned forward, placing the back of your hand near your mouth.
“Hard work is a weird way to refer to your dick,” you whispered closely.
Yoongi burst out laughing, gums flashing, raspy and full, shoving you onto the bed. You bounced, hands flapping about, grinning at you own joke as Yoongi grabbed the bottom of your sweatshirt, yanking it up and over your head.
“This and your bad habit of moving your head at the same time as me–”
“It means we’re in sync!”
“I don’t want a concussion every time we make out,” Yoongi shot back, pinning your arms down and hovering over you, exasperated smile on his face.
He was so close.
Your grin slowly deflated, realizing that he was shirtless and you were shirtless, and Yoongi had you pinned down, gazing down at you with dark eyes and that open-mouthed smirk that was also disappearing, realizing he was on top of you, realizing this wasn’t innocent, realizing he was about to do something that should be normal but was made abnormal to him.
“You don’t have to do it,” you said gently.
“I know.” He looked at you under his black hair, messy and flat from being under the hat, brown eyes and pink lips standing out on his fair-skinned face. “But I want to.”
You always thought that parts of life were boring. It would be easier to fast forward and skip it.
But not with Yoongi.
He leaned down and kissed you, a kiss that you wanted to pause and live in forever, him inhaling you, pressing deeply, hands releasing your arms and cradling your head, his kisses like stars, precious light that brightened your whole world. But you also wanted to press play, kissing him back, your hands caressing his sides, drawing small hearts on his skin, your own heart swelling with the electricity of touching the one you loved, not knowing until now how nice it was, the simple sensation of dancing your fingers up his back and back down, his gasps on your skin, kissing down, down the curve of your neck and the swell of your breasts, so focused that his eyes were screwed shut and his brows were furrowed.
“Yoongi…”
His eyes opened slowly and Yoongi looked up at you with shaking pupils. Scared he was going to fuck up.
“It’s just me. You know, the one who dances like an octopus.”
His expression seemed to relax, turning into ruefulness. “How could I forget?”
“Should I wiggle a bit to jog your memory?” you teased.
“Please don’t.”
Your remark seemed to have calmed him, returning to your breasts, slipping the straps down, kissing along the curve of the cup, slipping his tongue under experimentally to make you jump, heart racing once more, a small smirk on his lips as he reached behind you and unhooked it, releasing them from their prison.
“O-oh!”
You yelped when Yoongi pulled your bra down, kissing your nipple directly, tingles flaring from the kiss, leaving you breathless as his tongue danced out, licking gracefully, slow circles that made you clench your jaw and tighten your core to avoid arching your back to get more. Yoongi seemed to sense your urgency and added more pressure, closing his lips around it, and your hands flew up, holding his head as carefully as possible but holy shit, holy shit, Yoongi’s tongue on you was pure ecstasy and he was doing it for you, showing his love for you and that’s why it felt so good, that’s why it was so fucking nice.
“Ah, fuck, Yoongi…”
He kissed to the other side, murmuring your name against your skin, seeped with desire and affection, pushing your wet nipple with one finger as he kissed the other, two points of pleasure that flowed through you, your gasps turning to moans, his hands coming up and encircling yours, lacing your fingers with his and holding them, whispering, faint, nearly silent, vibrating your sensitive skin with his lips and breath.
And then you heard it.
His whisper right above your heart and you looked down, Yoongi’s eyes looking up at you.
Apologetic for taking so long.
“I love you.”
If someone paused the tape right now, took it out, and your life ended right there, you would be okay with that. If that was the last moment in this world, if that was all that was and time stopped, you would be content.
But it wasn’t.
Play.
You smiled down at him, trying to prevent your voice from shaking.
“I love you too, Yoongi.”
The most precious words in the whole world.
“Should I stop?”
Your eyes widened. “N-no! I mean… if you’re…” You stopped speaking, seeing the playfulness sparkling in those dark eyes, pleased to have tricked you, even if only for a second.
“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, lifting himself up to kiss you lightly. “I only wanted to see if you would be bothered.”
“I am very bothered,” you responded, peeved. “Hot and bothered, even.”
Yoongi lifted a brow, small amused smirk on his lips. “Come to think of it, me too.” He backed up and you lifted your chest, only to have Yoongi press down on your collarbones, worry flitting his face.
“What?”
“Don’t bonk my head.”
You grimaced. “I’m not a serial head bonker.” You lifted yourself up and Yoongi swung his head back, eyes flashing with mock fear. You pointed to the nightstand, rolling your eyes, and rummaged around in the drawer, feeling to the back and pulling out the small box.
“How old are those?”
Your cheeks flushed. “L-Last month!”
“You wanted to fuck me since last month?”
“N-No, obviously earlier, but I didn’t k-know if you ever wanted…” you trailed off, flapping your jaw, holding up said box, the condoms tumbling out. You panicked a little, not wanting him to think you were expecting too much, dropping the box and scrambling to collect the pile, the tip of your finger hitting the box at the exact spot that would cause it to fly off the bed and hit the wall.
You stared at it, betrayed.
Yoongi burst out laughing. “I can hear you talking to it,” he chuckled.
“I’m not saying anything!”
“You wanna fuck me?”
Your head snapped back, eyes widening. Yoongi tilted his head.
“Yes,” you blurted. “Well, yes, I mean, you’re so…” This was awkward. It didn’t used to be awkward but, also, you had never been this invested. Your eyes widened. You were invested in a person. Actually invested, invested in Min Yoongi. You looked up at him and he looked back curiously like a cat, not realizing your epiphany. Oh shit. Now this was even more weird.
Do something. Do something. Not that. Oh no, you’re doing it.
You held up the plethora of condoms. “Pick a card?”
Living alone made you too fucking weird.
“Aren’t they all the same?” Yoongi snickered.
You shifted, putting them back down on the bed. “Ahaha… right…” Your leg pressed against his and you jumped, startled. “You’re hard.”
Yoongi raised his eyebrows. “When gorgeous tits are out, the human body reacts when there is attraction, even if you’re speaking nonsense.”
You blinked at him. “G-Gorgeous?”
Yoongi’s ears flushed pink and he reached over, ripping a condom off the others. “Y-Yeah…” He straightened, scooting back to between your legs, placing his hands on your shorts. “Ah… unless the mood is killed…”
“No,” you exclaimed, hands flying down to the waistband. “It is not. It is alive and well. Very well.”
Yoongi opened his mouth and shut it. Then he opened it again, smiling a little. “I’m beginning to think we are a bit strange.”
“it’s just because it’s the first time,” you rambled. “All first times are a bit strange.”
This wasn’t getting anywhere, so you yanked down your shorts and underwear at once, Yoongi gasping and snapping his head down as you kicked off your clothes, the sharp scent of your arousal suddenly very apparent. You felt your cheeks heat, unaware that you had such a strong reaction to Yoongi being above you, observing your wetness with round eyes, as if to say, I did that?
“Wow.” Yoongi raised his head, black bangs framing his beautiful eyes. “You’re stunning.”
Was it ever like this? Like every word was precious, every lyric in this song meaning more than the words themselves, like every single piece of the composition was perfect, special, everything pause-worthy, even the odd bits, you reaching up to cup his head, pulling Yoongi down for a kiss, him pushing his own pants down, sucking in a breath as your hand wrapped around him, moaning in his mouth, deepening the kiss, more erotic, more intense, his cock throbbing in your palm, getting harder by your touch, Yoongi whimpering in your mouth, backing off slowly, ripping the condom open, sliding it on, and you watching, oh, he’s beautiful there too.
“Thanks…?”
“… Uh, you’re welcome.”
You spoke out loud. Great.
“Do you need some prep?”
“Yoongi, please put it in before I say something stupid again–”
You cut yourself off as Yoongi pushed in slowly, both of you suddenly gasping at the sensation, you already wet enough because you had been thinking about this for so long, morning, night, morning, night, thinking about Yoongi, and if you could, if he was ready to have him inside you, filling you up, and it was happening, happening right now, sinking into you, looking into his eyes. And you could see the amazement, the wave of satisfaction that shimmered through his dark orbs, and the way Yoongi looked at you.
Like he was complete.
“I… oh, fuck…” His eyelids fluttered. “I might not be that good…”
“Are you kidding me, holy fuck, you feel fucking incredible,” you breathed, clenching around him, moaning softly at the perfection that was him, heart racing with every second. Your hands came up and held his cheeks, your breath hot and fluttering upwards. “You already feel so good, Yoongi. You can see it in my face, can’t you?”
His eyes searched yours, looking for the lie, the performance, but there was none, no need to lie when your hips were already slowly rocking into his, creating movement and pleasure, and he fell into the rhythm, complementing you. Your hands dropped and you put them over your head, grasping the pillows, letting out every cry and soft sound so Yoongi could hear and know this was the truth, your legs circling his slim waist. Yoongi bit his lip, breathing hard, whimpering a little.
“I mean… it’s been a while… and you feel too f-fucking good, oh fuck…”
You realized what he meant and you reached down with one hand, jolting as your fingertip touched your clit, rubbing it forcefully, shudders flying through you, gasping at your own stimulation, breasts pressing together, and Yoongi moaned, feeling you constrict and pulse around him, wetter, thrusting into you harder until there was a symphony of sound, heavy wanton breathing, slapping of skin on skin, chasing your climax as Yoongi chased his, eyes locked, almost there, almost there…
At the bridge.
Somehow you both knew the final chorus was coming.
“Yoongi…”
He breathed your name, drawing it out like the most precious word in this world.
You moaned deeply and it rushed through you, shooting up your torso and into your chest, an overwhelming pressure that took you under, making you throw your head back and gasp his name, pressing down on your clit to amplify every bolt of pleasure that made your muscles shake. Yoongi groaned, thrusting into you hard with his own gasp, cock jerking and shooting into the condom, surrounded by your suffocating embrace and you saw his eyes roll back a little, muscles in his arms tense, fingers bunching into the sheets, black hair sweaty and sticking to his face.
Hot breath mixing with yours, heavy pants of shared ecstasy.
“Whoa…”
His dark eyes flickered to yours, pupils blown out, blinking slowly as he exhaled. “W-What…?”
You felt your ears heat. “Oh… uh… it’s never been like that before. I’ve never felt… so much.”
A red flush bloomed over Yoongi’s cheeks. “Me neither…”
“Maybe we’re in love?” you offered lightheartedly.
A small smile grew on his lips. “Yeah, maybe.”
You began to raise yourself off the bed, but Yoongi put his hand on your collarbones quickly.
summary:Everyone has bad habits. Funnily enough, Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook happen to have the same one. It involves silver chains, leather collars, choking each other, and a girl with a single white contact and daddy issues. Fuckin’ daddy issues, man.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you dislike overabundant swearing, maybe skip this one; too many Marilyn Manson / Slipknot references; D/s threesome smut (fem reader, black leather collars and chain leashes, choking [note:yoonkook choke each other], so much saliva, scratching, visceral making out, spitting kink, m-receiving oral, handjob, voyeurism, cum-eating); non-idol!AU - sub!Jungkook x goth, dom!reader x sub!Yoongi; shifts from third person > reader’s > Yoongi’s > JK’s POV
this is absolute depravity, don’t say I didn’t warn you but it isporn with feelings, you know me
–
now playing – bad habits by ed sheeran ft bring me the horizon
“What’s the most twisted thing you’ve ever done?”
“Choked Jungkook while he choked me as we both got jacked off at the same time.”
Park Jimin’s jaw dropped. An unceremonious amount of ramen plopped out of his fluffy lips and back into the pot below him. Jeon Jungkook choked on his. In fact, he actually flung himself away from the table at warp speed to hack out his windpipe at the sink.
Min Yoongi calmly chewed on his crispy pork belly.
Jimin – sweet, lovely, soft-cheeked Jimin with bedhead hair and swollen pink lips from the spice of his food – blinked very slowly at Yoongi and laughed nervously, jerking his head to Jungkook, whose entire head was in the sink to avoid being looked at, back to Yoongi, who slurped up a large amount of his own noodles and did not elaborate on his previous statement.
The unease was so palpable that one could sink their teeth into it.
Yoongi’s dark brown eyes slowly raised from his meal, staring at Jimin with unsettling focus.
“You’re joking… right, hyung?” he awkwardly chuckled, probably unsure if his ears were broken or if he was in the Twilight Zone. Maybe Jimin was still dreaming. Any of those three would be a sane explanation because surely, surely, he was mistaken. He hadn’t heard correctly, right?
“Right,hyung?” Jungkook sputtered from the sink, finally emerging, red-faced from choking.
Physically or mentally remained to be known.
Yoongi tilted his head and shrugged.
-
You tilted your head.
Licked your teeth slowly and watched him shiver under your gaze.
“You know what I love?”
You collected saliva on the tip of your tongue and stuck it out, letting it drip into his open mouth, listening to him swallow with a greedy moan. You grinned, waiting for those beautiful dark chocolate eyes to open again. Glistening silver bar by his furrowed brow, gleaming silver ring at the edge of those pink shaking lips that were already asking for more, wordless whine and imploring gaze.
You lowered so you were eye to eye, teasingly licking the mole underneath his lower lip.
He whimpered, pleading you with your name.
“Depravity,” you purred, low and rough, drawing out the syllables, chewing on the density of the word, winding back up like a snake, bringing the silver chain with you. Yanked on it, hard, and his head snapped back, the heavy black leather collar slapping into the sides of his neck.
A loud, visceral sound.
Jeon Jungkook moaned again, intoxicated by your power.
He was a real good boy outside of the bedroom. You heard he was quite an upstanding guy. Diligent, hard worker. Went to work on a fairly normal schedule. Always said please and thank you. Never got into much trouble other than innocent, cute mischief that made him well-liked by his peers.
Then Jungkook would come to you.
Nervous, awkward, unsure around your crowd.
But needy.
So very needy that he forgot to be embarrassed or weirded out as he was surrounded by a crowd of people in black – leather, fishnets, vinyl, too much eyeliner and dark lipstick. They always hung around for some reason or another. Work. Smoking. Loitering because the owner didn’t give a fuck. Jungkook would sit and wait and you would come out of work to see him surrounded by your kind, standing around him.
A black cocoon protecting a rather plainly dressed caterpillar.
“I came to see you but you were busy… they said I should stay and wait,” he would mumble, not quite looking at anyone, but there was too much want in his system, too much desire to run away, too much greed.
He looked up and you saw that he enjoyed it.
He liked the eyes on him.
You would smirk, cocking your fingers towards you, and he would come, presenting his neck. You would lick it from collarbone to chin and savor his stifled whimper.
“Come with me.”
The first time was, hm, not quite an accident. It was a lesson, because he was about to do something very, very stupid, the kind of stupidity like trying to do cocaine with zero experience and zero familiar faces around him. A friend of his asked you to step in and teach him a little lesson. A lesson about pain and how to deal with it. Effectiveness remained to be seen.
But satisfaction had been guaranteed.
You leaned down now, placing your hands on his face, framing it with your fingers.
Jungkook gasped at your touch, wanting more.
He had a pretty face. Beautiful eyes, deep and rich and brown. Shapely lips that were made for begging and demanded to be kissed. Cute moles the dotted his light, tan skin, natural dark stars on the galaxy of his body that craved to be explored with teeth and nails. Lots of tattoos up and down his right arm. He usually covered them up with long-sleeved shirts and big sweatshirts. Wore his hair down to cover his eyebrow piercing and changed his lip ring to a small stud when he was pretending to be a good, good boy.
But he was changing.
Metamorphosis.
Slowly but surely, Jungkook started showing up to the music studios you managed with ripped black band t-shirts and leather pants. Tattoos on display, filling in the sleeve so it was obvious and prominent. Silver lip ring clearly visible. Black hair slicked back, sometimes messy with strands brushing against his cheeks. No longer sticking out from your kind, but becoming part of them.
You smiled at him, nice and slow.
“Don’t want to wait anymore, do ya?”
“N-No…” he breathed, lips trembling under your chin. “Want you… Want you to use me…”
What a scene.
“Take off your clothes,” you murmured to his lips, brushing against them, barely-there kisses that he drank up every single second of. “And wait for me on the bed. You can do that, right?” Your fingers travelled up, up, tangling in his hair and pulling back, inhaling sharply as you heard his desperate whine waterfall from his open mouth, begging for kisses.
“I have to go get you-know-who.”
You let go of him roughly, chuckling deep in your chest. Stood up, backing away from him.
“So we can do you-know what.”
Jungkook gasped for air, on hands and knees in your bedroom, raising his head as you walked away, dancing your fingers in the air as you waved a teasing goodbye.
“And maybe I’ll let you stick it you-know-where.”
You opened the door behind you, suddenly frowning mockingly, pretending to think about it.
“Or maybe I won’t.”
You snickered deviously and shut the door.
-
Min Yoongi was aware he had a type.
Great legs, great ass, perky tits, too much black leather, a consistent habit of wearing a single white contact on her left eye, a smirk that was a little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy, also kind of his unofficial manager that he paid with his dick.
Alright, his type was one specific person.
“I’m so fucking tired of this shit! Fuck, just because they don’t have an agent, the venue thinks they can try to upcharge them and, the second I step in, they think they can go over my head. Fuckin’ misogynistic bastards backtracking so fucking fast when I started pulling out numbers, I’ll fucking gutthem! Fuck! People equal shit!”
Ah, right.
She had a mouth on her.
Not just limited to a colorful vocabulary.
“Hah,shit, I’m sorry, Yoongi, I’m too fucking pissed off after sorting out what happened to Hana and the guys,” she had growled earlier, sending an inappropriate or appropriate thrill up his spine. It depended on who was who in the situation. “I don’t wanna make you do some twisted shit because I’m in this fucked-up mood, I’m gonna have to cancel–”
Her satoori got deeper and gruffer when she was angry.
It was very arousing.
“Jungkook’s outside today.”
She had paused.
Looked at him, one normal iris, one fake white one.
“What kind of twisted shit do you want to do with us?” he had asked with a smirk.
It was incredibly dangerous to ask such a question, because right now Yoongi was finding out.
She had a demonic grin, looking from Jungkook’s big, shocked brown eyes to his. He narrowed his gaze, not backing down despite basically sitting knee-to-knee with one of his friends. Both of them with leather collars and chain leashes.
Fully naked.
Yoongi wound his hand around Jungkook’s silver chain and held it tightly.
He was going to do what he was told to do because she needed it. He could feel it, almost as if it was radiating from her skin. The sin that needed to be satisfied. The glee in orchestrating dirty deeds. The pleasure she got from it all. It was tangible with every raspy exhale pushed out of her lungs, rattling with excitement.
Pink tongue on white teeth, laughing low and devilishly.
“Pull.”
Yoongi pulled.
-
“Jungkook, why do you like pain?”
He stared into her eyes. It gave him a heady and insane feeling. Sent his heart ricocheting in his chest. She tilted her head, lips barely parted, the upper one angled upward, giving her a curious expression despite the unnatural quality of the single white contact lens over her left iris.
His chest felt tight and not his neck. That was unusual for him.
“I don’t like pain.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
Jeon Jungkook wished it was his neck though.
“I like you.”
She tiled her head the other way, otherwise not reacting.
“You just happen to like inflicting pain,” he said slowly, digging his nails into his palms, feeling his skin prickling from the chills of this moment, staring into one white iris, one normal iris, but what was normal anyway, because Jungkook was pretty sure that it wasn’t this, this thing he had with her. This was a drug. This was enchantment. This was…
Just one of many bad habits.
Number one was getting too many tattoos.
Number two was getting too many piercings.
Number three was getting on his knees and begging for a collar.
Her gaze sharpened.
“I don’t like inflicting pain.”
His breath caught his in his throat.
“Ineedto inflict pain.”
And Jungkook felt it, something deep inside, like fire, like a crescendo, lashing out and then the drop, the quick turn of her head and the snap of her jaw, violently throwing her arm out. They were standing in the living room of the big house that looked mostly untouched. Fancy black leather couches, sleek flat screen television, black and white shag rug with the white parts too white, and this was her living room, but it wasn’t in the sense that it seemed like she was never here. Expensively furnished, luxe brands, almost opulent in texture, contrasting the owner – black leather jacket with too many silver studs and chains, ripped-up goat skull t-shirt, short red plaid skirt with black straps hanging from D-rings, torn and tattered sheer black tights. Standing here with him, he who showed up at outside her work and she knew exactly what he wanted.
Pain.
The pain made Jungkook feel alive and she needed to know why.
At least, he sensed that that was the true question.
“Day in and day out,” she snarled, pacing, the sound of rustling leather and clinking metal, not quite looking at him because the words were not for him. They were for the cold, cold universe. “Fuck. Fuck! All the fucking time, fixing everyone’s shit, putting dumbasses back in their place, people coming up to me all the time, can you help with this, fuck, yeah, of course I can, but a bitch gets tired, a bitch gets fed up, a bitch is fucking over it, and, damnnit, fuck youDad, fuck you for not being here, not that you would ever be any fucking help because the only things you’re good at are gamblin’ and breakin’ hearts, you fucker!”
And she turned and screamed into the house, screamed into the big empty house that was her family home, yet there was no family here, just her and Jungkook standing there, witnessing this outburst that seemed a long time coming, but he let it happen.
Yoongi had told him about it.
Girls with daddy issues. Why do they have to be so good at sex?
His hyung had said it with an open-mouthed smirk. A joke but, of course, all jokes had some truth to them.
She threw her arm to the side, baring her teeth. Vicious rumble deep in her chest, her hair wild and flaring out, not quite looking at him, speaking to him but not directly. He could tell it wasn’t him that she was furious at.
“I’msick.”
Her satoori came out heavier and gruffer when she was pissed off.
It sent an appropriate shiver up his spine.
She reached up and sank her nails into her neck and raked down, gritting her teeth, scratching so hard she left red marks and Jungkook craved to have those marks on hisskin, but he needed to listen, he needed to be patient and he needed to listen.
“I don’t want to be a sweet dream. I want to be a beautiful nightmare. I want to ruin your life and make you cry alone, wishing you were being fucked up by my hands. I want to mess you up so bad no one will ever satisfy you enough because all you can think about is my grip on your chin and my spit in your mouth.”
Her piercing eyes flickered up. One white, one with a dangerous glint.
“I’m gonna fuck you up.”
It sounded like a threat.
“I’m gonna make you do some twisted, fucked-up shit.”
It made his blood sing.
“Doesn’t that sound awful?” she chuckled darkly, ticking her head.
Breathing hard, taking his breath away.
“No.”
His breathing shallow, his heartbeat fast, and Jungkook was trying to find the oxygen to speak.
“That sounds like everything I want.”
Because he was sick too. Sick and tired of being lovey-dovey-sad-and-lonely. Sick and tired of trying to be the perfect boyfriend that he wasn’t anymore because his ex-girlfriend tossed him aside like a piece of trash, sick of the perfect son that he didn’t know how to be, tired of attempting to become the perfect human that the world always talked about but never seemed to exist. Sick and tired of everyone’s expectations of him and how good-looking and smart Jungkook should be a talented artist – fuck them, fuck it all, fuck everything, he was throwing it all away and giving into her, into the collar, into the chains, because right here, standing here with chills all over and hot blood pumping through his veins, here.
Here, he was alive.
“I want to be as important to you as Yoongi-hyung is.”
Here, he was lust and he was greed.
“You are not a liar. You never pretend you’re anything you’re not. You are always yourself, no matter what. You would do it all right out in the open if you could.” Shivering breath and there was envy there, envy because she was honest with herself and it seemed so fucking easy for her, whereas he could only be that way with her. Lowering his chin, lifting his eyes, and he was afraid but he didn’t know how to lie to orbs of white and danger. “I don’t care who sees, I don’t care who knows, I don’t care what anyone says about me anymore, I just want to stare into your eyes and lose myself in you and, if there’s pain in you, I’ll take that too.”
Here, in her grasp, Jungkook was free.
So, now when she said pull, Jungkook pulled and watched the thick black leather snap against Min Yoongi’s pale throat, watched the collar press against the sides of his neck and those dark brown, cat-like eyes flash, causing blood and unexplainable emotion to rise to the surface and here, right here, pullmeant let go.
Jungkook let go of all preconceived notions and he let himself feel.
Feel his own blood scream against the constriction, feel his scorching skin erupting all over in prickling anticipation, feel her fingers close in on his thigh. Bony fingers pressing in, sharp nails sinking onto his flesh, white-hot scratches that made his breath hitch and his back arch slightly, choking himself more, and still Yoongi didn’t let go, holding tight and rigid, keeping eye contact with him.
Jungkook couldn’t look away.
There was definitely something wrong about this but, lost in the lust-induced haze, he couldn’t imagine why.
Her face appeared in his periphery. Demonic grin. A little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy. She pried her hand from his thigh and raised it high, clearly visible. Long fingers, lined palm, capable of an inescapable grip.
She spat on her palm.
First one and then the other.
Jungkook whimpered, his heart pounding in his ribcage, gripping tight on the silver chain, inked knuckles and tense forearm covered in too many tattoos, or at least that’s what everyone said, but who gave a shit what everyone said, fuck them all, too entranced by every movement, watching her hands drop, too expectant for the touch, hot gasp, spreading his knees out more, and then her saliva-slicked hand wrapped around his hard, aching cock, wet and tight and inescapable. Slow. Up, ridges of her fingers contrasting the slippery friction, glossing over the swollen head. Thumb pressed to the underside and rubbing under the slit, sending a jolt up his spine and down his thighs. Down, tightening her grip again, faintest hint of her nails dancing along the length, so light that he almost didn’t feel it which only made the sparks catch and the fire in his core burn into an embarrassing twitch that caused pre-cum to join her saliva the next time her hand ascended.
Holy.
Shit.
His head tilting back, but Jungkook didn’t miss it, didn’t miss the rush of pleasure that suddenly consumed Yoongi’s normally composed face and dark eyes, tipping his head back too. Black lashes lowering, shuddering breath, the other man’s lips dark pink and trembling, erotic and picturesque, and this was wrong, wasn’t it, thinning blood flow and satisfaction burning up from his core, but if this was wrong then why did it feel so good?
Why did he want to twist his hand and pull harder and choke his hyung more?
She leaned over and licked Yoongi’s cheek.
Those sharp features scrunched up a bit, slight discomfort, but mostly biting back any possible pathetic sounds. Yoongi was much better at it than he was, but at this point Jungkook didn’t care what he sounded like, didn’t pay attention.
He was too fixated on the obscene scene before him.
Her soft lips pressed into Yoongi’s cheekbone. Tip of her tongue against fair skin, Jungkook could hear it, the sound of her lips and her nimble, wet muscle; feel it, tighter, faster, her hand pumping his cock harder and the pleasure shooting through his veins; see it, the delicate, sensual trail of kisses that dipped down and made Yoongi’s eyes close, and then it was lips to lips, passionate lovemaking of tongues and his hyung’s deep moan trapped in his chest.
Forced to listen to the sound of tongues thrusting into their connected mouths, stolen breath and suppressed sound, saliva exchanged and swallowing.
There was a low, raspy hiss of her name, contented gratification.
Jungkook pulled harder and choked Yoongi more.
She broke the kiss.
When her head retreated, Jungkook came face-to-face with Yoongi’s open-mouthed smirk.
“Jealous?” his hyung chuckled, dark and sinister.
And then Yoongi yanked up on the chain.
-
He was enjoying this.
Should or shouldn’t did not matter to Min Yoongi. He did what he wanted because he could, because it was fun, and because it was a challenge. It was a challenge winding the metal links around his palm once more to shorten it, forcing Jungkook’s head higher, feeling her hand slide up and down his throbbing cock, fuck, he needed it, but not yet, not yet, watching that demonic grin hover above Jungkook’s face, a little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy.
She dangled her glistening tongue above Jungkook’s open mouth.
From here, Yoongi could spy the quivering mole right at the center of those shapely lips.
“P… Please…”
Yoongi knew they made a good team, him and her.
He wound the chain around his hand, closing the gap between his fingers and Jungkook’s chin.
“Please what?” she teased, gravelly and rough.
Yoongi saw those lashes lower, those big brown eyes closing, hiding from his hyung’s eyes, maybe, but not that much because Jungkook’s legs were open, his hips were raised, his chest was straining, and he was getting his dick jacked off right in front of Yoongi’s face. There wasn’t much to hide as he begged.
“S-Spit in my mouth… please…”
Mouth opening, and Yoongi kept it wide with two fingers on Jungkook’s cheeks, feeling the vibration of his whine through his fingertips, and then she leaned down.
Spat in the younger man’s throat.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He opened his hips more and thrust into her hand, letting out a tense exhale as Jungkook moaned, wanton and wet, his eyelids fluttering and his eyes rolling back, swallowing ravenously, and Yoongi could hear it, see it, feel it under his own palm, realizing Jungkook had loosened his grip in his ecstasy, leaving Yoongi with too much oxygen and not enough restraint.
Yoongi unwound his hand and tugged down, snapping younger man’s head down forcefully.
Those big brown eyes snapped open, shock and confusion, and then widening, witnessing the view before him, and Yoongi had a fleeting moment of, fuck, I don’t look as good as he does, but it came and went, because the second Yoongi pulled his arm back and really choked Jungkook, the grip on his cock tightened and soft lips wrapped around the head, dripping saliva and hot tongue against sensitive skin, sending his world aflame with pleasure.
“Fuck!”
Jungkook got the hint and tugged hard.
And then the world was flashes and gasps, tongue swirling, saliva dripping, hand descending and two fingers hooking around his balls to spread out the wetness as the head of his cock was trapped between her lips. Suffocating tightness, agile tongue all over, hand ascending, sharp hiss tearing from his throat, fuck, so fucking good, pumping him roughly once more, heavenly mouth now removed, but everything was slippery and slick again, breath and blood drained, hazily witnessing the euphoria as Jungkook received the same treatment, and now oxygen and thoughts dissipated, in hell but this was the circle of lust, locking his elbow and choking Jungkook as the younger man choked him. Collar to collar, chain to chain, tan tattooed skin covered in a sheen of sweat, large brown eyes open and drinking in every detail as Yoongi did the same, open thighs, intense pace, rippling chest, and Yoongi ticked his chin, fuck what the world says, I am just as much of man as he is, and there was anger in the thought, defiance, narrowing his eyes and vowing to last longer, not that this was a competition but why not add another layer to the insanity?
Eye contact and Yoongi didn’t say anything, just growled in response, telling Jungkook that he knew he was being seen, that he knew he was being watched, that he knew he could barely breathe and barely think, and above all that he knew he wasn’t going to lose and he wasn’t going to back down.
Jungkook whimpered, his gaze glassy and drunk on depraved desire.
“C… Cum with m-me…”
Out of all the things, that shaky whisper might have delivered the strongest surge of pleasure yet.
Thathadto be twisted.
Yoongi felt himself smirk.
The only way he knew how to take it was too far.
“Go ahead. Cum all over me.”
He watched white teeth sink into pink lower lip, exposing that tiny mole perfectly under the center, and truly this was fucked, the eerie satisfaction Yoongi got from those furrowed brows and lust-consumed brown orbs framed in black hair and silver piercings, brow and lip and ears, clenched jaw and prominent muscles on neck and torso, and Yoongi cocked his head despite it all, rolling his hips forward, closer, seeing Jungkook move his too, rising the challenge, and this was a little psychotic, a little mischief in Yoongi’s smirk reflected in Jungkook’s watering eyes, a lot sexy as Yoongi succumbed to the pleasure and grinned at the same time Jungkook moaned and threw his head back, cutting off his sound with a gargle, and the world that had been bleeding black hazed to a flash of darkness.
Jungkook came all over his thighs and between his open legs, strings of thick hot cum painting his equally burning skin, and Yoongi sucked in a razor-sharp inhale, peaking at the point of airlessness from holding his own breath, shooting white onto those thick, muscular, tanned thighs, his orgasm clinging to them even as they violently shuddered and bucked, slick cream dripping down the curves.
They let go.
The chains fell, slapping them in the chest and legs, smearing the cum.
The rushing oxygen knocked the wind out of Yoongi, making him cough and shake his head tensely, then a groan tumbled out of him, sudden soothing wet heat, and he cracked his eyes open, seeing her lick off Jungkook’s cum on his thighs, switching between him and the younger man, the depth of their moans mixing. One raspy, one silvery, both hoarse. Wet tongue all over sensitive and overstimulated skin, sharp nails gripping their hips, hint of pain, and that made it perfect.
Yoongi looked up, his palms on the bed behind him, panting.
Jungkook felt the eyes on him and gazed back, slightly unfocused, trapped in the carnage of the aftermath, sweat making his toned chest glisten. Yoongi smirked, open-mouthed and devious, deliberately looking Jungkook up and down.
“Should get a mirror next time so you can see yourself.”
He found perverse pleasure in seeing Jungkook’s cheeks flush red, tucking his chin down to cover his face with his long black hair, unable to keep eye contact any longer.
The only way Yoongi knew how to take it was too far.
-
It was true.
You were sick and tired of being alone.
It wasn’t as if you wanted your dad to be home. What was he gonna do? Become to dad he never was? No. You were too old for that shit anyway. And besides, it wasn’t like you didn’t understand it. Being an adult sucked. He was real good at gambling. So good that you were standing in a big house and you could buy big cars and big rings with your father’s winnings. Everyone liked to say that money couldn’t buy happiness.
But you know what it could buy?
It could buy two matching collars and silver chains.
Only someone born rich could say something like money can’t buy happiness, because everyone else knew that happiness was security, and security was lying between a sleeping Jeon Jungkook and dozing Min Yoongi and having your hands wrapped around each silver chain, running your fingers over the immobile links, soaking in the depraved satisfaction that gave you. Sure, maybe you had daddy issues that gave you bad, bad habits, but everyone had a sin and yours being lust only bothered those whose predominant sin was envy.
You felt Jungkook’s hand on your hip, pulling himself closer. Pressed his body against yours, craving the closeness and the maximum amount of touch. Yoongi’s fingertips were running down the tendon of your wrist, murmuring your name.
“Yeah?”
“Happy?” he mumbled, a one-word question.
You smiled to the dark.
You weren’t wearing your white contact lens. It was time to sleep.
pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook, mentions of namjoon x reader
Do not read this before reading the full a–dick–ted au. Although these events occur before the entirety of the a–dick–ted au, the significance will be lost unless the rest is read first.
warnings:rated M (18+) for language, mentions of alcohol consumption; everyone is fucking around (literally); dreams of smut (fem reader, nipple play, fingering, f-receiving oral, penetrative sex, doggy, spanking, choking, scratching / marking); non-idol!AU
inspired by TXT’s new album, The Chaos Chapter: FREEZE based on this
–
now playing – anti-romantic by TOMORROW X TOGETHER
He didn’t know it then.
He couldn’t dream of what was to come.
He didn’t know this moment would change him forever.
“This is my friend, Min Yoongi.”
“Hello.”
She didn’t pay very much attention to him and he didn’t pay much attention to her. They merely exchanged names, waved in greeting, and went back to their respective moments. She stood next to Kim Namjoon, hands in her pockets, not really looking at the people he was introducing her to. An awkward air, yet Namjoon stood beside her protectively. She chewed on her lip, nodding as another member of the friend group acknowledged her. Yoongi didn’t think much of her. She wasn’t his type. Baggy black cargo pants, loose black t-shirt, black cap.
His type was short skirts and easy.
Min Yoongi was a bad boy.
He smirked and pressed the girl beside him to his chest. She giggled and smacked him, playfully pretending to push him away. He wouldn’t call her in the morning and she would probably barely remember him, seeing how drunk she was.
Min Yoongi was a playboy.
He didn’t know.
Later, he was kissing his fuck of the night and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her and Namjoon in a corner. She was in Namjoon’s lap, her cap on the seat beside him, Namjoon’s hands all over her waist and ass. Yoongi pushed the girl down to his neck, letting her sloppily make out with his skin, watching Namjoon’s kind-of, sort-of girlfriend.
He didn’t know why.
Something about the way she was kissing his friend.
She wasn’t dressed sexy, but she moved like it, sensual, deep kisses, grinding in Namjoon’s lap, her hands sliding up into his dark hair. Words exchanged. Her eyes opening slightly, half-lidded and looking around them. For a split second, her gaze and Yoongi’s gaze connected, drawn to each other like a moth to flame. Yoongi only had a fragment of an instant to see those blown-out pupils and then Namjoon’s hand was creeping up the front of her shirt, kneading her breasts through the fabric.
Her attention was gone from him.
And his from her.
Min Yoongi didn’t care about anything.
Weird that when he fucked that girl in her apartment that night, he thought about those eyes.
Orgasmed thinking about them.
Those eyes had been searching for something. Yoongi wasn’t sure if she was looking at the actual people around her or something else. But it felt like something else. He didn’t know why.
He simply felt that way.
-
Yoongi closed his eyes and dreamed.
In his dream, her. Namjoon’s kind-of, sort-of girlfriend.
Except she wasn’t with Namjoon. She was wearing a sinfully short red satin dress, tight in all the right places, molded to every curve, his leather jacket over his shoulders. She looked sexy as fuck in red. Just so fucking beautiful on her own, standing there, surrounded by his black leather.
She turned her head and looked at him.
He couldn’t breathe.
Down, like he was falling, falling, and then his head collided with pillows, gasping, and she was on top of him, hungry kisses, tumbling, him grabbing her shoulders and pushing her down, so hot, her sounds filling his ears, his name a wanton moan, and he couldn’t stop, sliding between her legs, instant bliss, fucking her into the bed, surrounded by soft navy sheets, that mouth calling his name, those eyes looking into his soul, and the sound, fuck, her sound, music to his ears, the wet slap of their bodies, her whimpers, the way she said his name.
She had never said his name in real life, but in this dream, she said it like she had been saying it all her life.
And he could feelit, feel the way her pussy wrapped around his hard length, squeezing him, sucking him in, wanting him, and he was hazy, intoxicated, drunk.
Addicted.
It shot through him, the pleasure invasive and unavoidable, clawing through his veins, setting them all on fire, and he wanted it, those blown-out pupils and that fucked-out expression, he wanted it, that open mouth, pretty pink hole just begging to have his cock shoved into it, he wanted it, that body squirming under him, thighs and ass and tits and back, he wanted to watch cum drip down all over this body and spread it around with his hands, coating her with the thick scent of his orgasm, capturing her lips and thrusting his tongue into that mouth, her whines shoved back into her lungs.
Yoongi wanted it.
In this dream, he shoved her against the wall, pressed her down onto the kitchen counter, dragged her into his lap, put her on her knees on the floor, and fucked her, fucked her, and fucked her, and it was never enough, it never seemed to be enough, and he couldn’t stop, he just couldn’t stop wanting to fuck her so, so bad.
He wanted it so bad.
Wanted her to say his name, to grip onto his shoulders, to tip her head back as his hand wrapped around her neck and his cock assaulted her pussy, legs and arms and voice wrapped all around him, begging for more, here, there, everywhere, somewhere, nowhere.
Darkness.
Swallowing him up.
And then he was alone.
No, not alone.
But not with her.
Yoongi felt himself running, running, the world in darkness. A hand in his hand, holding tight, stumbling, looking for the black light that was her, chasing the moment. The never-ending moment of his lips on her lips, in the safety of the impossible.
-
The funny thing about dreams is, they’re too easy to forget.
Yoongi awoke with a start, tangled in unknown sheets, in a stranger’s bed. It was early morning. The sun hadn’t even rose yet. He was naked. The girl he fucked last night was naked and passed out. The details slipped away from him rapidly, all of it, but he remembered the sex the night before was nothing like his dream.
The sex last night before was fucking trash.
He got up quietly and yanked on his clothes, taking all his belongings, not giving a single shit, not bothering being nice about it. It didn’t mean anything, and it never did.
His head hurt a little, but not that bad. He picked up his phone, deleting the girl’s number right there in her own bedroom before shoving it in his pocket. He stepped outside the unknown apartment and started walking, hands in his pockets, looking for where he was, forgetting all about the dream and last night’s fuck.
Deep down, Yoongi felt an ache.
A want.
He couldn’t place it though. Didn’t know why.
Something brushed past his ear and it almost sounded like his name, breathless and full of lust.
Yoongi turned his head, his short black hair fluffing in the wind, but there was nothing but the stale air of dawn. He frowned, turning back forward, a sudden thought intruding his mind.
The best sex is still…
Who?
Yoongi looked up into the sky that was beginning to break into light, but, inside him, he was trapped in what seemed like endless darkness.
The funny thing about dreams is, even if you forget them, they don’t forget you.
—
now playing – ‘0X1=LOVESONG (i know i love you) ft. seori’ by TOMORROW X TOGETHER
He couldn’t do anything to stop himself.
When he was awake, he did whatever. He messed around, he drank, he fooled around with feelings and bodies, but never too much, never too far. He dressed nice to attract the sweet compliments, showering himself with praise and validation from others to feed his insecurities, but his heart belonged to that soulmate he would find one day, so he couldn’t get careless and give away his first experience to anyone.
It had to be that one, that person, all or nothing.
Jeon Jungkook believed that.
He believed that when he met this person, he would know instantly. That was how it was in movies and shows, right? The chance meeting, eyes to eyes, and the two main characters just knew, life giving them every chance to fall in love, the perfect moment of falling flower petals and birds singing in the background as they kissed for the first time.
So, why?
Why couldn’t his brain stop?
He didn’t even remember how they met. Not at all. He was probably drunk, and it was only an introduction anyway. Kim Namjoon introduced her as his friend, even though it was obvious they were sex friends. That wasn’t his person. The person for Jungkook would be like him. Waiting for the one. The moment of falling flower petals and birds singing in the background.
He hadn’t waited for his first kiss, but he had decided that wasn’t as important as his first time. He had been young then. He didn’t know the magic, the power, the importance of love. He knew that now, so he simply always stopped before the final moment. He would do everything else but that.
He had to wait and look for it.
Where was his moment?
Where was his euphoria?
Where was his forever dream?
Slowly, Jungkook was losing.
He would throw himself onto his bed of soft navy sheets and fall asleep, alone, the frustration festering inside his heart, infested and infected.
-
In his dreams.
Her.
It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know her. He had only seen her a handful of times and they barely spoke. He didn’t even ask questions when Namjoon and her parted ways. He didn’t care. She wasn’t the one. She didn’t give him that feeling, so unless she wanted to be a side mission to his quest, he didn’t pay any attention to her.
And yet.
In his dreams, her.
Crawling onto his bed, shedding her clothes, delicate hand sliding up his abs, smelling like whiskey, pine, and leather even though that wasn’t what she smelled like whenever she hung out with him and his friends. Jungkook didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why he could feel this touch, he didn’t understand why it made him hot, he didn’t understand why his hand always reached down and pulled her to him, his lips crashing to those malleable lips, her mewls vibrating in his mouth, soft body flush against his hard one. His hands slid between her legs, forcing them apart, kissing down that body line, the smooth texture of her skin on his lips and tongue, fuck, breasts so soft and the taste of her nipples in his mouth, swelling a little as he sucked, lapping at it with the tip of his wet muscle and hearing her moan his name, a moan he had never, ever heard in his whole life, but she said it like she had been saying it forever and ever.
Jungkook didn’t understand why he could feel everything.
He could feel it, his mouth on that heat, guttural moan emitting from his throat as he tasted it, sweet like candy, his fingers digging into soft thighs, spreading them open as his tongue traced circles around that opening that he had never sampled before, thrusting his tongue in and groaning, getting hard because he could feel her muscles close around his tongue, his nose rubbing the sensitive nub covered in slick juices, sliding the wet muscle back out and encompassing her clit with his lips, licking at it and it swelled, engorged with pleasure, listening to her soft cries, his cock getting harder and harder, looking up at that face and seeing her head tipped back, mouth open, sucking on her clit more harshly, her trembling body shaking his own, surrounded by delightful sin as her juices flooded his mouth and her lustful voice whimpering his name flooded his ears, so turned on that he had to clamp his thighs around his cock to get it to calm down.
The dreams got worse.
His fingers shoved inside her, feeling her pussy walls wrapped around them, her hands gripping his shirt and her gasps in his ear as he thrust his fingers into her roughly, her softness to his hardness, wetter, louder, something between his teeth that tasted artificially sweet, and she leaned in and sucked it into her mouth, swallowing it before kissing him, ravenous, needy, whimpering his name, his fingers soaked to the knuckles.
And then.
In between her legs, his thick, hard length pushing into that tightness, oh, fuck, and it was perfect, wonderful, so tight, so wet, so soft. His hips rocking, plunging into that heat over and over, and she was breathless from his power, wrists pinned down by his hands as he fucked her into his bed, rough massage of her orgasm up and down his hardness, oh, so good, so hot, so sexy, so real, he could feel it like she was right there, wailing his name as he pumped his cock into her forcefully and came, shooting his cum inside that perfect pussy wrapped around him, fitted to every contour of his jerking length, made just for him.
Jungkook didn’t understand.
He dreamt these dreams all the time. Whenever his eyes closed and he slipped into darkness, she came to him, and he rushed to her, hungry to feel it again, the lust the seemed never-ending, the way she said his name, the way her nails dug into his skin and scratched him up, the way her breath caught when his hand was around her neck, ecstasy painted on her beautiful features as he thrust up into her, smacking hips to hips, so hard he could feel it bruise, and he loved it, he loved the feeling that seemed so real, so fucking real that it was starting to be better than his actual flings.
But Jungkook could do nothing.
She didn’t look at him.
To be honest, she expressed nothing but annoyance with his presence.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
It was supposed to be a perfect moment.
It couldn’t be her.
Her fingers would be twisted in a leather coat, her lips parting as Min Yoongi filled her ears with words Jungkook couldn’t hear, watching his hyung’s fingertips graze her thigh. And just as soon as they touched, they would break apart.
Jungkook was confused.
Like ships in the night, Namjoon’s past lover, his kind-of, sort-of ex-girlfriend would walk by Min Yoongi and something would be exchanged, something Jungkook couldn’t quite tell or see, until it was obvious, short skirts and cropped tops, Yoongi dragging her into hallways, into bathrooms, into dark corners, doing things to her, things Jungkook dreamed about every night now, things that he had never considered or didn’t even know he could do.
The more of her body was revealed to him, the more Jungkook wanted it.
But he couldn’t.
But he wantedit, wanted her under him moaning his name, wanted her hands on his body, wanted his cock to be the one to make her feel good. Jungkook wanted it and he didn’t understand why, because love was falling flower petals and birds singing in the background, not him dragging her on hands and knees and pounding her from behind, groaning as he savored the feeling of his crotch harshly smacking into her plump ass, his open palm slapping the softness and making it jiggle for him, leaving red marks and crescents of his nails because he was grabbing her hips so tightly while shooting his load into that warm, wet tightness, listening to her wanton moan of his name.
Jungkook could think about nothing else.
Addicted.
He would lay in bed and close his eyes, remembering his dreams, stroking his hard length with his hand and imagining it was hers, fucking his own hand and imagining her holding his cock, not even needing her to do the moving because just her presence was enough, just knowing that she was there, waiting to be used by him, and that thought alone was enough to make him orgasm with an aching gasp, pressing his head back into the pillows and shooting thick spurts of cum all over his hand and thighs, globs of whiteness dripping down and covering him with his scent, imagining it was her he was painting with his cum, smearing it onto her tits, her face, her stomach, her ass, her legs, everything, everywhere, all over.
He couldn’t make it stop.
He wanted it.
Needed it.
Needed her.
Jungkook just knew.
There was no way he could make it stop.
No, there was.
One way.
Could he?
“Hyung?”
Min Yoongi looked up from his glass of whiskey, leather jacket creaking, smelling like pine. His black hair over dark brown eyes, cat-like and indifferent to the world around him.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
—
now playing – frost by TOMORROW X TOGETHER
Silence.
A silent night for the first time in a long time.
For the past couple months, your nights had been filled with heavy breaths, the slap of skin to skin, deep whispers of your name. Strong hands wrapped around you, full lips capturing yours, pressed cheek to dimpled cheek, his large frame towering over you, full of warmth and lust.
And now.
Nothing.
Because you had asked it to stop.
You shifted in your pillows, turning your phone over in your hand.
“I appreciate you being upfront about it. To be honest, I wasn’t really getting the vibes from you either.”
That’s what Kim Namjoon said to you.
“I’d like to still be friends though. Would you?”
You didn’t need to hesitate.
“I’d like that, Namjoon.”
He had smiled at you, wide and full, dimples on full display.
You turned your phone over in your hand.
You thought you would regret it. At least feel disappointed. Sad. Something. Anything.
Nothing.
It wasn’t that serious. It was just sex. You weren’t his girlfriend. You didn’t want it to be more than that. He did. It was better this way, for you and Namjoon. He could find what he needed, because it wasn’t you.
You stopped turning your phone in your hand.
Remembering black hair and dark, cat-like eyes.
Remembering the closeness.
Remembering his words.
“Are you wet?”
Your words.
“Are you hard?”
The shiver you felt at his response.
“Yeah.”
He told the truth, so you did too.
“Yes.”
You looked up at the ceiling, remembering the way his deft fingers danced in the air. Teasing you. Making you wonder what he could do with them.
summary:The cat has asked the little birdie to make an appearance. You have been turning down private dances, preferring to focus on the art and glamour of the burlesque shows themselves. Besides, old money was entitled, twice your age, and, worst of all, ugly,inside and out. But Min Yoongi doubled his original offer and, well, he isnew money.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is a burlesque dancer, caged bird performance based on Dita Von Teese; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, tiny bit of striptease, red lipstick kisses on nether regions (oop), m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - cocky, rich!Yoongi x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader; a little drabble based on this ask
–
He cocked an eyebrow at you, holding the handle of the leather crop in between his perfect white teeth.
You cocked one back, covered in diamonds, rubies, and red feathers.
The room was silent except for breathing.
These walls were soundproof.
You leaned forward, lids lowered, staring at those dark brown, cat-like eyes through your lashes, your tongue extending, the warmth of his skin and his breath against your lips. You licked the handle. His pink tongue flickered out, brushing against yours.
Instant electricity.
You retreated sharply, eyes narrowing.
“You were instructed not to touch, Min Yoongi.”
The man in the expensive designer clothes tilted his head at your cold tone, not responding. He surveyed you calmly, hint of a smirk around the leather crop, his hands behind his back. Primly tailored black vest with black satin piping with matching slacks. Silk handkerchief, cobalt blue, matching his silk shirt with the subtle checkered pattern and designer logo stitched into the squares, tone on tone. Despairingly expensive, but not gaudy or over the top. Didn’t need to be. The sheen in his black hair indicated it was pampered and well taken care of. The shine of his black oxfords indicated real leather. The strength and potency of his spiced cologne made him smell like the pure sex he was from presence alone.
Behind you, your two bodyguards stood side by side, sunglasses on, unmoving.
You agreed to this private dance when Yoongi said he was willing to pay double the initial amount he offered.
New money really spent it on the dumbest shit.
You leaned forward again, watching him carefully. You were wearing long opera-style gloves made of a lush red sparkling fabric, embellished with intricate stitching.
Lifted your hand, turning it around, palm up.
“Drop.”
He only moved his lower jaw, the leather handle falling from his lips and right into your palm.
You flicked your wrist and ran the crop up the inside of his thigh, forcefully spreading his knees with one of yours, narrowing your eyes, nicking the flared end against his crotch.
Lesser man would have jumped away.
Min Yoongi was not a lesser man.
He confidently spread his legs and tipped his head back, black hair falling over one eye, smirk on those shapely pink lips. He didn’t speak or make a sound. It was disconcerting but somehow intriguing in its own way.
As if he didn’t need to speak to indicate confidence in his position.
He was a caged bird in this private room, willingly trapped by you.
You smiled.
Fitting, for the theme of your burlesque show tonight had been a large steel birdcage at the center of the stage and you inside it, dancing within the visible enclosure, skillful hands holding onto the metal bars, lush hips swaying to ruffle the feathers attached to create a half-skirt that mimicked tailfeathers of an exotic bird. You were still wearing some of the pieces now, the lingerie, the tailfeathers, and the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies splayed out on your collarbones and chest.
You slid onto Yoongi’s lap, closing his legs with yours, entering the alluring aura that seemed to surround him, trapping the leather crop between your crotch and his. Slow exhale, mixing with his as he lowered his chin to look you in the eye, unafraid.
“Hello, little birdie.”
You did not typically touch the men you danced for. They were usually old, crass, and undeserving of your touch. You treated it as business because that was what it was. A simple service for money. Nowadays, you cut back on the private dancing and upped your price. It just wasn’t worth it, being so close to such filth.
But.
Every once in a while.
Sometimes, you got young money like Min Yoongi.
You dragged the crop up his abdomen, up his chest, shifting your arm in a graceful swoop, turning it so it grazed his cheek, outlining that high cheekbone and elegant jaw. You stared into his eyes and he stared back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips, not backing down.
Sometimes, you got someone fuckable like Min Yoongi.
“Do you think you’re in charge here, Yoongi?” you murmured dangerously.
He ticked his head.
“I’m usually in charge everywhere I go,” he chuckled. Deep, husky voice edged with amusement. “It’s very tiring being the king and the boss all the time.”
Slow blink, piercing gaze on you with a wry smile.
“I would like to have a break from that.”
You sucked in a breath.
Min Yoongi was more than fuckable.
He was going to get fucked, tonight, by you.
You closed the distance, swiping the flared end of the crop against his lips, pressing inward, taking in his smooth fair skin, his even breath, his calm demeanor, and suddenly you wanted to mess it up, you wanted to tear down this placid façade and find what was underneath, find the passion and desire you could see shimmering in those dark brown orbs, challenging you to draw it out.
“Do you understand the position you’re in, Min Yoongi?”
He chuckled, voice low and smooth.
“Little birdie and her two shadows, I understand very well and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
Damn.
He was good.
You tossed the leather crop to the floor and captured his lips, inhaling his cologne and his scent.
Yoongi did not move his arms, devouring your lips, hungry and intense, deft tongue flickering, testing the boundaries, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, winding with his, hot and fluid and lustful, your hands sliding up his chest and reaching his shoulders, fingers one by one falling into place, sliding your lower body up to his, sucking in his breath, heat to hardness, your body heavier from all the jewels, but Yoongi seemed unbothered, deepening the kiss and sucking on your tongue, humming contentedly.
Even though he said he wanted a break, old habits were even harder to break.
You broke the kiss forcefully, the immaculate waves of your hair tumbling down your shoulder, seeing the red lipstick smeared on those shapely, smirking lips, his eyes drifting to yours.
You lowered your arms, slowly curving your hand, pulling back your arms in one smooth arc, fingers splayed, shoulders back. Measured, slow breath, always on form, every movement a performance. He watched closely as you reached back, unhooking and unlacing the tailfeather skirt with expert precision, keeping eye contact. You didn’t need to look to undo it.
You didn’t need to look when you released it, knowing one of your bodyguards had already stepped forward to catch it, retreating to place it aside.
Yoongi smiled, dark eyes gleaming.
“An agile little birdie, I see.”
He did not need to verbalize your beauty or attractiveness.
You could see it in the way he looked at you.
Startling how lucky you were to have met such fuckable young money tonight.
You placed a gloved hand on his chest and slid one leg back, then the other, red soles clicking, tracing down his torso, kneeling now, dancing fingertips up and down his thighs, admiring them and letting him know with your gaze. Black hair over one eye again, small smile on his lips, and yet you noticed the pink tinge on his ears.
Interesting.
You retreated your hand.
Brought it to your lips.
One by one, tugging at the tips of each finger with your teeth, loosening the glove.
Dark brown orbs watched you, entranced and fascinated.
Gripping the middle finger with your other hand, tugging on the opera glove, sliding it off with one swift arc of your arm, bringing your hand behind your head as it came off, tossing the glove aside carelessly. Yoongi couldn’t see, but your hand was poised behind your head, always aware of even the unseen details, bringing the other glove to your lips and doing the same, one by one, loosening the tightness before your hand flourished out from behind your head and your arm mirrored the previous arc, into the air and behind your head, throwing the discarded glove in the opposite direction of the first. Yoongi watched with patient, precise interest, like a cat observing a bird.
He smiled appreciatively, enjoying the show.
It seemed precious, Yoongi’s smile.
A strange thought.
Painted red nails gliding up his thighs, following the shape, tracing the waistband, parted lips smeared with lipstick, the tremble of his body finally evident and, with a tight inhale, you realized you too were breathing shallowly, matching him, looking up to see his pupils dilating, his hands still behind his back.
Your index finger traced the fastening of his slacks.
Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow, questioning.
You undid it while staring at his face.
Lowered the zipper, having to lift it because of his straining erection, seeing Yoongi clench his jaw, legs tensing, shoulders shaking, watching your face, hands, the diamonds laden on your collarbones and cleavage, equally embellished bra and panties covering everything else, but it was impossible to deny, incapable to resist, inescapable sensuality between you and Yoongi, a stranger until tonight, a shadow in the crowd until this moment, now well defined by light and lust, raising his hips so you could lower his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, sitting in a heavy ornate chair in a private room with your bodyguards right behind you as you lowered your head and your lipstick-covered lips to his thigh.
Red kisses imprinted on that fair skin, shudders under your breath.
Travelling up to his hard length, tongue slipping out, tracing a fat stripe over hot, taut skin, your satisfied sigh melding with his soft hiss at the contact of your wet muscle to his hard, twitching cock.
You drifted your gaze back up to his, lazy and purposeful.
Yoongi looked down at the red lipstick kisses and his cock quivering against your warm breath, leisurely lapping at the underside of his length. His voice was a low octave, almost raspy.
“Little birdie…”
The first time he said it, it had been borderline mocking, but now there was a fondness to it. Admiration. Appreciation. Adoration.
It made your core burn and heat spread all over your lower belly, dripping between your legs.
Black hair over his eyes, breathing hard, maintaining eye contact.
“Please.”
Simple.
Effective.
Sexy.
You closed your mouth around the head of his cock, tongue lapping the underside, his scent invading your nose and your lipstick coating his skin, your fingers lacing over his hips, sliding that thick length down your tongue and into your throat, his soft moan drifting from his. He was losing control of his hands, slamming them down onto the seat of the chair and clutching the sides, manicured fingers tense, knuckles white. You tilted your head and ran the head against the curve of your teeth, heartbeat racing as you witnessed Yoongi gasping at the sensation, his broad shoulders flexing, his hips trembling in your grip, struggling to stay still.
Losing control.
Maybe he didn’t spend his money poorly after all.
You ticked an eyebrow and adjusted your head again, tongue extending past your lips, suffocating your throat with the swollen tip and cutting off your air, curling your tongue around his balls, scooping them up and pressing them to your lips, dripping saliva onto the seat, eyes on his the entire time, choking yourself on his cock and licking his balls with a blazing, intense stare. No need to say who was in charge because you knew it and he knew it, growling deep in his chest, shivering in his designer clothes from primal desire that required no such things.
You were the same, diamonds or not.
Lust feeding off lust, money or not, you probably would have fucked Yoongi regardless and you could see it in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.
You pulled back and began your pace, swallowing his length hungrily, tongue all over the base of the head, stimulating the thin skin and his sensitive nerves, his breathing turning into involuntarily gasps.
Faster.
Rougher.
Tighter.
Finding that sweet spot, that moment where his expression changed and his irises were overtaken by black, mouth open and panting, locking his shoulders and his hips, feeling him throb in your constricting mouth, just a little tighter to prolong his orgasm, making it a little more difficult so he had to chase it, his handsome face wincing, black strands fallen over his eyes, his body humming with energy and arousal, so close, you could see it, smell it, hear it, his suppressed hisses and darting eyes, taking in the whole image, your back, the curve of your ass, your hands on his thighs, fingers splayed out, your mouth on him, taking him there, there, earning his wanton moans and fluttering lashes, twitching hardness and then he threw his head back, neck straining against his buttoned collar, a perfect image, his hips bucking up, lost control, spilling into your throat with a sinful gasp, his chest prominent against the silk shirt and vest, begging to be freed from its confines.
You swallowed it all, savoring his strong taste, delicious as his body.
He lowered his head slowly, panting, his previously neatly combed hair messy now, cheekbones glowing with a faint sheen of sweat.
You licked him off just as slowly, finding his dark brown, cat-like eyes once more.
Yoongi smiled at you, cocking an eyebrow.
Your bodyguards would probably prefer you to stop here, but you had other plans.
You popped your mouth off, a drip of saliva snapping against your chin, rising, poised on red soles and leaning down, capturing that waiting smirk, one of your hands lifting to toy with the buttons on his vest. First undoing one. Then one more.
“Touch me,” you whispered.
Yoongi’s hands flew up and gripped your waist, promising all night.
pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of past hoseok x reader
summary:Min Yoongi saves a life and then has sex. Is it the best choice? No. Does he do it anyway? Yeah.
warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug use, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts, mentions of past cheating, smut (oral, m and f receiving)
–
Fuck it.
He had to do something. Yoongi stood up, grabbing his phone. His white t-shirt got caught in the chair and he stumbled, cursing at himself. He was a mess already and nothing had happened yet. He grabbed his black sweatpants and yanked them on, opening his door with purpose. Being in limbo wasn’t going to help him, so it was time to take the situation in his own hands. He strode to her door, heart pounding in his chest.
Get a grip, he scolded himself.
He tapped his knuckle against her door, saying her name loudly. Startled by his own volume, he lowered his voice, chewing on his lower lip as he spoke.
“Hey, I want to show you my mixtape. If that’s okay with you,” he finished awkwardly, wincing. He should have thought about what to say. There was a long silence. He pressed his lips together. He was losing his nerve. Each second felt like an eternity.
And then he heard the rustle of fabric. He could sense a form on the other side of the door. For some reason, he lifted his hand and touched the wood, knowing it was the only thing separating them now.
“The song… the song we worked on. I really want you to hear it.” Please.
He heard the lock turn and the door opened. The eyes that looked at him, he would remember for the rest of his life. Bloodshot, giant black pools that threatened to swallow him alive and a sadness he knew all too well. Her hands were stuffed into the sleeves of her huge grey sweatshirt and the matching long shorts made her look even smaller, a tiny thing quivering in her doorframe.
He was tall enough to see past her, into her room. It was a neat room, except for the low table at the foot of her bed. The tabletop was covered in photos that he couldn’t quite see. And in the center was a glass palette.
With ten lines of white powder.
His eyes widened. Panic shot through his veins and he grabbed her collar, inspecting her face, her nose, dragging her into the room. She didn’t even fight him, a dead weight in his hands. Her expression was lifeless, tired.
“How much?” he scowled, “How much did you take? Tell me!”
“I didn’t take any yet,” she replied calmly. Too calmly.
“Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “You’re a drug addict.”
“I am not lying.”
His panic was thinning out into anger and confusion. And then she said it.
“I’m not a drug addict, Yoongi. I’m trying to die.”
He froze.
“W-what?”
He looked down again, at the pictures. They were pictures of two people. She was smiling in those photos, eye bright and reflective with the fullness of life. She looked younger, happier. Her arms wrapped around a young man, who had an equally bright smile, heart-shaped and cheerful.
It was slowly sinking in. He let her go, eyes scanning over the photos. Pictures of them in matching outfits. Pictures holding hands. Pictures of them kissing. He looked back to her and she was staring at the photographs too.
“Aren’t they nice?” She whispered softly. “They’re such nice pictures. He always took good pictures, my sunshine.” She chuckled darkly, an ugly sound. “But photos only highlight of the good times. They don’t show the bad times.” Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath. “They don’t show his coke habit. They don’t show me enabling his habit, becoming a runner so he could have easier access. They don’t show me begging and pleading, doing degrading things so he can get another dose.”
Her hands went to head. She gripped her hair, breaking his heart with every word.
“I killed him as much as he killed himself.”
The information hit him like a truck. Speechless, he began to piece things together. The signs were there from the beginning and he didn’t even think about it because he would have never fathomed this in his wildest dreams. Guilt and comprehension hit him all at once. She could have kept the door locked and snorted the cocaine. What if he hadn’t chosen this moment? What if he had waited ten more minutes? She could have overdosed and he wouldn’t have known until days later.
But she had opened the door. She opened the door and let him see.
“What happened?” he murmured quietly.
She threw her hands out of her hair, nails raking down her face and neck. “We had a stupid fight. I told him I would be there to help him detox. We tried,” she wailed, throwing her fists against the wall. “He was shivering and pleading and exhausted. He told me he couldn’t do it. I told him he could if he actually tried and he blew up, telling me I didn’t understand.” Her voice was a panicked ramble as if she was reliving that night. He wasn’t even sure if she remembered he was there anymore. “He kept yelling at me, saying all I had to do was call Seokjin and throw myself at him. I said I was done being Seokjin’s whore just so he could get high. He stormed out, screaming that he would get his own.” She slammed her fists against the wall, screaming into it. The sound chilled Yoongi to the bone. She continued, blind to his presence. “I should have chased after him.” She slid to the floor, knees smacking the hardwood hard. “I should have gone. But I was so tired. I was so tired of it.” Her voice dropped.
“I was tired of him and it haunts me every day.”
He swallowed. It was obvious she had never said this aloud before to anyone.
“Next thing I know, he’s dead because of dirty coke.” She shuddered, arms covering her head. “I handed him a dishonorable death and I didn’t even go to his fucking funeral.”
“Why… not?” he asked softly.
She cackled, a terrible sound. “Why would I go? I never met his family. I was his drug dealer.”
He turned to the pictures. “It looks like you were his girlfriend.”
She finally looked up at him. Her glare was so sharp it could cut steel. “And what if they found out? Mom, Dad, meet my girlfriend who also gives me access to cocaine,” she scoffed.
They stared at each other, but they weren’t looking at each other. She was looking at her own demons, her own past. Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to look into pain in those dark orbs. It took him several minutes before he could speak again.
“You still deal, don’t you?”
Her voice was as distant as her stare. “You don’t get out that easily.”
They stayed like that for a moment. He had to do something. Anything.
Taking a deep breath, Yoongi sat down on her floor. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. Weirdly enough, the moment didn’t feel as alien to him as it should have. Maybe it was because he too had been at this road as well, although at that time he hadn’t quite formed a plan on how to follow though. He didn’t know what he would have done if the resources had been available.
“Do you remember,” he murmured, trying to keep the anxiousness out of his voice. “Do you remember that time where you gave me advice on what to wear for that concert?” He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “You made fun of my clothes and hair back then.”
Her eyes shifted to him. He continued, voice a little stronger now that he had her attention.
“You also brought me chicken that night and left me a note, wishing me well.” He smiled at the memory, holding her gaze now. “I wanted to tell you back then.” He wanted her to know. “Thank you.”
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t make fun of him. She looked a little taken aback.
He scratched his cheek, pressing his lips together before he spoke again. “I couldn’t tell you then, but back then, I really couldn’t afford to eat sometimes.” Without realizing it, he felt his eyes water. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. “Remember that time you were making beef and my stomach growled so loud that you laughed?” He chuckled, a small smile on his lips. “It was a great laugh. I’ll remember it always.”
Her shoulders trembled with uncertainty. “Why… why are you telling me this?”
“Because I didn’t then. And I should have.” He looked deep, deep into those eyes. “I should have said something because I am grateful to you.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “I didn’t do anything.”
“No, you did.” He caught her eye again, preventing her from looking at the ground. “You gave me a chance when no one did and I won’t forget it.”
She was silent. He hoped she allowed herself to understand. He was no knight in shining armor; he couldn’t make her mind see what he saw. It wasn’t that simple and he knew that. He also knew that humans had vices. Humans fell into patterns and they believed in them, even if they were senseless to other people. He was guilty of that too.
She was so close and yet so far. No. She was actually getting closer. Leaning towards him, looking into his eyes. Maybe her eyes weren’t so dark after all. They didn’t seem so dark when she was close like this. Her lips were slightly parted, so full and pink. He didn’t move. She stopped, centimeters from his face. She began to pull back and he grabbed her shoulder, stopping her.
It was a terrible idea. He replied before she could say anything.
“I don’t care.”
He closed the distance himself, pressed his lips to hers. You’re a rebound, this isn’t going to cure depression, this doesn’t discount the fact that she’s a fucking drug dealer – he pushed all those thoughts aside because he did not care. Her hand gripped his shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him roughly. He held her arms as she climbed into his lap, igniting him with wild kisses, stealing his breath. She sucked on his tongue, making him moan, letting him go to kiss his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. His hands slid down her arms, finding her ass and pressing his fingers into the fabric of her shorts.
“Yoongi…” His name like a prayer falling from her lips.
It was wrong, so wrong, but he wanted it so bad.
Her lips pressed against his earlobe, making him shudder. Her tongue laced around his earring, tugging lightly, making him shiver. If it wasn’t real, he didn’t want to know. If it wasn’t right, he didn’t want to believe it. Her teeth nibbling on his ear, making him moan. Her hands slid up his shirt, fingertips against his chest. Such thin hands but they seemed to feel all of him, setting his skin ablaze.
His fingers hooked the elastic of her shorts and pulled them down, dragging her underwear down with them. She kicked them off herself, getting on her knees, kissing down his neck, sucking the sensitive skin. It hurt a little but he barely registered it, cupping her bare skin with his palms.
He whispered her name pleadingly. She looked up, breathless, locking eyes with him.
“You should stop me,” he panted.
One final warning because he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself anymore. One final moment where they could turn back and maybe not do this.
She cupped his face in her hands, pressing her forehead against his.
“I really don’t want to, Yoongi.”
She kissed him, throwing caution to the wind. He reciprocated, sliding his hand up her back. Her skin was so soft, cool against his heat. He unhooked her bra with one hand, attempting to tug her sweatshirt off. She slid out of it, pushing it aside, leaving her naked over him. He looked over her body, scars dotting her skin as thin white lines. Lithe and strong, holding the weight of her past on her shoulders. He licked his lips, pulling his shirt over his head, letting it drop beside them. He looped an arm around her waist, pressing her against him, shuddering as he felt her nipples press against his chest.
“Who knew you were hiding such amazing breasts under those clothes,” he teased, voice low. Her cheeks flushed red and she gave him an indignant look.
He turned them over, putting her on her back. He kissed down her neck, licking her collarbones slowly, tongue dipping in between them. Down the curve of her breast, tongue leisurely teasing the tip of her nipple. She whimpered, one of her hands in his hair. His free hand traced her side, feeling the fullness of her hips. She tasted so good, better than his dreams, better than he imagined. He sucked, enjoying her soft mewls and cries. He dug his fingernails into her hip, holding her down as he flicked her nipple with his tongue. Her hand tightened in his hair, curling the black locks around her fingers.
He stopped, smirking above her nipple. “Is that why you said I would look better with longer hair?”
Her cheeks and ears reddened. Fuck, she was so cute. She spoke, surprising him.
“You don’t like it?” she asked, voice quivering.
He dragged himself up her body, pressing his clothed hips in between her legs, letting her feel his erection.
“I like it,” he drawled, his lips brushing against hers. “Lose yourself to me.” Let me take care of you, even if it’s only in this moment.
His hand ran down her body, grabbing her hips and shoving them against his, grinning as he felt her wetness smear against the crotch of his pants. She moaned, her back arching, a moment he burned into his mind. He kissed down her chest again, tongue lapping her nipples. Her fingers raced up the back of his neck, tangling themselves in his hair once again. He kissed down her stomach, his lips against her soft skin. He could smell it now, the heavy scent of her sex. He spread her thighs wide, fingers dipping into her flesh. He buried his nose into it, moaning as his lips tasted her, stickiness coating his cheeks and chin. A slow, languid lick of her slit made her cry out his name. He teased her lips apart with his tongue, rubbing the tip against her walls. Like honey, her taste coated his senses. He felt drunk off her taste alone. His tongue expertly traced circles around her clit, not quite touching it, but telling her he was avoiding it deliberately.
“Yoongi…” she whined. Her hand pressed against his head, trying to push him down. “Please.”
He brushed his nose against her clit, lifting his head slightly. She whimpered and he grinned.
“Please what?” he purred. His voice was deep with lust. “I want to hear it.”
He couldn’t help it. He wanted to hear her desire for him in words.
She pouted. “Touch my clit.”
He reached between her legs and pressed a single finger against the sensitive spot. She flinched, making him grin. He rubbed, slowly, slowly.
“Like this?” he teased. Her other hand was clutching in the white t-shirt. His.
She gasped as he increased the pace, not moving too widely, but concentrating the vibrations of his hand on her clit. Her hips twisted but he held them down, watching her come undone in front of him, head thrown back as he rubbed faster. Moaning his name, chasing her orgasm.
“Cum for me,” he breathed against her skin. “Cum all over my hand.”
She sank her teeth into her lower lip, stifling her scream as she came onto his hand, liquid coating his fingers suddenly. He immediately replaced his hand with his mouth, licking furiously. It was so intoxicating that he closed his eyes, moaning into her pussy as he lapped up her juices, pressing his tongue against her clit. Her hips bucked and he held her still, feverishly licking the sensitive nub. She gasped, shoving her hips against his mouth.
“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck!”
He flicked his tongue against her clit mercilessly, holding her thighs apart firmly so she couldn’t close her legs. Her back arched so high and tight he was afraid she was going to snap.
“Fuuuuck, Yoongi!”
His name punctuated her orgasm, hips shaking as she flooded his mouth. He sucked up her juices greedily, sticking his tongue inside her and feeling her walls clamp around his tongue. Sweat clung to his brow and back but he didn’t care. He lifted his head, a perverse satisfaction coming over him as he watched the string of her juices following his chin before snapping.
She lay against the floor, panting, a little hoarse. He crawled back up to her face and she kissed him without hesitation. If this was sin, he would happily go to hell.
They broke apart, his forehead resting against hers, hands on either side of her.
“Yoongi…”
Please say my name again and again. “Yeah?”
“Let me take care of you too.”
She pushed him, gently, and he obliged, taking her hand as she nudged him to standing position. He saw the table out of the corner of his eye but he looked away. She hooked her fingers along the sides of his pants and pulled them down, freeing his semi-hard erection. He looked down at her. She reached up and circled her fingers around his cock, holding it loosely. He felt it twitch at the attention of someone new.
A small smile. She leaned forward and pressed her soft lips against his balls. He shivered at the strange sensation. Normally girls would go straight for the dick. She pressed the flat of her tongue against his balls and licked him all over. His skin erupted in goosebumps, stunned by the pleasure of her tongue wrapping around his balls and taking them in her mouth. He watched in fascination as she looked up at him, balls deep in her mouth and her hand wrapped around his cock.
He breathed her name, amazed.
She bobbed her head up and mouth, slowly stroking him. Saliva dripped down her chin and onto her chest, sliding down her breasts. He could see precum leaking out of the head and she casually spread it around with one finger, making his knees weak. He moaned as she removed her mouth from his balls. She guided him to her mouth, holding him in place as she ran her tongue over the head. He shut his eyes, seeing stars.
“Shit, I’m going to fuck your face at this rate,” he hissed.
He heard her small, “Heh.” And then she engulfed him with her mouth, hot, wet, lips tightening around his cock as she took him in. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head. She went deep, so deep the head pressed against the back of her throat. He didn’t know how she had the skill to go so deep and, honestly, he didn’t want to know. She sucked him slowly, but each time she went down, the head of his cock scraped the roof of her mouth, increasing the sensitivity each time. He kept his hands flat against the wall, not wanting to grab her head and ruin her pace. One hand held his cock steady as the other cupped his slippery balls, smearing the saliva all over them.
It was so wet, so hot that he was sure he was going insane.
She sped up, sucking harder. Groans tore from his throat, legs shaking from the intense pleasure. He tried his best to keep his hips still, not wanting to accidentally choke her and cause her to stop.
“F-fuck me,” he moaned, feeling her tongue wrap around the head and her lips tightening around him. He couldn’t think straight anymore. He gasped her name and shot his orgasm into the back of her throat, sensing her hands releasing him suddenly. They gripped his thighs as she swallowed, the sound so audible and obscene that his cock twitched with desire despite being spent.
They stayed like that for a moment, her tongue gently encircling him. His cock left her lips with a soft plop, lips shiny with saliva. He slid to the floor, their clothes a mess around them. His chest heaved with effort. She was breathing hard too, staring at him.
He licked his lips and leaned in, kissing her gently. She clung on to the kiss, inhaling his scent.
When they broke apart, they locked eyes, the obviousness of their inappropriate moment hanging between them. He was a little ashamed, sitting naked in her room, having sex after what was almost a suicide attempt. He was still breathing hard, heart beating fast from anxiety and arousal.
He wanted to hold her. He wanted to give her everything and more. He wanted to be the light in her eyes, but that was a foolish thought, a pipe dream, and a promise he didn’t know if he could keep.
Still, he wanted.
But somehow, those eyes didn’t look so dead anymore. Somehow, they were really looking at him, not just through him. She wordlessly scooted towards him and placed her head against him, ear against his chest. He wrapped her arms around her protectively, resting his head on her hair. From this position, he could see the sun tattoo that was underneath her left shoulder blade. Behind her beating heart. It was a simple tattoo, a circle with dashes around it. He traced it with his fingertip absentmindedly. He could guess who it was for.
She wrapped her arms around his waist. Held him like she was never going to let go.
pairing(s):yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader
summary:Min Yoongi is falling hard, but he’s not making much progress. Kim Seokjin is lovable is a weird way. Jeon Jungkook makes bad choices and we try to keep him alive, until he’s too intuitive that is.
warnings:non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug and alcohol use, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts
–
When Yoongi heard her door open, his head whipped around from the kitchen. He had been in the middle of cutting some green onions. She emerged from her room like an animal from a cage. Black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, carrying a tan shopper’s bag. She didn’t seem to notice him, engrossed in her thoughts as she rummaged through the bag for a moment.
He felt he had to say something. Anything.
“Do you know where the scissors are? I can’t find them,” he called.
She looked up, blinking at him. Her hair was half-tied back, lashes dark and smokey but her lips were a peach-pink instead of the red she commonly wore. And those dark, dark eyes. He looked away from them, fixating on the wall next to her head.
“Ah, Yoongi, you didn’t use the kitchen scissors for a package, did you?” she replied, somewhat exasperatedly. “Or maybe I misplaced them…”
She hurried over, opening the drawers one by one. He noticed her nails were red and black striped. They weren’t before – she must have done them herself. She opened each drawer hurriedly but delicately, accentuating her long fingers. He had a sudden image of those nails raking down his back, pinpricks of pain clouding his mind–
“Here they are.” She placed the scissors next to the cutting board and he nodded hurriedly to make the image disappear.
“Thanks.” It came out terser than he wanted it to but she seemed not to notice. She was slipping black gloves on her hands as she turned away.
“Don’t forget to open the window when you cook meat,” she reminded. She must have seen the steak on the counter.
“I’ll remember.”
He could hear her putting on her shoes. His heart pounded mercilessly in his chest. He took a deep breath and turned around, her name falling from his lips breathlessly.
She raised her eyebrows at him as she put on her black face mask.
“Do you… know how to sing?”
-
Listening to the weekly rundown as a lot like listening to a teacher’s lecture. She stood in that room once again, except Seokjin was pacing, reading off his notebook as he recited the names, times, and places she needed to be. How much to bring. How much they would give.
She could remember it all quite well at this point, but that didn’t mean she needed to look at him. She didn’t need to look at his pretty dark hair covering half of his forehead or his well-fitted pale pink shirt and tailored white pants that were mysteriously not see-through. Just focus on the people. Times. Places. Not Kim Seokjin.
“Are you listening?” he was saying sharply.
“Of course, I am,” she replied automatically. “You just said Jungkook, 2300, at that god-awful club I hate going to.”
A small smirk appeared on his lips. “That’s my Moon.”
Please stop, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. She did not like these mental invasions and conjuring ideas in her head. He was doing it on purpose. He was planting them in her mind on purpose.
“Moon.”
She jumped. Somehow, he was right next to her.
“You seem to be on autopilot today,” he observed. He was wearing a pair of round glasses that he definitely did not need. Aesthetics, he would say if she asked.
“I’m not.” It was a stubborn response. He raised his brow at it.
“I cannot have you airheaded. I’ll have someone else pick up your week,” he said sternly.
Her eyes went wide and she grabbed his left arm, shaking her head furiously. “No. No, Seokjin, I’m fine. I can do it.” She squeezed his upper arm, looking up at him. Don’t take this away from me.
And then, Seokjin did something uncharacteristic.
He winced.
She let go immediately. She had felt… something under there. And then, through the light fabric, she realized there was a bandage wrapped around his bicep. Even a bump of flattened gauze.
“You… got injured?”
He scoffed. “It’s just a scrape.”
She looked up at him. No one bandaged scrapes. Not like that. She hadn’t managed to feel it enough to determine if it was a gunshot wound or a cut. He seemed annoyed and his features hardened. He wasn’t going to say what it was even if she asked.
“Who did it?”
A small smile appeared on his lips. “I’m fine, my darling. Are you worried?”
“I wanted to know if I should be worried,” she snapped.
He chuckled and placed a hand on her head. She tried to angrily swat it away but stopped as soon as his sentence finished.
“I’m trying my hardest to stay alive for you.”
-
“It’s just a demo, there’s no need to–”
“No, no, I want to do this right. It should sound good if you’re going to present this to a company.”
Yoongi readjusted the headset on his ears and sighed. They had been at it for a little while now. He had helped her warm up her voice, match pitch, recorded a little, but all in all, her voice sounded a little too robotic. It wasn’t her fault – she wasn’t a singer after all, only his roommate helping him out for one song. He could have attempted to sing it himself but he knew it wouldn’t have the feel he wanted.
Their makeshift setup was a table between them, her face right in front of the mic, his computer and monitors beside him.
She had the lyrics in front of her, hand on her lips, mouthing the words.
“Yoongi… is this about you?” she asked quietly.
A sudden embarrassment came over him. He bit his lip and looked away, fixating on the floor.
“Well… yeah,” he confessed. “It’s about how I feel. About the push and pull of dreams, what it means to have a dream, feeling trapped because maybe my dream wasn’t what I thought it was. Or maybe… maybe I don’t have one anymore.”
It was hard to say out loud what it was really about, but his lyrics were crystal clear.
She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Remembered her whole world, her sunshine and her planet, the one she had turned into her reason for living. The beautiful heart-shaped smile, the silly laugh. The times when she sat next to the record player and watched him dance to the music. Who needed a sofa when a dance floor was more important?
He sensed a shift in her demeanor. He looked up from the floor to see her closed eyes, clenched hands on top on the papers he had scribbled his lyrics on. He wondered what she was thinking about.
Music, she had always thought, was fun. It had brought her joy until it didn’t. She had agreed to this because, to be honest, she had been curious about what he was working on. But she hadn’t expected Min Yoongi to write something so vulnerable and relatable.
She opened her eyes.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
It was the strangest thing. Her eyes were like black glass, shimmering. When she sang, it was clear and heavy at the same time. Heavy with emotion, a longing he couldn’t place.
“So far away…”
-
“You wear glasses?”
Yoongi looked up from the kitchen counter. He had been staring at his phone, a yellow notepad on the counter as he scribbled notes. “Oh. No, I just thought…” He shrugged, taking them off his face. “I thought they would get me into the lyric writing mood,” he trailed off awkwardly. “They were cheap and I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”
She gestured to him as she took a glass out of the cabinet. “Put them back on. They make you look studious.”
He laughed dryly, putting them back on hesitantly. “Yeah, but do they make me look attractive?”
“Yes.”
He froze. That was not the answer he expected. He stared at his notepad pointedly. For some reason, he couldn’t bear to look up and see her expression. He didn’t want to see her stifling a giggle or smirking at him.
“Are you not finishing the song we were working on?”
He chewed on his lip and lifted his head, seeing her standing on the far side of the kitchen, looking at him curiously. No teasing smile on those pink lips. As far as he could see, she wasn’t making fun of him.
“I am finishing it. It… takes time.” And I don’t like confronting that part of myself. He tried to play it off, but he knew it wasn’t working. It was making everything more awkward.
She nodded, her dark flowy waves spilling over her shoulders. Then she gestured to the space between them, looking apologetic. “Oh, I’m not avoiding you or anything,” she said hurriedly, rubbing the back of her head. “I don’t want to read any of your unfinished lyrics… I know that stuff can be private. You might not want me to see them.”
“Oh…” He continued chewing on his lip. It was a bad habit. “That’s respectful of you.”
She cringed a bit as if she hadn’t meant to say anything. “Ah, well, you know… I don’t want to accidentally see anything you’re not ready to share yet.”
It was the strangest feeling of déjà vu. It was almost as if he was looking into a mirror, but that was impossible, because her eyes were dark glass that reflected nothing. It came and went, leaving him wondering what he was supposed to infer from that moment. Then he realized the hands holding the glass were black gloves. Ripped straight leg black jeans and a huge black hoodie with a black sweatshirt underneath. She suddenly reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
“I’ll wash my glass when I get back, okay? I have to go.”
He cleaned her glass after she left. There were no other dishes. He washed it carefully, looking into the clear crystal, seeing through it but also seeing nothing at all.
-
Something was wrong.
“Come on, Moon-noona.”
Hands clawing at her sweatshirt, dragging her closer in the cramped private room of the club she hated, but she was too distracted with something else. She grabbed his hands before they could slide up.
“Jungkook, what have you been taking?”
He chuckled, sliding across the wall, batting his lashes at her. His pupils were unfocused, brown irises quivering.
“Fun shit.”
He laughed and laughed, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever said. The music was so loud that the bass seemed to be vibrating the thick smoky air. Either that or it was the bodies hitting the walls as they drunkenly danced and humped each other.
He hooked his fingers on the belt loops of her jeans and pulled her close. He reeked of alcohol.
“Let’s have some fun before we get to business, yeah?” he murmured breathlessly, grinning.
“What did you take?” she asked sternly, ignoring his words.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, some of something?”
She did not like this one bit. She had to pry his fingers off her. “No transaction today.”
“Aw, come on,” he whined, wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her back to him.
She swore. His arms were like a vice. He pressed her against his dark green satin dress shirt, and even through her layers she was reminded the guy was fucking ripped. Ripped, drunk, and high on who-knows-what. Probably ecstasy. Great. She kept her waist away from his, planting her feet on the floor.
“You’re too uptight, noona.”
He was not supposed to touch her, but he was not supposed to be this drunk or this high either. If it was anyone of her other customers, she would have left without saying anything. But he was basically a kid. A kid who was trying to take even more, who probably thought he was invincible.
She had Seokjin on speed dial. She could reach into her pocket and call him with one hand and his lackeys would come handle the situation immediately. She could.
“Jungkook, look at me.”
He tried to, brain trying to compute as the battle between stimulant and depressant waged on.
“Let me go.”
He pouted. “You don’t like me? Everybody likes me.”
“Let. Me. Go.”
He let her go, slowly, still frowning. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
She drew back, watching him closely. “There is no guy,” she said absentmindedly.
“There’s always a guy,” he said exasperatedly. “Or girl, or whatever. Even if they’re imaginary.”
She would have to report the cancelled sale to Seokjin. He would be pissed. “There’s no imaginary anybody,” she replied dismissively, trying to figure out what to say so Seokjin wouldn’t go apeshit on this poor kid. Definitely wasn’t going to mention any touching.
“There is; you just refuse to admit it.”
A chill went up her spine. “What did you say?”
He shrugged, sliding to the floor, holding his shoulders. “You’re in your head, Moon-noona. In there all day, letting them dictate you like a puppet.”
Her eyes narrowed. She reached into her hoodie and threw the tiny plastic bag at him. It hit him in the chest and slid down onto the floor. He blinked multiple times, looking at the packet of white powder and then her retreating back as she left the room.
pairing(s):yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader
summary:Min Yoongi might be getting closer to his roommate… maybe? Jeon Jungkook is a little bit of an asshole (but only on the outside). Suicidal thoughts. Maybe you realize who ??? is now. Kim Seokjin might not be an asshole.
warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug use, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts, abusive relationship including threatening violence
–
She came out of her room dressed in loose dark grey jeans and a billowy white cropped t-shirt. Black belt and black bomber jacket to add to the casualness of it all. He only noticed this because he was laying on the hardwood.
“Why are you on the floor?”
He made a noise of annoyance and rolled over, swiping on his phone.
“Rough day?”
He mumbled. “Something like that.”
She swept her hair up into a loose ponytail. He noticed it was a little shorter now, but still past her shoulders. She squatted down next to him, behind his phone.
“Want me to order you some pizza?”
He grumbled, eyes flicking upwards. “I’m not a child.”
The corner of her mouth curved upwards. “Nope, you’re an adult and that’s why you can eat what you want.”
He sighed and placed his phone on his chest. “Don’t want to eat.”
She nodded, noting his disheveled appearance. Ripped up jeans and a loose grey and black hoodie that seemed to swallow him. His black bucket hat was only half on, and his short hair stuck out. She reached into her jacket pocket and placed the grey beanie on his chest. He cracked open an eye and peered at it.
“I washed it.”
“… Thanks.” It smelled nice. A soft scent, lightly fruity. He noticed she was wearing those leather gloves she always wore when she left the house. “Off to party?” he joked.
She huffed. “Do I seem like the partying type to you?”
He looked up at her. She was staring at her phone. He noticed she was wearing red lipstick. She abruptly turned from her phone and his eyes went straight to the ceiling.
“You want to listen to some music?” she said suddenly. She stood up, not waiting for his answer. He sat up, feeling awkward that he was still on the floor. She was walking up the to record player. He had never seen her use it in the entire time he had been living here. Her eyes scanned the shelves and she picked a record out. She was careful sliding it out of the sleeve, raising the lid of the player and setting the record down carefully. He blinked as slow rhythm guitar and piano began to play.
He frowned. “I don’t know English.”
She chuckled. “Me neither. But it’s kind of nice to just listen even if you don’t understand.”
It wasn’t his first pick but it was quite nice. The record player had a good set of speakers set up behind it. She nodded to herself and cocked her head towards him.
“You know how to work one of these, I presume?”
“Uh… yeah. But you said…”
She looked at him pointedly. “Don’t break it.” She looked back to the record player and he saw her black eyes mist over with an unknown emotion. “It used to belong to someone important, someone who believed in the power of music.”
She turned and walked towards the door, grabbing a pair of sneakers from the closet.
“Was it–” he began, but she cut him off.
“Don’t disrespect it.”
And she was gone.
-
“What’s your real name, anyway?”
“Moon.”
Jungkook threw his head back. He had a fun laugh despite being a piece of shit. “That’s not your real name.”
“It’s my real name to you.”
He chuckled and rolled his head on his shoulders. The party was going wild downstairs, but they were alone, making their transaction in one of the bedrooms of the rich house of someone she doubted even Jungkook knew. He was sitting on the bed, hands propping him up from behind, legs wide open. If he wasn’t going to give her the money soon, she was going to kick him straight in the balls.
“Did you pick it to be edgy?” he teased.
“No, someone else picked it for me,” she replied darkly.
The bass radiated throughout the walls of the house. Jungkook was wearing a loose white dress shirt and black ripped jeans that molded to his body. She had been right. Dude was fucking ripped.
His lips twisted in thoughtfulness. “And you just kept it? You can just change it.”
“Jungkook if you don’t give me the fucking money, I’m leaving.”
He grinned. “But I want to talk to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Every second you waste is another second of not having the fun shit.”
His eyes found hers in the moonlight. “But talking to you is the fun shit.”
She felt a muscle under her eyes twitch. Instead of responding, she sighed exaggeratedly and turned around, glove reaching for the doorknob.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Jungkook said hastily.
She turned to see him pulling up the hem of his dress shirt way too far to reveal his chiseled abs before reaching into his jeans pocket for a fat wad of cash. She hated that. Cash by itself looked messy and suspicious. She didn’t know if Jungkook was an idiot or ignorant.
Her eyes scanned over it as he held it out. She plucked it out of his hand, checking the bills. Usually she didn’t need to do that, but she always checked for first timers.
“It’s real,” Jungkook assured, almost childishly. He would have been cute in another dimension where he wasn’t paying for cocaine.
She shrugged and shoved it in the pocket of her loose jeans. And out came the paper packet from the innermost pocket of her bomber jacket. She placed it on the nightstand next to the bed.
“Couldn’t hand it to me?”
Her eyes flickered towards him and the playful smirk on his lips. She raised an eyebrow at him.
He pouted. “Come on. I wasn’t going to touch you. I heard what the Guide said.”
“Uh huh. Is that why you’re tempted on borderline flashing me?”
He chewed on his lip, trying to stifle his grin. “Ah, you see right through me.”
She backed up. “We’re done here.”
“Hey, um…”
She paused at the door. “What?”
“Do you hate me or something?”
What happened to you being a cocky ass bitch? Her head tilted, looking down at him on the bed. He was frowning, fiddling with his shirt. “Are you upset that your charms don’t work on me?”
He scratched his head. “Well, they usually work, but no, it’s…” His eyes shifted nervously. “It’s like you’re dead inside.”
She didn’t reply. His brown orbs found hers. He found her eyes to be strangely dark, almost without light. It was weird how joyless they seemed.
“What a psychoanalysis,” she finally said. “You’re Freud himself, aren’t you?”
“What?” His brow furrowed in confusion.
She pointed to the paper packet. “Don’t overdo it. A dead customer isn’t a paying one, so don’t get so fucked up you can’t see me again.” She tilted her chin towards him and gave him a small smirk. “That’s what you want, right?”
And she was gone.
-
What if I just did a little?
The thin white lines taunted her.
I just don’t want to feel anymore.
The thin white lines sat on the glass palette on the unnaturally clean table in her room. Her phone was propped up behind it with a wadded-up sweatshirt.
“I really admire you for not starting.” He was talking, the memory playing like a movie in her head. She remembered his laugh, so full and free. “I’m glad, because it means you’ll always be sober to take care of my dumb ass.”
And what if you’re not here?
She was staring at the picture on her phone. Two smiles, one she hadn’t seen for a long time in the mirror and another a little heart-shaped. She turned the screen off abruptly, not wanting to see it anymore.
“You have to stop!” Why had she shouted at him? She shouldn’t have. Not then. “What happened to wanting to detox?”
“It’s too fucking hard.” Remembering his sobbing and crying hurt the most. “It hurts so much. I have to go.”
“Don’t you step out that door. I won’t come running after you this time.”
“Fuck, can’t you be sympathetic? You don’t fucking understand!”
She stared at the poisonous lines in front of her.
“You’re my cure. I can do it, I swear.”
“You’re a liar,” she whispered quietly. She stared at the lines and wondered if she could end it herself. And, just like every other time, she sighed and carefully swept the lines back into a small plastic bag. Carefully wiped everything clean with an alcohol wipe and then spraying a strong ammonia solution. She honestly didn’t know if it did anything to destroy the evidence but it seemed good enough.
She picked up her phone to see their faces together once again. The delete button taunted her, knowing she wouldn’t do it no matter how much seeing those smiles tore her up inside.
I’m not off the deep end. She kept telling herself that. I’m functioning just fine.
-
“Could you give me your opinion on something?”
She appeared at the bathroom door in her plastic gloves, hair tied back. She had been cleaning the kitchen.
“You called, sir?” She dragged out the words, mocking him, but she had come to the bathroom door anyway. He was too nervous to care. Yoongi fiddled with the black cap on his head and then removed it abruptly.
“Hat or no hat?”
She snickered. “Hat, of course.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘of course’?”
She rolled her eyes. “You look like a thirty-year-old man with your short hair.”
“What?”
“Like a salaryman but worse because you’re trying to look cool.”
Yoongi crammed the cap back on his head. “Are you saying I don’t look cool?” He glared at her in the mirror.
“Not with your short hair. Should probably grow it out at least a little,” she commented. She made a face at his shirt. “Where are you going in a bright green polo?”
He frowned. “I’m going to perform.”
“Do you sing for the church choir or…?”
They stared at each other though the mirror.
“Is it… not good?”
“I mean you look better in the clothes you normally wear. The hoodies and shit.”
He scrunched his nose and pushed past her, hurrying back to his room. She called after him.
“I mean you can wear whatever. I was just assuming you did some kind of hip hop because of the bass I always hear from your room.”
His head popped out of the room. “Oh shit. Am I too loud?”
She shrugged, going back to the sink where she resumed scrubbing. “Some kind of big concert you’re going to?”
His voice radiated from the room. “Uh, something like that. Opening for a pretty big underground rapper. Runch Randa.”
She tried not to burst into laughter. “Wow, what a name,” she whispered to the suds.
Yoongi emerged from his room; cap now turned into bucket hat to hide even more of his short hair. Hoodie with a brand name across the front and loose jeans.
“Is this better?”
She looked up for only a second before going back to the sink. “Do you feel more comfortable?”
He looked down as if to ask his own body. “I mean… yeah. Do I seem too relaxed though?”
She shrugged as she went at the sides of the sink with the steel wool. “You’re going to perform, aren’t you? You should be comfortable in yourself.” She was busy rinsing the sink so she didn’t hear him mumble to himself.
“Some days I don’t even want to be myself,” he muttered, hurrying to the bathroom to look at himself one last time. Minutes later he rushed out, grabbing his shoes.
“Good luck,” she called, waving a wet gloved hand.
“… T-thanks,” he said awkwardly before shutting the door.
When he came home later that night, there was takeout fried chicken on the counter waiting for him. A note scribbled beside it – Hope it went well. He meant to thank her for it in the coming weeks, but her hours seemed as irregular as ever and eventually too much time passed for him to casually bring it up again.
But he never forgot.
-
She hated this stupid room. The stupid black leather sofa. The marble coffee table. The plush navy, peach, and cream carpet. She doubted Seokjin had picked any of this out.
Well, except for the gun on the coffee table.
“Moon, come here.”
He was alone more often with her now. She wasn’t sure if this was because he wanted it that way or not, but she wouldn’t be surprised.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
His brown orbs darkened. His blazer was tossed lazily on the sofa, so he was in his black tie, striped white and pale blue dress shirt and black slacks. There was even a gold collar pin. He was a showoff.
“Don’t make me pick up the gun, Moon.”
Go ahead, blast my head off. She sighed and closed the distance between them. Instead of sitting beside him like he gestured, she sat down on the marble coffee table in front of him, putting herself between him and the gun.
He smirked. “That’s a good girl. I like your outfit today.”
She had worn her giant fluffy white jacket and a large black sweatshirt underneath. Bare legs, chunky heels. Hair loose and messy, lips stained red. And, of course, the black gloves. “You always like when I dress like one of your toys.”
His eyes flashed but he chose not to comment on it. He leaned forward, watching her reaction. She seemed almost bored, staring at the wall behind his head. He reached out, placing his fingertips on her knee. She twitched her knee tersely, his fingers slipping off.
He hummed. “Still not over him, I see.”
“If this is a therapy session, I’d rather pay a profess–”
“Look at me.”
The black holes went from the wall to his eyes. He almost shivered from the eye contact. They stared at each other, as if it was some kind of contest. He scooted up to the edge of the sofa. Their knees touched and she visibly flinched at the contact. Her brow furrowed.
“It’s not your fault.”
She glared at him, but said nothing.
He leaned forward even more and now their breath was mixing. She could smell his sharp cologne that reeked of money. He always seemed to reek of money and she wasn’t even poor.
“I don’t want you high,” she said sternly.
He was centimeters away from her face. “I’m never high when I’m with you. Not anymore.”
She gave him a disbelieving snort.
“I’m not lying. Look at me.”
And now she was looking deep, deep into those brown eyes, those brown eyes like hot honey, eyes that knew her better than anyone else alive. Seokjin really was a handsome man, a beautiful mess.
“This is stupid. You’re not even attracted to me,” she whispered.
“Not true.” He wasn’t smirking. He was only gazing into her eyes, falling into oblivion. Not really because he wanted to ignite them again. He knew he didn’t have that capability. “You have always been my Moon.”
“That was a name given to me.” She didn’t have to say who.
“That doesn’t mean he was the one who thought of it.”
Her mouth went dry.
“You were always his satellite.”
She chewed on her lower lip.
“Now you orbit no one.”
She was about to look down but he reached up and gently tipped her head back up.
“Look at me when I kiss you.”
And he pressed his lips onto hers.
It was not like the messy kisses during a party night. It was not like the kisses after falling into arms. It was not like the kisses after a rough fight or the kisses during laughter or the passionate kisses when there was too much energy and there needed to be a release.
It was a kiss like no other, because there were too many feelings and too many unsaid words.
He had soft, plush lips that gently pressed against hers. If it was an act, it was a good one because she was falling for it. He placed a hand on her thigh, not sliding upwards, only to steady himself as he pressed into her, breathing her scent, making her heart beat fast. He was unexpectedly gentle, almost shy. She placed a gloved hand over his and he pulled away, eyes slowly opening as he broke apart.
Her heart thudded in her ears. “What happened to looking at you?” she murmured.
He gave her a small smile and for once it felt like there was no malintent. “I didn’t say I had to look at you.”
Their hands were still on top of each other. He pulled his hand out from beneath hers and brushed her cheek with his fingers, smiling at her fondly.
“No deliveries this week. I’ll do them for you.”
And then he left the room, leaving her sitting on the marble coffee table, gun beside her. She didn’t move for what seemed like a full minute. It felt like time had stopped. She turned to look at the gun, seeing the safety on.
Not that it mattered because when she picked it up, she realized it wasn’t even loaded.
-
“Here’s this month’s rent.”
She took it from him with a silent nod. She was about to close the door to her room.
“Hey… uh. Have you been alright? I don’t mean to pry, but you don’t seem like yourself.”
He couldn’t exactly describe what that meant but she seemed out of it. She seemed to consider a moment before responding.
“I’m fine. Thank you, Yoongi.”
And she closed the door.
It gave him a sense of unease. She seemed to be quarantining herself in her room like some kind of self-isolation prison sentence. Before this week, she had noted his longer hair, telling him, “Finally you don’t look like a depressed businessman who spilled coffee on his only suit.”
“What do I look like, then?” he had joked.
“A cool music producer or an adoptable kitten, I can’t decide.”
She called him cool. Him, Min Yoongi, cool. Which was fair – if he could say so himself – but it also strangely made him swell with pride, which determined one thing for him.
pairing(s):yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader
summary: Kim Seokjin reveals his true colors. Min Yoongi freeloads off his roommate (just a little). Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook make an appearance.
warnings:non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug use, violence, mentions of depression, abusive relationship
See prologue for notes. I am not condoning any of this behavior, in case that wasn’t abundantly clear.
–
“I’m telling you; the public is changing. They want accessibility.”
“They want to get high, Seokjin.”
He grinned. He was alone this time, standing next to the window in his expensive suit. He honestly didn’t need to be in a suit, but he wore it because he knew he looked good in it.
“They still don’t want to get caught.”
She snorted, an inelegant sound that made Seokjin frown. She couldn’t say more so she just looked away from him. He moved away from the window and stepped towards her, taking note of the bucket hat and loose jeans. Brown belt, big loose black sweater.
“You could have at least dressed up for me.”
He saw her lips twist into a pout and she looked up at him with those black holes, viewing him from under the hat.
“Does it matter?” she replied sharply.
He smiled at her.
“Is the problem money? Do you need me to gift you some pretty dresses?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t need money and you know that.”
He leaned down just a bit and felt her stiffen at his closeness. “Then why are you here?” His eyes flickered up to hers but she wasn’t watching. She was purposefully looking away from him.
“Just give me the fucking pills then,” she mumbled.
“That’s a good girl.”
And he pulled his gun away from her stomach before turning around and giving her the package in a reusable grocery bag.
-
She sat slumped in the train seat, bucket hat over her eyes. It was like she wasn’t even there – people passed by her without giving a second glance. That was the point. She always kept her dark hair and her clothes plain, a forgettable existence to anyone who could be watching.
She didn’t believe Seokjin was an evil person. Not really. Maybe in a different parallel timeline, he was a cheerful person who brought happiness and joy to everyone he met. But not this Kim Seokjin. No, this Kim Seokjin was her drug supplier and it wasn’t a cheerful profession, if one could even call it that.
She doubted Seokjin would actually shoot her. After all, if he wanted to fuck like he claimed, it would be hard with a bloody hole in her stomach.
It wasn’t a theory she was willing to test in the moment though.
She had argued with him because she didn’t want to deal different substances. Quite frankly, she didn’t think she could do this anymore. As if on cue, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a notification on her lock screen. She bit her lip.
She had thought about changing her lock screen many times but each time she saw his smile, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
You’re so pathetic, she thought to herself.
She put in her password and looked at her texts. It was simply labelled, Guide. That’s what Seokjin was named on her phone.
Miss you, Moon.
She shoved her phone back into her pocket and tried not to think about it.
-
Yoongi let out a groan and pressed his forehead onto the front door. He barely made rent this month. It was due in three days and he barely had enough in his account to pay rent and have one meal. One meal. He didn’t know how he was going to survive at this rate. The plastic bag with his one convenience store meal banged against the door and he jumped.
Sighing at his own plight, he punched in the code and entered the apartment. He staggered back, immediately hit by the delicious smell of…
Beef.
Grilled beef.
He blinked, looking around the apartment.
There was his roommate, standing next to the stove. Loose grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants with a cream apron cinching in her waist. Hips swinging to the beat that was playing in her Bluetooth headphones as she turned over the strips of beef, oil popping and sizzling. The smoke was drifting out of the open window but the smell pervaded throughout.
Words couldn’t describe how jealous he was right now.
He looked down and closed the door, staring at his pathetic little boxed lunch through the plastic. Frustration and annoyance threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to hurl it at the wall. Why couldn’t he have her life? Not a care in the world, dancing away as she cooked that delicious-smelling beef while he was stuck in his shitshow of a–
“Oh, Yoongi.”
His head snapped up at his name. She was staring at him with the headphones around her neck. Black holes staring at him. He felt suddenly exposed, as if she could read his thoughts.
She gestured with her tongs. “You want some beef?”
He raised a hand, chuckling slightly as he shook his head. “No… No, it’s fine. It’s your food.”
And then his stomach growled so loudly that he himself looked down to stare at it. It was even louder than the sizzling beef. He had never been so betrayed by his bodily functions in his life. And his dick had chosen in some weird girls in his time.
She laughed, the first time he had ever heard her laugh. It made her eyes crinkle up and her shoulders shake, a laugh that made those dead eyes disappear for just a second. She tilted her head just a bit and grinned, shaking her head.
“I’ll prepare another bowl for you.”
He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, disturbing his beanie. “I’ll do the dishes then.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
He placed his boxed lunch in the fridge – a bit further in the back – and sat awkwardly at one of the stools at the counter. She placed a bowl of rice in front of him and handed him a plate of four thick slices of beef. He could feel himself drooling at the sight. She leaned forward just a bit and he realized she must have noticed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand hastily.
“Hmm.” She was smiling at him.
Shit.
She placed a fifth piece of meat on his rice and shook her head, still chuckling. There was a plate of kimchi on the table too. He looked at it and she noticed that too.
“Go ahead. Store bought.”
He took a bite of the beef first. He swore his eyes rolled back into his head. Seasoned, cooked with some pink in the middle. It was like a flavor explosion in his mouth. Maybe it wasn’t actually that good, but he hadn’t had freshly cooked meat in so long that he had forgotten what it tasted like.
He chewed gratefully, slowly opening his eyes. He was going to say something but she was staring at her phone, looking troubled. She was picking meat off the pan, chewing hurriedly.
“It’s… really good.”
She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. “Hm? Oh. It’s just marinated beef. There’s some left in the fridge if you want it for dinner.”
Please, oh God, yes. “No, no, I couldn’t eat your food,” he said awkwardly, not really believing in his own words.
She shrugged. “You should cook it. I probably won’t be home until late.” She looked back at her phone; eyes fixated on the screen. She seemed to be concentrating on something. Then she abruptly put her phone down. “You do know how to cook, right?”
He nodded quickly. “Uh, yeah. My brother is a chef. He taught me the basics.”
“Oh.” She looked a bit embarrassed at her own question. “Good. I won’t come to a burned down apartment then.”
It was then they realized they knew very little about each other. She looked awkward and shoved her phone in her pocket before she continued eating. He stared back down at his rice and continued chewing. Fuck. It tasted really good.
“I noticed you’ve been eating a lot of convenience store food.”
He winced. “Yeah…”
She poked the end of her chopsticks at him. “You should make more food at home. All that packaging is bad for the environment,” she said sternly.
“Ah… yeah.”
She finished the last bit of her rice and set the pan and bowl in the sink, running water over them with a bit of soap.
“I have to go.”
He nodded awkwardly. She left the kitchen to go to her room. He let out an exasperated sigh after she closed the door. He wasn’t really sure why he couldn’t talk to her that well. It wasn’t like he was weird around girls. Maybe it was that unapproachable feeling surrounding her.
Or maybe it was because he knew he had to pay her soon.
She came back out dressed in the same sweatpants and an open black hoodie. His eyes widened when he noticed she was wearing a white crop top underneath. She slung a small duffel bag against her shoulder. It was actually a very attractive look on her.
She turned and he saw she was fresh faced, with minimal makeup. She walked over to him, staring straight at him. No, not him.
She plucked the grey beanie off his head.
“I’m gonna borrow this.”
-
“Jimin, I am not upping your order.”
Those perfectly plump lips curved into a pout. “Moonie, pleaaaase? Pretty please?”
She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “No. I brought your current order with me and I didn’t bring extra. I told you before–”
“I know, I know… A dead customer isn’t a paying customer.”
Well, actually my saying is a dead addict isn’t a paying addict. They were standing at the edge of the dance studio. It was already closed, so the windows were dark and no one was around. The particular corner they stood at couldn’t be seen by the windows. She tapped her sneaker against the hardwood. Park Jimin, dance choreographer and current customer, rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and handed her a cheap blue plastic water bottle. She was wearing her black gloves but had no problem screwing the lid open. She looked inside, satisfied to see the correct amount. She was good at that. She tucked it away in her duffel bag and handed him the small brown paper bag in response, pills tucked in a believable prescription bottle.
“Thanks, Moon. I really needed this.”
Her brows furrowed as he opened the bottle hastily and took one right there in front of her. His orange hair stuck to his forehead, probably due to sweat, but it made him look desperate.
“Jimin, if you need them that bad, you should go see a doctor.”
He winced as he chugged down a gulp of water. “I know. I know… It’s just… award season is coming soon. I need to stay busy.”
She wanted to punch him. You fucking idiot, you’re going to kill yourself.
“Hey, um… I was wondering if you still take on customers? I know a guy…”
She rolled her eyes. “Jimin, please keep your trap shut for your safety and mine. Do you want to get arrested?”
“Are you the one doing the arresting?”
A new, deep voice penetrated the room. A cocky smile and an all-black shadow drifted into the room. The black sweatshirt was so huge it might as well have been a blanket. Dark brown eyes and dark brown hair, slightly long and damp.
She shoved her hands in her black hoodie and glared at Jimin. “You best believe the Guide will hear about this.”
Fear flashed in Jimin’s eyes. “No, wait. Wait, Jungkook–”
“Is this her? Your dealer?” His eyes raked down her frame, briefly fixating on her white crop top. She only wore it because she knew Jimin wasn’t going to mess with her – Seokjin made sure of that – but she hadn’t counted on someone else appearing. “She’s a cute little thing, isn’t she?”
Jimin smacked his chest, trying to push him back. “Stop. You can’t flirt with her,” he warned.
A muscle in her leg tensed. She thought about running but it was better to diffuse the situation.
“Why not?” The one named Jungkook grinned. “Hey, can you hook me up with some of the fun stuff? Not like what Jimin-ssi has here… You know. The fun shit.”
You little– “If you want the fun shit, you have to pay fun shit prices.”
He smiled at her. She did not like it. Not one bit.
“Yeah?”
He took a step towards her. And another. He was trying to back her against the wall, but she stood her ground. Every muscle in her body was tensed. She knew enough to avoid getting her ass kicked by the regular guy. Maybe a little more. He looked down at her, lips curled into a sly smirk. He had a jawline that could cut by itself. He was wearing a gentle cologne and, to be honest, he was attractive, which would be a shame if she had to break that nose.
“Maybe we can strike a deal?”
“Jungkook, I swear, if you even so much as put a finger on her,” Jimin said sternly. She could hear the warning in the shorter male’s voice. It was pretty frightening considering Jimin was one of her more cheerful customers.
Jungkook grinned and backed off. “I’m just kidding.”
She looked away from him and glowered at Jimin. He shook his head.
“Please don’t tell him,” he pleaded.
She looked back at Jungkook, who seemed quite smug about it all. Without warning, she swiftly kicked the back of his knees, making him stumble and cry out.
“Moon, please–”
Another swift chop straight to the sternum and Jungkook was on his knees, gasping for air. She held her fist centimeters from Jungkook’s face, making him freeze. Jimin hovered around, concerned, but it seemed like he was more concerned about her then Jungkook. And within those seconds of exchange, she realized two things.
One, Jungkook was fit. Really fit. And two, if she didn’t have surprise, then she probably would have bitten off more than she could chew. And that would mean…
She clutched her duffel bag and sent Jungkook her most scorching glare.
“Don’t get yourself involved in shit way over your head, kid.”
And, of course, instead of being apologetic or even angry, Jungkook smiled, licking his lips.
“Okay, noona.”
Later, when she was sitting in her room, she really wished she had just punched him.
-
“Are you coming to my party?” The phone quality didn’t hide the honey in Seokjin’s voice.
“No.”
She could almost hear his pout. “You never come anymore. We used to have such fun. You, me, and–”
She cut him off. “Did you talk to Jimin?”
His tone instantly darkened. “I did. He was very apologetic.”
She made a noise of disapproval.
“I didn’t break anything this time.”
“This time,” she echoed. “What about the brat?”
Seokjin brightened. “We had a little discussion. He’ll be a new customer soon.”
She wanted to strangle him. “Seokjin, I toldyou–”
“You only serve a few customers and you complain about one? One rowdy little thing?”
“This rowdy little thing is going to be trouble,” she warned.
“Don’t worry, my darling,” Seokjin cooed. “I made it very clear you’re mine.”
“I’m n–” And of course he hung up before she could say anything else. She glared at her phone and growled. She didn’t throw it, but she wanted to.
pairing(s): yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader
summary:Min Yoongi is in luck when a super cheap room is up for rent. Or maybe not.
warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug abuse, depression and suicidal thoughts, abusive relationships, eventual smut
note: Main character is female. I use ‘she’ instead of ‘you’ in this case because I’m more comfortable writing the omnipresent POV. You are welcome to think of ‘she’ as yourself or an OC. Her name is never explicitly mentioned. The character’s appearance is set to fit the story and her role.
–
When he saw the ad online, he couldn’t believe the price. It had to be a joke. There had to be hidden fees or something wrong with the room. He was preparing himself for disappointment. It was too good to be true. As he arrived to the neat complex, he checked around for anything sketchy. It was eerily quiet as he knocked.
“Min Yoongi, right?”
The woman who greeted him at the door was calm and polite. She was wearing a large baggy gray sweatshirt and black pants with black slippers. He guessed she was around his age. Long dark hair, tied in a low ponytail. A plain, almost forgettable face. Almost, if it wasn’t for her piercing dark eyes. They were like bottomless pits, as if he was staring into a pair of black holes. He looked away quickly, somewhat perturbed.
“Uh… yeah. I’m here to look at the room.”
He needed this. After being kicked out of his last apartment, he couldn’t go home. He had to have something to show his parents that he could be successful in the music industry. But after producing a few remote albums and tracks, he barely had anything. Not to mention getting ripped off multiple times had him in this sticky financial situation. He bit his lip as he stepped into the apartment, looking around anxiously.
It was actually a very empty apartment. The center room was a living room and kitchen combination but there was no living room furniture, only a record player and boxes of records on a large bookshelf against the wall. The kitchen had two black stools at the counter. It was clean and neat, almost military. She gestured to the right, to the open door.
“This is the room,” the woman was saying quietly. “Bathroom is around the corner.”
There was no furniture in the room. Absolutely none. He tilted his head, looking around. The hardwood floors shone and despite how clean it was, he could see nick marks in the wood. He almost breathed in relief. At least there was some evidence someone lived here.
“Why hasn’t the room been rented out yet?” he asked, turning to the woman. “It looks nice.”
She was watching him carefully. It was unsettling. “Because I have rules that the tenant must agree to.”
Here we go. “What rules?”
Her eyes were fixated on him, blinking very sparingly. She held a hand up, counting with her fingers. “One: no people over. None. No friends, no family, no fuckbuddies. You want to fuck someone, do it at their place,” she stated with a completely straight face.
He was stunned at her language. He was beginning to understand why this place was still up for rent.
“Two: clean up after yourself. I will not ask twice. If you do not clean up after yourself, I will kick you out without hesitation. Three: I live in the room across from you.” She pointed with her pinky and he saw the other room opposite his. The door was closed. “If you have a problem with that, then leave. And finally, four…”
She paused. His throat felt dry.
“You break the record player or any of the records, I will break you.”
She said it so seriously that he was confused for a second. “Is… is that it?”
A small smile appeared on her lips. He blinked.
“Well, usually I just turn people away when I know they’re going to be assholes. You seem alright,” she replied, more to herself than to him. “You said you were a music producer? Is your work quiet?”
“I can work with headphones on,” he said hurriedly. “If needed, I can soundproof the room so you don’t hear much.”
“Hmm.” She was inspecting him like a hawk. He could feel her eyes on him. She took a few steps around him as she entered the room after him. “Have a lot of friends?”
His eyes shifted to the floor. “Not really.”
“Yeah, well, me neither. Rent is due on the first of each month.”
And that was that.
-
She was polite enough. She helped him move all of his equipment into the room and brought him some tables and a chair, saying they were from a secondhand store. He brought a mattress and set it up with a pillow and blanket. She was always dressed plainly. She had thin hands and long fingers. He noticed them when she was helping him move the tables.
He didn’t understand if she had a job or not. He would hear her leave at random times and she would reappear at equally random times. Sometimes in a black long coat, sometimes in a black bomber jacket and jeans, sometimes in a fluffy white jacket that made her look like a giant marshmallow. He noticed her makeup was always different too – sometimes very little, sometimes quite heavy, sometimes somewhere in between. If it wasn’t for his dire financial situation, he might have thought more about how he wasn’t quite sure what her face looked like.
Instead he spent most of his time in his room, working on his music.
-
“How’s my favorite girl?”
“I’m fine, Seokjin.”
She almost rolled her eyes at the man, who was sitting between two very attractive, very coked-out women. They threw themselves all over him, kissing his neck and chest through his dress shirt and blazer. Unfortunately, she couldn’t roll her eyes. She had to be serious.
He pouted. It was almost cute, if it wasn’t for the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Just fine? How can I make it better, my darling?”
“I’m not your darling, Seokjin,” she corrected calmly, setting the laptop bag in front of him. It was a scruffy laptop bag, similar to the type that students used.
“Yet.”
He pushed the girls aside and opened the bag, eyes lighting up at he saw the money. He zipped it back up and set his elbows on his knees, looking up curiously at her. “Wearing your gloves again, I see.”
She shrugged. “Eczema is pretty bad this year.”
The corner of his mouth curved upwards. “It’s bad every day of the year.”
She didn’t reply. He noticed she was dressed in a long black coat with a white blouse and ill-fitted black pants. Simple black shoes. Almost as if she was going to work. He frowned, shaking his head.
“I’m not into this ensemble today. I much preferred the jogger aesthetic you had on last time.”
She smiled. “You just like tight pants.”
“You know me too well.”
He stood up, confusing the girls. They ended up flopping on top of each other, giggling. He walked around the marble coffee table, handing her a leather-bound folder stuffed with papers.
“I’m glad you decided to continue working for me.”
She kept the smile plastered to her face as she took the folder from him. She kept it there as she bowed politely and walked out of that room, out of that house. Out of that neighborhood, until she was on the subway. The smile faded, replaced with a blank expression. The leather folder felt heavy in her hands. It felt like a brick she was dragging all the way home. She walked into the apartment, hearing the faint bass of music leaking underneath Yoongi’s door. He was a model roommate. He would probably be good looking too if he wasn’t so obsessed with music and less with eating a normal diet. But he was clean and kept to himself, so all was well.
She slipped into her room and locked the door.
The leather-bound folder was placed on the empty table. She took off her black leather gloves and replaced them with plastic ones. A swift swipe with a disinfecting wipe to get rid of the oils and the fingerprints. She opened the folder carefully, putting the useless papers aside. She found what she was looking for.
She pulled up her chair and sat down, staring at it.
It was like this every time. She questioned it every time. Then, like clockwork, she turned and opened a drawer to find the small plastic baggies. Slowly and carefully, she began to divide the white powder into the appropriate weight using the small scale in her desk.
[ 12:23PM ] “You did what?” Yoongi asked again from the other line.
You did a cautious glance around you, careful not to make your voice too loud before you answer his inquiry since you were afraid that potential nosy co-workers will be able to eavesdrop. “I put a picture of the two of us.”
“Where?”
“Beside my monitor.”
“With only you and me?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t speak for about three seconds, causing you to think of all the possible worst scenarios that could bloom from your confession in that short amount of time. “What picture?”
You cleared your throat. “In the steak house this year.”
Ah, the ever so famous steak house picture. When you uploaded that on your IG account, specifically as a story, you got a bunch of replies from mutuals, all asking if you and Yoongi were finally dating after being close friends for God knows how long. You couldn’t blame them for thinking in such a way, considering that your smiles in the photo were too big to not be suspicious of—not to mention your heads too that were pressed together as you sat side by side, actually waiting for your other high school friends to arrive in the restaurant you planned to meet in. Some may even argue that your arms were linked beneath the view of the camera or perhaps your hands were intertwined.
“____—”
“It’s just a repellant,” you assured him immediately before he could protest.
“Huh?”
“A repellant,” you inhaled, “you know… like something to keep other people’s noses in my business. They just keep on setting me up with this one guy in the other department, Yoon. I couldn’t help it!” you practically hissed the last part, finally standing up and walking away from your desk to have some privacy.
“So, basically, what you’re saying is—you’re using me as a cover-up boyfriend?”
You pursed your lips. “Yeah, basically.”
He snorted at the ridiculousness of your actions. “Why me? You could have chosen Taehyung. The both of you would look more convincing.”
“Taehyung’s seeing someone. I wouldn’t want to cause complications in case this backfires.”
“And you didn’t think that would happen with me too?”
“Well, it’s not like you’re seeing anyone as well,” you reasoned. “I mean, you aren’t, are you?”
“Nope.”
“See? How could you anyways? You’re a freaking surgeon. You have no social life.”
“Uh, of course, I still have a social life?“
“Just because you see inpatients almost everyday via appointments doesn’t mean you have a social life.”
Yoongi laughed, a low kind of one that inevitably makes a grin appear on your lips. “Keep that attitude up and I’ll break up with you.”
You raised your eyebrows at the retort, intrigued by his fast agreeableness. “Wait a minute, does that mean you’re okay with this?”
“With the whole fake boyfriend stuff?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yeah, sure. It’s just a picture.”
“And also fake relationship stories—just a heads up.”
You could see how he might have rolled his eyes at that statement despite only hearing his voice from the phone. “Okay, whatever, use me all you want.”
You squealed, visibly jumping and swaying side by side in giddiness. “Really?”
“Sure. Ruin all of my chances of ever dating someone.”
“Come on, it’s just going to be for the meantime—”
“I’m kidding.” He cut you off with a snort. “Dating is out of the picture too with my hectic schedule. So, do whatever you have to do.”
“For real?” you exclaimed again.
He laughed at your reaction. “Yes, ____.”
“Ah, I owe you so much, Yoon!”
He fondly made a sound of approval. “Treat me to dinner later for the first installment of your payment. I have some spare time.”
“Alright. I’ll treat you to anywhere you want!”
“I’m going to hold onto that.” He chuckled. “Anyways, is that all you called me for? I have to attend a conference in a few minutes.”
“Yup. That’s all.”
“Okay. See you later then.”
You nodded, the big grin still on your features. “See you. Looking forward to it.”
Yoongi hummed in a soft manner before hanging up.
As you began to stride back to your workstation, happy because of the success of your plan to convince him to agree in being your cover-up boyfriend, you walked past Jihye, one of your said nosy co-workers who seemed like she overheard a part of your conversation, smiling at you.
“Was that your boyfriend?” she asked.
You placed your phone back inside your pocket, a new type of giddiness erupting inside your chest. “Yeah.”
“Ooh, are you two having a date?”
You nodded in a seemingly proud fashion. “It’s just dinner.”
“Still, I’m jealous.” She sighed dreamily and teasingly at you, causing you to chuckle while she went on with her agenda before stopping by to engage in small talk.
You stayed in your spot longer than intended, thinking about the events that may happen because of your desperation to not be linked to that other person in the office—but you didn’t really care, to be honest, knowing that if it was going to be Yoongi, everything was going to flow smoother than reckoned.
At least, that’s what you thought.
note. just a very short drabble inspired by a scene in yumi’s cell ! hehe
THANK YOU FOR READING & FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED !♡(ˆ‿ˆԅ)
summary: you are a novelist who has lost your inspiration. when you stay in the odd quaint town of swan hills you are mesmerized by the house on the hill and when you hear the rumors of the man who lives there you find yourself even more intrigued. the townspeople claim he’s a monster but when you find yourself meeting him you start to realize that things are not what they seem. word count: 16k+ tags:yoongi x female reader, gothic!au, mystery, romance, fluff, angst, warnings:death mentions, abandonment issues, injury mention, violence, blood mentions, a/n:this has been so much fun to write and the fact that it’s a part of this collab makes it even better. thank you to @moon-write for all of her hard work in putting this together and the stunning banner. i was hoping to write more at the end but ran out of time. hopefully i can write an epilogue soon. i hope you enjoy!
Swan Hills, a beacon of tranquility, it was said. When a rough case of writer’s block beset you your manager insisted you get a change of scenery. When he suggested that, you imagined a beachside cottage or perhaps a cabin in the woods. A small town nestled on the coast of a lake wasn’t exactly what you imagined but who were you to argue. At this rate, if you didn’t have a new novel by the end of the year you might become obsolete as a novelist.
The rough road that nearly tore a wheel off of your carriage should have been your first red flag. The ride there was quite dreary but it wasn’t unusual for there to be some of that on the way to a beautiful place. Unfortunately, this was not the case here.
As the carriage approached the town the first thing of note was the wooden sign that looked like it had endured one too many storms. ‘Swan Hills’ it read alongside a carving of the bird itself; only the pure white you would expect from a swan was a charred black.
When your manager had presented the town to you it had sounded too cute. How were you supposed to write a dark mystery novel in a cute lakeside town? The reality of the town seemed a lot gloomier.
The sky was gray and the breeze chilly as it passed through your carriage. As you rode into town the buildings you saw were all old and run down but the people moving about the town made it clear it wasn’t abandoned.
It was interesting, it felt like you were stepping into a novel. It gave you hope that you would be able to reclaim your inspiration here. You had to.
Peering out the window you spotted a building at the top of a large hill overlooking the town. It was hard to make out the details of the house other than its large size. It was captivating, the cold gray sky behind it, the trees surrounding the outskirts of the area. You were mesmerized, had to know more about it.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the town hall. Your manager said that he would have the information on your accommodations in the town. At first, you thought it odd that a mayor would have the time to help with that but now that you had seen the small town first hand you weren’t shocked by it.
Stepping out you entered the building, it smelt of dust despite the inside being relatively well kept. An older woman sat at the desk, looking up at the sound of your entrance like you were the first person to step through the door in ages. Maybe you were.
“Good afternoon, it’s so good to see you. I hope that your trip treated you well. We’re so excited to have you here.” She said standing up. “The mayor is waiting for you, go ahead on in.”
“Thank you very much.” You said with a polite bow before heading to the door she waved to. You noticed one of your more popular novels on her desk as you passed it.
Entering the office it was rather small for what you would expect of a mayoral office. The man who sat behind the desk was quick to flash a big smile. He wore a suit that to his credit was rather nice for the town he lived in. It made you wonder if he was from around here, certainly you couldn’t buy a suit like that in town. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties. A crop of black hair that was kept rather short and blue eyes that felt just a bit too intent for your liking.
“Ah, we’ve been waiting for you!” He said in a boisterous voice standing up from his chair. “It’s such an honor to have you here.”
“Thank you for having me.” You said. “It’ll be nice to be away from the city for a while.” There was something about this man that didn’t sit right with you but you couldn’t exactly place it. Maybe he took money under the table from the city. You couldn’t imagine the city had much money to take but you had a writer’s mind that always ran away from you.
“Forgive me if the town’s description was slightly embellished.” The man said with a smile that made you uncomfortable. Slimy mayor, that was an archetype to write down in your notebook.
“It’s okay, honestly when I was told this was supposed to be a romantic lake-side town I was quite hesitant. This though, spooky and dreary, this is perfect for what I need.” You didn’t miss the way his lip curled in annoyance for just a moment at your description of the town.
“Swan Hills is an up-and-coming town, and this time of year can be a bit gloomy but spring is always beautiful here.” He said, reclaiming his upbeat mood. It was the middle of summer, what normal place was this gloomy in summer? “By the time you’ve had a taste of all Swan Hills offers I’m sure you’ll be writing home about it.”
“Perhaps.” You said. You hardly thought Swan Hills would appeal to anyone you knew. Other than fellow mystery novelists, you weren’t going to give them any chance at inspiration from this odd town.
“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant.” He said. “Or if you have any questions at all.”
“Ah, I do have one question.” You said remembering the captivating house you had seen perched on the hill before. “What’s the story with the house on the hill?” This time the mayor’s face didn’t hesitate to turn to disgust.
“It’s nothing of any interest, I can assure you that much.” He said curtly. That was surely a lie. Such a prominent house had to have someone of note in it. You had assumed it was his house and were hoping for a tour of it. What better inspiration than a large manor, a perfect setting for a mystery to unfold.
“Ahh, what a shame.” You said.
“Anyways,” The man said, brushing off his attitude and falling back into his previous persona. “The lodgings we have prepared for you are ready for you. Ms. Kim can show you to it.” He gestured to the door.
“Thank you for everything.” You said with another bow before leaving.
Ms. Kim, you now knew the woman’s name in the first room, was standing ready at the door with her coat on.
“C’mon dear, let me show you the way.” She said opening the door. Stepping outside she pointed to some of the shops nearby. “Food and anything else you can find here in town would be right around here.”
“Good to know.” You said stepping into your carriage. You could hear Ms. Kim give your driver the directions. You couldn’t imagine it being very far. After a moment she stepped in.
“It’s hardly far we could have walked but then you wouldn’t have your stuff.” She said. “It’s just up the road at the foothill.”
“Is there anything fun to do, like tourist things?” You asked to make casual conversation. You didn’t think you would have much time to do anything recreational, you didn’t think there was anything to do if you were being honest.
“Ah, lots of people like to go out on the lake. It’s quite peaceful. We’re hoping to open a theater one day but there just aren’t enough people for one these days.” She said.
“Do you get a lot of people moving in?” You asked.
“Hardly,” She said with a sad look in her eyes. “We hope that we will have more people soon. It would be nice to have more life in the city.” She said.
The carriage came to a stop and the two of you got out. Before you sat a small cottage, it was as she said, nestled at the foothill. The house you asked about earlier is even more clear from the spot here. From here you could make out more of the features of the house. The house also sat facing the lake.
“This is quite a lovely house but it’s been empty for quite some time.” She said using her key to open the door. “Don’t worry, we’ve cleaned it up for you. You’ll find plenty of firewood in here as well as outside. And lamps with oil too.” She said.
It felt rude to think it but you were shocked at how nicely it was cleaned up on the inside. You had expected the worst but you had gotten quite a warm welcome here. It was quaint, a far cry from your city apartment uptown but it was endearing.
“If you need anything just let us know, we’re in the office most of the day.” She said.
“Thank you very much.” You said with a warm smile. You appreciated the help from her. You walked with her back to the carriage. Your driver had unloaded your luggage from the cab and into the house. Your eye was caught again by the house and you wondered if you would get more information from Ms. Kim. “Before you go, do you know anything about that house?”
Ms. Kim’s face turned sour, a big difference from the warm smile before.
“Only that a wretched man lives there.” She nearly spits. “Stay as far away from that place as you can.”
“Wretched man?” You questioned, an eyebrow raised at the sweet woman’s sudden anger. The mayor had shown disdain but this was more interesting. Someone did live there, someone who seemed to have a bad reputation among at least two people. You loved a good mystery.
“I hate to even mention him.” She huffed. “That man, he’s done horrible things to this town. If you ask me he’s why we can’t keep anyone here. If they don’t leave because of the dark cloud that house casts on the town it’s because he’s done something to them.”
“Done something to them?” You questioned. You patted yourself on the back for asking her. This was good information.
“I think he’s to blame for some of the missing people.” She said quietly, a frantic glance to the house looming above the both of you. “People don’t want to believe it though.”
“Forgive me for bringing it up.” You said waving your hand, you felt bad at the skittish reaction she was having. “Please, let my driver take you back to the town hall on his way out.” You offered.
“Oh, it’s okay.” She said. “It’s such a short walk.”
“I insist, as a small thank you for your help.” You said.
“You’re very sweet.” She said with a smile, her anger from earlier long gone. “Thank you, dear.”
Watching the carriage drive away it set upon you that you were stuck here until you could finish your novel. Not to mention whatever mystery there was with the manor on the hill. The thought of it got your heart pumping, you loved getting to the bottom of things. A mysterious man accused of heinous crimes? A town that pushed people out?
Even with how painful your writer’s block had been you were optimistic this place would be quick to drive it away.
Unpacking you set up your typewriter at the desk in the den along with the rest of your personal effects. You made sure to get a fire going and light the lamps as night descended on Swan Hills.
Opening the front door of your cottage you sat on the porch drinking a warm cup of tea as your brain struggled to find the perfect plot for your next novel.
The sound of a piano caught your ear immediately in the empty night. The soft but slow melody was haunting, beautiful but it sent a chill down your spine. There was no question about it, the music came from the manor set above you.
Writing spooky and suspenseful novels was your profession, you didn’t scare easily. The rumors of the man in the house not far from you had been exciting, entertaining even not long ago. But as the melody floated down from the cold air above you there was a heavy feeling of fear resting in your chest.
Standing up you returned into the cottage, locking the door tightly behind you. Entering the bathroom you washed your face with some warm water hoping it would give you some comfort.
Reasoning with yourself you knew that the reality was he was probably just some grumpy old man who scared people off. The town itself was enough to scare people away. If this man was really taking people or worse someone would have stopped him by now, right?
The next morning came without anything eventful happening. The air was cold and windy as you stepped out of the cottage you were staying in. For your first day, you wanted to walk around the area and hope that you would find some inspiration. That usually did the trick for you.
The lakeside was dreary and gray, a far cry from the sunny water’s edge that your manager described to you. Stray driftwood rested on the water’s edge against the dirt there. The waters were empty of any fowl that you would normally expect in a lake. There were no swans to be seen. Talk about false advertising.
As you took in the scenery you thought about what kind of novel you wanted to write. You had written many mysteries, some set in isolated cabins, busy towns, and perfect-looking countrysides. You wanted something different, something, unlike anything you had written before. You had often written the antagonists as scorned family members, bitter lovers, and vengeful colleagues. It was starting to feel like you had covered everything you could think of.
As you returned to the cottage you looked up at the ominous house again. There was something about it that drew you to it. It inspired something in you, maybe just maybe it was what you needed to fuel your new story.
What if you went and got a closer look? No doubt the stories were exaggerated; it was bound to happen in such a boring town.
Walking along you heard a voice speak from above you.
“You’re that writer, aren’t you?” The young girl said she was sitting in a small tree, you hadn’t even seen her in the first place. Looking at her you didn’t miss the book in her hand.
“I do write.” You said. “Not much these days it seems.” You laughed at your own joke. Your eyes caught the title of the book, it was one of your more obscure works. Something someone would only have if they followed your work closely. The air of indifference she put off made you smirk.
“What brings someone like you to this run-down town? Can’t imagine anyone coming here voluntarily.” She said.
“I’m hoping to work on a new book.” You said. “Not sure what the plot of it is yet.”
“Well if any town is the right setting for a creepy novel it’s this place.” She said.
“How long have you lived here?” You asked. Maybe you would get better information from a teenager, adults always had their own biases but younger people tended to have more direct views.
“Pretty much my whole life.”
“What do you know about that house?” You asked, pointing to it.
“If you ask most of the adults they’ll tell you that the man that lives there is up to no good. That he’s the reason no one wants to live here, why business is driven away, why people go missing.” She said.
“What do you think?”
“I think that I’ve never seen him leave the house. That from the property you would think that whoever lived there is long gone.” She said. “That’s a lot to blame on someone that you never see.”
“That’s a good point.” You said. “Who went missing?”
“Three girls, all of them in their early twenties.” She said. “The first four years ago, the next three, and the last girl two years.”
“That’s odd.” You said. “And no one ever found anything?”
“You’d have to ask the sheriff in town. He was supposed to investigate.” She explained. “People say their pets have gone missing too because of him. The shopkeeper in town is always complaining about her missing cat, she blames him. ‘Oh my poor Mr. Mittens, that evil man killed him.’ She’s always whining. Don’t bring it up, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your information.” You said. Missing girls, missing cats, it seemed odd no one went up there to confront anything. “What’s your name?”
“Bella.” She said.
“Nice to meet you, do you want an autograph?” You asked.
“Uh, no.” She said suddenly flustered. “I haven’t even read this book.” She said quickly, putting it in the bag hanging from her shoulder.
“Ah, forgive me.” You said trying to hide the smile at her forced indifference. “Let me know what you think of it. I’ll see you around then.”
“Bye.” She said.
Mulling over the new information you walked into your cottage grabbing something to eat before making some coffee. Sitting down at your typewriter you tapped out some thoughts onto paper. The mystery of the house on the hill was pulling you in, what if you were to write about it? What if you searched for the answers to the real mystery yourself and wrote down an embellished version of it as you went.
Once you ran the idea through your head you realized it was perfect. If something was pulling you in of course it would pull your readers in as well.
The sound of typing could be heard throughout the afternoon.
By the time evening fell you were happy with the start you had to your new novel. You had no idea where things would go but that would make it even more interesting and if the truth was boring then you would simply make something up that would fit.
The urge to walk up to the house on the hill was overwhelming and no doubt it would provide you with some amount of interest to write about once you were home.
No risk, no reward you reasoned as you grabbed a coat and scarf. Despite it being summer it was oddly chilly at times. You chalked it up to the lake. You brought a small lantern with you but left it unlit until you needed it. The light of the full moon was enough to show you the way. The climb up the hill was steeper than it had looked initially. As you got closer you saw the tall brick walls that surrounded the property, overgrown ivy climbed the sides of it. A large iron gate stood at the front.
You had hoped there wouldn’t be a gate so you could easily get a look but it seemed things wouldn’t be so easy. The gate looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. You followed the wall around the manor once you had gotten about halfway around you spotted a section of the wall that had tumbled down, bricks laying around an opening big enough to slip through.
Perhaps it was a bad idea but your curiosity was often too strong for your own good. Moving quietly you slipped through the opening. Looking around you saw what looked like it had been a previous garden. In contrast to the overgrown ivy on the brick, the plants here were long dead, dry branches sticking everywhere.
Moving through the dead garden you saw a gazebo, the paint chipped away and the plants that no doubt had once been lush and green were crisp and dead. There were old stone statues throughout the yard. You imagined if they were accompanied by lively plants they would look beautiful but alongside the dead plants, they looked creepy. You couldn’t stop the shiver down your spine as you stared at the stained statue of an angel as a cold breeze moved by.
As you got closer to the manor. The shingles on the house in some places were falling off. The dark paint faded. It was dark inside, no sign of anyone living there. A part of you wondered if maybe no one was living in the house anymore and it was merely an empty building they could use as a scapegoat for the town’s issues.
Looking back to the garden you noticed something odd, near the house there was a stone path that led to an area with a circle. Around the stone circle, there were three rose bushes that were alive, not just alive but beautiful. The one in the middle was a stunning red, the one on the left a sleek black, and the one on the right a pure white.
Roses were not plants that were known to thrive on their own, even when they were taken care of they could be hard to keep alive. If there was no one taking care of them they would no doubt be as dead as the rest of the garden.
Reaching out you took a petal in your hand feeling the soft texture against your skin.
A chill ran down your spine and you looked up to the large window only to see a figure standing there with a candle in hand. Even from far away, you could make out a younger-looking man with nearly white hair that stood staring down at you.
You held back a scream of fear as you dropped your unlit lantern and took off running to the opening you had squeezed in through. You didn’t stop running until you got back to your cottage. Chest heaving you laid down on the couch trying to process what had happened.
After taking a warm shower and changing into bedclothes you had enough time to reason with yourself. He was just standing there, it was just a man standing there no matter how ghostly he had seemed. You were the one trespassing on his property.
Despite your logical reasoning you still found yourself unable to find any sleep. Instead, you used the dark hours of the night to write more about what had just happened. The least you could do was use your eventful night for inspiration.
The next morning you woke up after falling asleep for a few hours at your desk. In the light of day, the memory of last night felt unreal. A part of you wondered if it had just been a dream but the lack of lantern in your house reminded you that it had happened.
It was easier in the morning light to believe that it had just been an annoyed homeowner looking down at you from his house but the thought of the girls who went missing crept up in your mind. Had they too been too curious? Was that the last thing they had seen?
No, you were being ridiculous.
You remembered the young girl mentioning the sheriff was supposed to investigate the missing girls. Maybe he had more information, maybe he did investigate them and nothing turned up.
After eating breakfast and changing you walked into town, it wasn’t hard to spot the sheriff’s station out of the handful of buildings there.
Walking in you were shocked at the size of the building. It was smaller than the shoe box apartments in the city. There was one desk and a cell attached to the open area. Behind the desk was a man with his feet kicked up on the table and a book resting on his face, not that it did anything to mask his loud snoring.
“Ahem.” You coughed loudly but the man remained asleep. You rolled your eyes looking at the door. Opening it again you slammed it shut loudly this time the noise startled the man out of his sleep as he nearly fell out of his chair. “Ahh sorry, the wind caught the door.” You apologized with your best effort to look sorry.
“Sorry,” He said, sitting up in his chair. “Just resting my eyes for a moment.”
“Of course.” You said.
“You’re the VIP in town,” He said, realizing who you were. You were sure they didn’t get very many visitors here. “I’ve made sure to have my best officer patrolling constantly while you are here just in case you get any unruly fans.”
“Very thoughtful of you.” You said. “I can see how hard at work you’ve been.” You couldn’t help making the comment but it seemed to go over his head.
“Of course, I take the safety of this town very seriously.” He said with a nod.
“I wasn’t here about myself though, I was interested in something I heard around town. They say that there’s been some missing girls in the past couple of years.” The man looked hesitant. You were sure that he was going to withhold information if you didn’t ask this right. “It’s just in my new story I have the same thing going on, I was hoping for some realism in the story and I hoped that a real-life sheriff like you could tell me how the process of an investigation goes.”
The man’s face turned from cautious to interested.
“Of course I’d be happy to offer my experience.” He said sitting up straight. “I’ve been the sheriff of this town for nearly fifteen years now. I’ve never seen anything like it, it’s always been peaceful and quiet but four years ago one of the young women in the town went missing. Delany Rose, ah her parents are still so broken up about it. She was beautiful, always won the beauty pageant in town.”
You wondered how much competition there was for a beauty pageant in such a small town.
“Her father owns the general store here, her mother well she’s quite the gossip in town but don’t tell her I said that. Delany was always a smart girl, quite the star, always seemed too big for this city. One night she was gone, the last person to see her was old Miss Kim. She saw her by the road that leads up to the manor on the hill.”
“Did you talk to the man who lives in the house?” You wondered.
“Ah well I spoke to a man there but he said he hadn’t seen her.”
“What about nearby towns? Did you ever see if she was there?” You asked.
“Ah well, the closest town is a bit of a ride so I never got around to it.” He said sheepishly.
“So the most you did was talk to people in town then?”
“Well, yeah.” He said.
Maybe you should have expected a small town wouldn’t have a sheriff that was ambitious enough to solve the case of a missing girl but you had thought since there were so few people that they would care enough about each other to get to the bottom of things and find out what happened to one of their own.
“So I presume that’s all you did for the others too?” You questioned.
“Yes.” He said.
“Well thank you for your time.” You said with a sigh before leaving. Despite the only evidence being the missing girl being seen near the road that leads to the house on the hill that was all, they needed to accuse the man living there of kidnapping or killing young women.
It was shocking that they wouldn’t put more effort into people disappearing. So much for small towns caring.
As you walked back to the cottage you remembered him mentioning a woman that had seen the girl before she disappeared. You bookmarked her name in your head, maybe you could talk to her to get more information eventually.
You spent the day editing what you had written so far but you couldn’t help the thought of the missing girls. Was he to blame? There wasn’t enough evidence to support it but at the same time, there was hardly enough investigation. Asking a man one question was hardly going to pull an answer from him. They should have at least searched the house. And he didn’t even check nearby towns, what if she had just moved without telling anyone?
The rest of the night was spent making dinner before curling up next to the fireplace with a book you had been meaning to read for a long time.
No matter how much you pushed it off you couldn’t get rid of the thought of going back to the house. You did need to get your lantern back, granted you could easily buy a new one but you liked having an excuse to go back.
Maybe you were like Icarus, flying too close to the sun waiting for something horrible to happen before you stopped. They said curiosity killed the cat but people often forget that satisfaction brought it back.
In the least, if you died trying to solve a mystery and write a novel at least someone else could write a cool story about you. You made a mental note to write down everything in case you did die.
The next day came and you mentally prepared yourself to return to the manor. You considered doing it in the middle of the day, maybe it would seem less scary but you also thought it might be easier to spot you. Sneaking in and out in the dead of night sounded like a better plan. You weren’t exactly sure what you would find there but you hoped for the best.
After spending your day editing you waited for nightfall before heading out. The walk felt shorter the second time around, your steps less unsure. This time there was nearly no light, you hadn’t realized the cloud cover that was blowing in until the harsh wind reached you. The wind pushed your thin coat back along with your hair. You wished that you had brought a better coat with you but it was summer, you didn’t even think you’d need one at all.
Once you reached the same place you squeezed in through, you took a look around before entering the garden again. It looked the same for the most part, although it was harder to see. You found yourself tripping over stray pieces of stone that laid on the ground.
After some searching you found the rose bushes where you had dropped your lantern the night before. That’s when the sky lit up with blinding light. Thunder roared as rain suddenly poured down. You had never seen a storm start so quickly in your life. It was no quaint storm either, just after one bolt struck another one did not far from the garden.
Clutching your lantern you panicked, before you could move towards the exit a bolt struck the ground where you would have walked to leave.
There was only one option, to go inside the house. At this point nothing inside the house could be more terrifying than being struck by lightning. You told yourself that life was not like your stories, that the man living in this house was most likely just that, a man.
As you ran to the door you hoped that proved true. Banging on the door in a panic you hoped someone would answer or else you would kick the door down yourself.
After what felt like an hour but was in reality only a few minutes, the door opened to reveal an older man in a suit. Not the white haired man you had spotted in the window the night before.
He looked bewildered, shocked even.
“I’m so sorry, I got caught in the storm.” You quickly said. “I nearly got struck by lighting-”
“Come in,” He said, waving his hand. It seemed he was over his confusion at having a visitor and had become worried for you.
The house is something out of one of your novels. It’s elegant but looks forgotten to time. Despite it being clean and well kept, much unlike the outside, there’s something about it that feels empty. Maybe it’s the silence, a large house like this would only make sense if you had a family living here along with staff to care for everything.
He ushers you from the entryway into a sitting room.
“Please sit,” You hesitate, you’re soaked to the bone from the onslaught of rain, you don’t want to ruin the furniture. “It’s okay,” He reassures.
Not wanting to be rude, you sit, thankful that things are going well so far. No murderous man living here, that you’ve encountered so far.
The man looks at you for a moment unsure. “Let me speak to the lord of the house and I will return.” He said, before you could even ask a question he disappeared behind a door.
It’s odd sitting there freezing. All you had intended on doing was getting your lantern back and sneaking a few peaks at the manor but here you sat inside it. So far it was hardly the horror house that the town had made it out to be.
A part of you is disappointed, you had hoped for a good mystery to inspire your next novel. It seemed you would have to take the bones of reality and embellish till you had something readable.
It’s not long before he returns, when he does he is carrying a few things. The most obvious is the tray of tea but it takes you a moment to notice the neatly folded clothes that he has.
“The lord of the house requested I bring you some dry clothes and warm tea.” He said as he placed the tray on the table. “There’s a guest bath behind that door,” He gestures to one of the doors lining the room. “You are welcome to stay for the night, it seems the storm will continue for quite a while and it would be dangerous to travel home.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” The dry clothes that he hands you are a dream. Anything would be better than the freezing clothes you’re wearing now. You excuse yourself to change into the dry clothes. He was also kind enough to provide you a towel to dry yourself off with. By the time you return to the living room you feel like a new person. Sitting down you take a sip of the tea he’s made. It’s the perfect temperature after the time that’s passed.
“You’re new here,” He said, taking a seat across from you. You assume they don’t get visitors if his reaction to you at the door is any clue. He seems eager to chat despite you being a complete stranger who was trespassing.
“I’m visiting,” You explain. “I write books for a living, I came here to write my next novel.”
“Oh, you write?” He asks. “I’ve read quite a few books, it’s really all there is to do in my spare time. What’s your name?” You tell him and see his eyes light up. “Oh! I love your novels so much, I’m quite the fan.”
It’s endearing, the way he rattles on about your plots and the guesses he had for the culprit in your books. It makes you happy to see someone give your work such thought. At the end of the day what gives you a living is the purchase but what keeps you motivated to write is how much people love what you write.
“If I’m being honest the reason I was up here was because this house is so mesmerizing,” You explain. “I’m trying to figure out the plot for my next book and this house keeps drawing me to it. I was hoping it would spark something for me.” You tell him. You watch as his eyes light up.
“Well, I can ask the lord of the house but if you want to see anything I could show you.” He says, almost as giddy as a child. “I would love to help if the lord doesn’t mind.”
“That would be quite the help.” You tell him. In reality, the man who you saw in the window is what is drawing you here more than anything but at the same time you are amazed by the house. You had only seen a fraction but you would love a tour if it was offered. It would be the perfect setting for a novel and seeing it first hand would help leagues in describing it.
“The lord of the house-” You question. “What kind of man is he?”
“Ah, I shouldn’t say much. He’s a very private man.” He said, his demeanor shifting from excited to guarded in a moment’s time. “He’s a good man and that’s all I’ll say.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. I’ve already done enough.” You said.
“I can take you to a guest room for the night-” He says.
“The couch is fine, I hate to bother you any more.” You explain.
“It’s okay-”
“The couch is fine.” You insist.
“Let me grab you some bedding then.” He said, not wanting to push it.
He returned moments later with a pillow and blankets in arm.
“If there’s anything else you need, please just give a shout and I’ll help you.” He said.
After he leaves it feels odd being in a stranger’s house alone. Especially such a grand one at that. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been to nice homes in your life, rich people were always throwing house parties and inviting you as some token guest. But this manor was different from the usual city mansion. It was far bigger than the ones in the city and the ornate decoration was unique.
You fixed the pillows and blankets onto the couch, gazing at the burning hearth for a moment. The candles that had been burning for light that hung from the wall suddenly went out and you felt yourself tensing in fear. Glancing at them you could see that the reason was that they had burnt to the bottom of their wick but it didn’t take away how ominous it had felt.
The low light of the hearth was all that was left. You supposed it was good that it was darker so you could fall asleep. That’s what you told yourself as you laid down on the couch, getting comfortable.
Surprisingly you fell asleep quite fast. It seemed the night’s events had exhausted you enough.
A creak in the floor boards wakes you from your sleep. The room is dark now, the embers in the fireplace barely glowing enough to illuminate the exposed brick surrounding it. Opening your eyes slowly you glance around the room without moving.
There’s a shadow in the room with you, perhaps ten feet away from you and it’s taller than the small man who was the butler of the house. Your breath leaves your body as you paralyze in fear. Before fight or flight can kick in, the shadow leaves the room, creaking footsteps with it.
Finally you take the breath you had been holding and try to calm yourself. Was that the lord of the house? As the butler had referred to him. Was he going to do something to you? The thought of the missing girls comes to mind and you wonder just how stupid you are to have come here by yourself. Even if you did get out safe and the man was harmless you could have ended up in a really bad situation.
Even more exhausted you fall asleep thinking of ways you could incorporate your eventful night into your novel.
When you woke again the sun was streaming in through the window that wasn’t far from the couch you had slept on. The events of the previous night came to mind but in the light of day they felt less daunting. Had you just dreamed it? It wouldn’t be unheard of. You weren’t a stranger to odd dreams.
“Ah, good morning.” The butler said as he entered the room. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thank you again.” You said.
“Would you like some tea or coffee? Anything for breakfast?” He asked.
“Oh no, that would be too much. I’ve already intruded enough.” You said, waving your hands.
“It would be no problem.” He said.
“It’s okay,” You said. “I should get home so I can get some work done.”
“Whatever works best for you, miss.” He said.
“Thank you, once again, for everything.” You said as you gathered yourself. “And give my regards to the lord of the house as well.”
“Of course.” He said.
After bidding a goodbye, you left, trekking down the hill. Not missing out on getting a look at the garden in daylight as you passed by.
It felt like a fever dream more than anything else, everything that had happened. You weren’t exactly sure what to think of it all. The only person you had met in the house was more than kind. No hint of anything suspicious or disturbing. But you wondered, had you really seen a shadowy figure in the night? Were there more mysteries to find in the manor?
There was that curiosity in you that was impossible to sate. A part of you that wanted any excuse to return and uncover more information. That’s when it hit you, what if you brought a gift to show your thanks? You were in fact very thankful, you didn’t know what would have happened if their doors hadn’t been opened to you and the butler had shown nothing but kindness. The least you could do was get a gift for him. If you happened to see anything else or find something out that would only be a bonus.
You resolve to find a nice gift basket, although you remember you are in a small town that has next to nothing. You decided to go to the general store in town.
As you approach the store front you don’t miss the bulletin in front with papers that say ‘Missing Cat’ along with a very in depth description of a cat. All black except for a bit of white at the tails end along with the odd trait of an extra claw on his front paws. “Mr. Mittens.” You read to yourself. You recall someone mentioning the storekeeper was obsessed with their missing cat.
The encounter with the storekeeper is pretty much what you expected after interacting with some of the town’s character. She doesn’t miss a chance to mention her missing cat, asking you to keep an eye out. You hold your tongue at mentioning the cat’s been gone for months, did she really think she’d find it.
The store’s inventory is about what you’d expect but you manage to find enough decent things to make a gift basket that’s general enough to suit anyone’s likes. Taking the basket home you wonder if returning tomorrow is too soon.
When you get home you don’t waste time in getting your desk setup to write. You feel inspired for the first time in a while and you know not to let that get away from you. Using your previous night as a template you write out some dramatic scenes making sure to embellish them as much as you can.
Using the day you manage to get a lot of work done. By the time it’s dinner you pack up your writing stuff and start making some food. You keep a window open at the cabin, hoping to hear a hint of the melancholy music you had heard before but it’s quiet for the night.
The next day you find yourself wondering when is an appropriate time to drop by. You don’t want to go too early but you also don’t want to make the walk up there in the dark again. After eating lunch you decide now is as good a time as any.
Yesterday you had taken the time to put the gift basket together, it wasn’t anything impressive. Especially compared to what you would normally get as a gift in the city. You hoped the assorted snacks would be enough of a thank you.
When you knock on the door of the manor it opens with a loud creak. You glance around looking for any sign of the butler but he’s nowhere to be found. You step inside wondering if you should just leave it on the table in the entryway but you hear a gentle melody coming from further inside the house.
You know you should leave, it’s the safe thing to do and the polite thing but you can’t stop your curiosity. It’ll be the death of you one day, you know it.
As you walk into the living room you had slept in the other night you hear the music coming from upstairs, thankfully the staircase is easy to find. You walk with soft steps, hoping to avoid making too much noise. When you reach the second floor you can see a large black grand piano sitting at a large window that faces the garden.
On the bench you see a man with blond hair so light it almost looks white. In the sunlight you can see more of a yellow tone. You realize that this is most likely the man you had seen in the window. You get a bit closer before stopping where you are listening to the music he’s playing. It’s beautiful and sad at the same time. You had heard many musicians, on street corners, on big stages, but none had ever played you something that made you feel this way.
You move to take another step closer but you step on a squeaky floor board. The music comes to a stop with a clashing of notes. His head snaps to where you are, eyes wide in shock.
“I’m sorry,” You are quick to apologize. “The door was open, I came with a gift as a thank you for your hospitality the other night. I presume you’re the lord of the house?”
The gift basket is heavy in your arms. He stands stepping closer to you without a word. He examines the gift basket for a moment before taking it from your hands.
“I’m sorry for intruding, I really hate to bother you.” You said, it was hard not to ramble nervously in the awkward silence.
“Thank you,” He said, his voice soft. It would have been easy not to hear him.
This is probably the best chance you have to ask him about everything in the town, the rumors. There isn’t exactly an easy way to ask about missing girls when he’s the one people seem to blame. You wanted answers but you weren’t going to be rude to someone who had been kind enough to let you in on a stormy night.
“I’m new to town, I’m an author.” You explained, unsure of what else to say. “I’m trying to work on a new novel so I got away from the city to try and help for some inspiration.”
“What’s your name?” He asked. You tell him and he gives a thoughtful look. “I’ve never read any of your books but I haven’t seen a new book in a long time.” He explained.
“Ah well I’ve only been publishing books for about six years.” You explain. “I’ve been writing since I was a child though.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything but he does seem interested, to your surprise.
“Your butler, he’s a good man, very kind.” You said. “I know I already said it but I appreciate the hospitality. That was a nasty storm, do you get many here?”
“At times. The lake is large enough that it makes the storms worse.” He said.
“Speaking of your butler? Is he okay? I didn’t see him.” You asked.
“He just went into town, not this one, the bigger one nearby, for supplies.” He said.
“Ah, yes. The store here doesn’t have much.” You said. “And what it does have is rather marked up in price.”
There was a pause for a moment.
“I’m sorry, I’ll get going. I know you weren’t expecting anyone.” You said. “Thank you, again.”
He simply nodded.
“Good day.” You said as you retreated down the stairs.
“Good day.” His voice was quiet still as he said his good bye.
As you walked down the hill, wind gently ruffling your hair, you thought about the man you had spoken too. He was quiet but from what you could sense he was soft in demeanor, different but nothing about him seemed sinister as the town had depicted him as. You couldn’t get his gentle brown eyes that had hesitantly met yours out of your head.
Days passed and you worked more on your novel, in between you took walks on the lakeside and spoke to different townspeople. The census you got from everyone seemed to be the same. The only person who’s opinion seemed to differ was the teenager you had spoken to. It wasn’t uncommon for you to bump into them. You would ask some questions, they would answer candidly despite their indifferent demeanor and you would be on your way.
It was one day when you ran into them that they gave you a good lead on information.
“If you want information, the person who’s seen the most here is old lady Mai. She’s lived here longer than anyone else. She knows more about anything than anyone else.” She said, “She’s out of town but it’s probably worth a trip to you.”
With that you didn’t hesitate to follow her directions. Maybe it was a bit of a stretch to follow a teenager’s directions to the outskirts of town but you wouldn’t say no to a lead even if it came up empty.
The house was old, that much was evident. But it wasn’t exactly run down, it looked like someone took care of the house. It was nestled far back in a forest outside of downtown about an hour’s walk away.
Approaching the door, you knocked confidently. After a few moments you heard shuffling before the door opened.
“Hello?” An older woman answered the door. She looked curious, no doubt unfamiliar with people knocking at her door.
“Hello, I’m sorry to bother you but I was hoping to talk to you if you had some time.” You said. “I’m an author doing research for a new book and I had some questions about this town. I was told you’ve lived here longer than anyone else.”
“I have, I know far more than most in this town.” She said, “Come in, ask your questions.” She said turning around with a wave of her hand inviting you in.
Without a question you followed her into the kitchen in her house, she gestured to a chair and you sat down. She grabbed a kettle from the stove, pouring two mugs on the table. She slid one over to you, keeping the other one.
“What do you want to know?” She asked as she sat down. It seemed she was a straight-to-the-point kind of woman.
“Why does the town fear the man who lives in that manor so much?”
“It’s in the mayor’s best interest.” She says cryptically. You want to complain that she doesn’t answer directly but you appreciate the anticipation.
“Why would he care?” You ask.
“It goes back almost thirty years ago.” She explains. “Once upon a time the Min family was the heart of this town. Back then there were far more people living here too. He ran a business, a good one, out of Swan Hills. It made the town thrive. He took good care of the people who worked for him. The mayor used to work with him, he was an important man in the company but he was greedy. He wanted to take over after him but then he had a son and the mayor knew one day that the company would go to his son before it ever went to him.”
“And the Min family lived in the manor?” You ask but she is indifferent to your questions.
“The mayor split off and made his own company but he was not a good business man on his own, he was too quick to cut corners and disloyal to the people that worked for him.” She explained. “Years later the Min family died in a boat accident, all except their son. He was too young at the time so the company went to his father’s trusted business partner but he moved the company into the city. After that most people left with no livelihood to be had here anymore. The city became desolate except for a small amount that stayed.”
“Did the mayor stay?” You asked. It seems this time she entertains your question.
“He left for the city with most. There he was able to get his business off the ground, much easier to scam people in a city with hundreds of thousands of people. Once he did well for himself he returned and became mayor after hours had passed. It seems he has some obsession with this town.” She said.
“It’s that easy to become mayor here?” You questioned.
“In such a small town a man with a lot of money has a lot of pull.” She said. “He invested in the area hoping to make it a landmark vacation spot, hoping people would buy the property he bought for far more than he got it for. The problem is most people who visit find the town run down and creepy, a big part due to the manor overlooking the town. The rumors the locals started about missing girls and dead animals drove everyone away. No one wants to visit much less buy anything to return to. He’s tried a lot but nothing works.”
“He’s a fool for trying to sell this place like some beach side spot.” You said.
“That’s why he invited you here no doubt, he probably hopes you’ll buy a home here so he can tell everyone a big author has a vacation home here. He’s desperate, he knows nothing will work for him.”
“So the man in the house, he’s the son of the man who died?” You asked.
“He is.” She answered. Your heart sank thinking back to him, thinking back to the sad music he plays. How long had he lived there with no one other than the butler with him?
“Thank you,” You said. “I truly appreciate your time. If you ever need anything, I’ll be in town for a while if you ever need anything. I’m in a cottage near the lakeside.”
“Thank you, it’s not often people find themselves out here. It’s nice to have some company.” She said.
After your goodbyes you returned to town thinking about everything you learned. It only seemed there was more to this mystery. The man that lived in the manor was evidently a lonely orphan who had been isolated from the world. That plus the time you had spent around him had made you even more endeared towards him. You found yourself wanting to clear his name of the awful rumors that had been spread about him but you didn’t think it was your place.
That didn’t mean you didn’t want to know more about him. That’s when you came up with the idea to bring him your books. You had brought with you a few extra copies of the novels you had written just in case you met anyone who might want to read them. You gathered that he might be a reader and if he hadn’t seen a new book in so long it might be something he would enjoy.
You gather the courage to visit again. With a small chest carrying all your books you make the trek up the hill to the manor in the afternoon. Knocking on the door, the butler answered after a moment. He looked surprised by your appearance.
“Oh, miss. Good to see you again.” He said. “Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to stop by to drop this off for-” You realized that you still hadn’t learned the man’s name. “-for the lord of the house.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Min.” He said. “Come in, let me notify him.”
Standing in the entry way you waited for the man to return. What surprised you was instead of the butler returning, the man with blond hair returned. He looked cautious but you figured if he came out to see you rather than having his butler talk to you it meant something.
“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you again.” You said, setting the chest on the table there. “I brought you some of my novels, if you were interested.”
He looked at you for a moment before looking at the chest. He unhooked the latch, opening it taking in the books there.
“You can read them in any order, they are stand-alones.” You explained. Just as you moved to gesture at one of the books you were startled by a cat jumping onto the table.
“Sorry,” He said.
The cat let out a small meow looking to you for attention. It was black with white at the tip of it’s tail but what caught your attention was the paws, it had an extra claw. That’s when it clicked, this was the cat the lady at the general store claimed was missing. It seemed it was here all along.
“Is this your cat?” You asked curious if it was the same cat, it would be odd if it wasn’t.
“He showed up one day in the garden.” He said. “I pet him for a while but when I went inside he meowed at the door non-stop. Ever since then he has moved in.”
“The woman in town claims this cat is missing, blames you for killing it.” You said, feeling out if he had heard all the claims the town has made. The look on his face is blank, he doesn’t seem shocked.
“A lot of people claim a lot of things.” He said, his gaze on the cat as he ran his fingers along it’s pelt.
“It seems that way.” You said. “If you read the books, I’d love to hear what you think about them.”
“Thank you.” He said.
“Before I go, I realize I never got your name.” You said remembering before you left without it again.
“Yoongi.” He said. “Min Yoongi.”
When you receive a letter a few days later you’re surprised. The only person who has this address is your manager and it’s not from him. The letter is sealed with an ornate wax seal. Opening it you realize it’s from Yoongi. It’s an invitation for dinner. It was the last thing you expected but it had you excited. What had started off as interest for inspiration was quickly turning into personal interest and you found yourself thinking of any excuse to go back to that manor to see him.
You find yourself at the door to the manor yet again. You hadn’t brought any outfits that would suit a nice dinner you were used to in the city but you assume that this wouldn’t be as formal. You hope at least.
“Good to see you again,” The butler answers the door with a smile. You wonder if you’re the first guest since the Min family passed. You wonder if they ever saw anyone other than each other.
“Thank you for having me.” You said.
“The lord of the house insisted.” He said. “It’s nice to host someone for a meal, it’s been ages.”
The butler leads you into the dining room, pulling a seat out for you. You thank him as you sit down.
“He’ll be here in a moment, let me get the appetizer.” He said before leaving out of a door that was opposite of the way you came in.
It was uncomfortably silent as you waited but after a few moments the door opened, a different one than the butler had used. In walked Yoongi, he was dressed far nicer than you, in a sleek black blazer and a white shirt under.
“I’m glad you could come.” He said with a small bow before sitting down.
“Thank you for inviting me.” You replied.
Just then the butler returned with the appetizer, setting it down on the table.
“That smells amazing.” You said. “Thank you.”
The two of you started eating, you were thinking about what to say but before you could Yoongi spoke, surprising you.
“I read your books.” He said. “I enjoyed them.”
“Oh, which ones?” You asked.
“All of them.” He said plainly. It had only been a few days since you had given him the books.
“Really?” You said surprised.
“I haven’t read a new book in forever, I was a bit excited.” He said, sounding almost boylike. You let out a small laugh.
“Well I hope they were good compared to the classics. I know modern literature can be lacking in comparison at times.”
“I found it refreshing. I couldn’t put them down.” He said.
He explained his opinion of each book at your request. He explained the characters that he liked and the twists that shocked him. He was honest about certain points in the book but overall was very impressed with them. You loved anytime you could talk to someone about your books.
“What is the novel you’re working on now about?” He asked.
“Well, actually I was struggling for a long time on what to write but when I heard the rumors in the town about your manor and well, about you I thought it was a good idea for a story. Granted, I’m exaggerating a lot for the book.” You explained. You were hesitant, you hoped he wasn’t offended by what you were writing about.
What you didn’t expect was for him to burst out laughing. It’s a few moments before he stops laughing.
“Sorry, I just- That’s the last thing I would have expected.” He said, still a bit breathless from his laughter. He’s cute when he laughs, you think to yourself. He’s cute when he’s all mysterious but you ignore that thought.
“I’m sorry, I hope it doesn’t offend you. If it bothers you I can change the plot-”
“No, no.” He assures you. “It’s just you’ll find that the reality is quite boring in comparison to what the town talks about.”
“And what is the reality?” You question. You didn’t think it would be so easy to get to the bottom of it all.
“The animals they claim I’ve killed are just animals that grew tired of their owners and made their way up here.” He explained. “I’ve fed them and they’ve chosen to stay here.”
“I can see that from Mr. Mittens.” You mention the cat you saw here the other day.
“And the girls that have gone missing aren’t dead or trapped in my basement, they were just people who hated small towns and wanted bigger things in life.” He explained.
“That is true.” The butler said as he stepped in with two plates of food. “I’ve run into them in the bigger towns around here on my supply runs. They’re doing quite well for themselves.”
“I figured as much, I spoke to the sheriff about it and he said he hadn’t searched any further than the town.” You said. “I’m not surprised, reality rarely is as dramatic as novels. Which is for the better more often than not.”
The dinner goes well, Yoongi is more talkative once you get him going. He feels more open, you wonder if him reading your work is what spurred this on. Although your novels might seem far away from your personality they are a unique insight into how your brain works. Perhaps knowing more about you through your books puts him at ease.
You insist that the butler eats with you but he insists he had already eaten before preparing the meal for you.
After sitting and talking for quite a while following dinner, Yoongi offers to move into the sitting room. On a couch in front of the hearth you talk for hours more. It’s only when you both grow tired that you think about going home.
As he walks you to the door he asks if you feel comfortable walking home in the dark. A kindness considering he knows of your late night adventures through his back yard. You can tell a part of him wants to offer to walk you home as he walks you to the gate but you can see the discomfort creep onto his face as he nears the edge of his property. Had he left the brick walls that surrounded the house since his parents had died?
“If you even want to, you could write here.” He offered as you get ready to part ways. “It might help, with inspiration.” He says.
“Thank you, that’s a kind offer.” You say. You wonder if it’s just an excuse to see you again. You hope. “I would like to take you up on that.”
“Anytime you want, morning, afternoon, evening.” He said.
“Thank you,” You tell yourself that it would no doubt help to write here but you know you would take any excuse to see him again. For a moment you wonder how he’s managed to capture your attention so quickly outside of the interest you held for your novel.
You don’t hesitate to return. You come with a typewriter and notebooks in tow. Yoongi offers a few different places for you to set up but you choose the spot in the room with his piano.
At first he gives you distance, quiet to write, which you appreciate but you enjoy it even more when he comes in with a tray of tea. You don’t miss that it seems something the butler would do instead. He sits with you and asks about your writing but the conversation moves quickly to other things.
You return the next day, and the next. Yoongi gives you less space but you li
Reaction:Yoongi meets you in a meet and greet and you have a child withyou.
A/N:Just a quick little work that I thought would be funny. I’m open to new requests <3
°•. ✿ .•°
Now, Yoongi loved his fans, he really did. Army was everything to him.
Well, almost everything. His dog was also a big part of his life.
But anyway.
Army was an intrinsic part of who he was and he appreciated every single fan with enough power to light up the city of New York.
But still, after a couple hours of meet and greets and a few hundred faces, the mind starts to wonder and people start to blurr. He would like to say that he remembered every single fan he greeted, but that would not be realistic as he was just one little man with limited storage space in his brain. Sometimes he forgot some, but he liked to believe that the feeling lingered.
Reaction:Yoongi meets you in a meet and greet and you have a child with you.
Part two: Yoongi calls you.
Request: “So like… You’re open to requests right? What about a chapter 2 of this very beautiful chapter 1?”
A/N:Not me starting a reaction series wanting to write quick little one-shots open to requests and yall just requesting part two, three and four of the first thing I post lmaooo
Still open to requests tho
°•. ✿ .•°
Yoongi used to be so great at picking up girls.
Back in the days, back when responsibilities were far and few and eyeliner was plentiful, he could look at a girl and in seconds have her phone number in one pocket and her panties in the other.
But now, after years-long hiatus from his Don Juan career caused by a jam-packed schedule and a (then terminated) contract he read like an app Terms and Conditions (that is to say, he didn’t), Yoongi seemed to have lost his ways. Now he could look at a girl and… Well, she would look at him back. Probably.
How do you call a girl nowadays, Yoongi wondered lying on his bed. Did things change since the last time he did it? Do people still call girls “shawties” or…?
Yoongi groaned, covering his face with his hands in frustration. That was how Taehyung found him a couple minutes later, still groaning.
“What are you doing, hyung?” he asked, eyeing him from the door.
“Contemplating the consequences of my decisions” Yoongi answered, voice muffled.
“Ew, why?”
Yoongi just shrugged, deciding not to answer.
“What’s that on your hand?” Taehyung pried, nosy as ever, walking in and taking it before the older boy had the chance to react “Is that a phone number? Who are you calling?”
“Give me that!” Yoongi ripped the paper from Taehyung’s sticky fingers, smoothing the creases out “It’s just… This girl I met at the last fanmeet.”
“Oh man is it the hot Milf with the little boy?”
Yoongi sputtered “How did you… She’s not…!”
Taehyung, as usual, interrupted “Yoongi-hyuuuung” he lied down next to other, head on his shoulder “You know you are my favorite hyung right?”
Unimpressed, Yoongi stared at him like he was a piece of gum that got stuck on his shoes.
“The best hyung ever!” Taehyung continued, batting his eyelashes “Say, hyung, best hyung… What are your thoughts on threesomes…”
Yoongi pushed him away, making him roll out of the bed and fall on the ground with a thud.
There were many reasons why Yoongi wouldn’t have a threesome with Taehyung, one of them being the fact that he was an absolute brat and would drive Yoongi insane in the bedroom and not in a good way.
The other was that Yoongi was a possessive little rascal, but that wasn’t necessarily related to Taehyung. He would first have Taehyung join the rapline in a Cypher before he shared you.
“Three is a crowd” Yoongi mumbled “Get out of my room”
Taehyung left, groaning as his hand rubbed his sore ass and Yoongi was once again left with his unhelpful spiraling thoughts. Always dichotomous, his mind could be full of worries and concerns, anxious and cacophonous or as empty as Jungkook’s first apartament and just as sparsely decorated.
Right now, his thoughts were slowly picking up volume, getting louder than his braveness, and so he decided to quickly dial up your number before he could give up.
“Helloo?” a child’s voice picked up on the third ring, one he recognized as Junsuu’s.
“Hey, is this Junsuu?” Yoongi asked, making sure. Children kind of all sounded the same to him.
“Yes, it is!”
“Is this your aunt’s phone, Junsuu? Can I talk to her?” did you give him the wrong number on accident, he wondered? Do kids these days have phones this early? At that age, his parents had him playing with an avocado.
“Imo’s in the shower” Junsuu answered and Yoongi heard shifting sounds as if the young boy was moving around “Hold on” hold on? Was he going to bring the phone with you in the shower? Yoongi gripped his cellphone tighter, left eye twitching at the thought of you picking up his calls naked and dripping wet “IMO!” Junsuu screamed, scaring the living hell out of Yoongi that still had the phone close to his (now ringing) ear “There’s a man on the phone for you.”
There was some shifting again, the low humming of a shower in the background before it stopped. He could hear a door opening and muffled voices and then your voice that still haunted his dreams saying “Hello?”
Oh, God. Here goes nothing.
“Hi!” he said in a chipper voice so unlike him “Is this…?”
Wait.
Hold on.
Did he… Forget to ask…
Your name?
His left eye was probably going to remain twitching for the rest of his life. However long that would be.
It was looking shorter and shorter. He might as well just stab himself with a spork and quit while he was ahead.
Well, sort of ahead. Third place, maybe.
“Yoongi?” you whispered, sounding doubtful “Is this you?”
He gulped “Hi” he repeated “Yeah, that’s me.”
“I thought you would never call” you laughed and for a moment he thought you sounded a bit nervous, a bit shy, just like him.
“Sorry I took so long, I was gathering the courage” he justified, not wanting you to feel like he didn’t want to call you.
“I get it. It must be hard, not knowing who to trust. I could’ve been some kind of crazy sasaeng or a journalist looking to sell you out or something.”
Huh.
Well, Yoongi actually didn’t consider any of that.
See, this is why his life span was looking shorter every second. One pretty girl and a poorly timed boner was all it took to end him.
“Yoongi?” you called after a few seconds of silence, afraid you scared him away “I’m not going to sell you out. You know that, right?”
He knew that. Sort of.
“Right.” he agreed “And if you are, at least wait after the first date, please.”
“Oh” the laughter was back in your voice, teasing him “There’s going to be a date?”
“I was hoping you would at least humor me with one before you inevitably leaked my nudes.”
See, Yoongi could be funny too. He could tease you right back, 2013 Yoongi style.
“Oh” you repeated, voice lower “There’s going to be nudes?”
Nevermind. He was not funny. Retreat, retreAT.
“I thought those were more of a fourth date kind of thing. I was at least hoping to keep mine save until then”
You just kept going! Let him breathe!
“The-There’s going to be a fo-fourth date?” he managed to choke out, voice strained, mind still stuck on the idea of your nudes.
“That depends on how the first one goes.”
“So… Is that a yes?” Yoongi was pondering if it was appropriate to start a victory dance.
“Yes, I would love to go on a date with you” you said and he wondered what phone company he would have to contact to get the recording of that call “I actually have to get ready to work right now, but you can text me the details, ok?”
“Ok!” he agreed, standing up and doing his little victorious shimmy.
“Oh, and before I forget, I realized I didn’t actually introduce myself when we met. I’m Y/N.”
Yoongi sighed, relieved you saved him from the shame of having to ask you for your name. “Can’t wait for our date, Y/N. I got something great planned!”
It was only after the call was over and he was strutting to the living room, mood high and vibes immaculate, that he realized that he had absolutely nothing planned. Not a single idea in his head for a perfect date.
Vibes ruined, Yoongi started to sweat. He needed suggestions and he needed fast. Who could help him in these trying times?
His eyes fell on his band members, all hanging around in their living room, all single and without plans on a friday night, the longest relationship they had being with their hands and duct-taped-phones.
Reaction:Yoongi meets you in a meet and greet and you have a child withyou.
A/N:Just a quick little work that I thought would be funny. I’m open to new requests <3
°•. ✿ .•°
Now, Yoongi loved his fans, he really did. Army was everything to him.
Well, almost everything. His dog was also a big part of his life.
But anyway.
Army was an intrinsic part of who he was and he appreciated every single fan with enough power to light up the city of New York.
But still, after a couple hours of meet and greets and a few hundred faces, the mind starts to wonder and people start to blurr. He would like to say that he remembered every single fan he greeted, but that would not be realistic as he was just one little man with limited storage space in his brain. Sometimes he forgot some, but he liked to believe that the feeling lingered.
Reaction:Yoongi meets you in a meet and greet and you have a child withyou.
A/N:Just a quick little work that I thought would be funny. I’m open to new requests <3
°•. ✿ .•°
Now, Yoongi loved his fans, he really did. Army was everything to him.
Well, almost everything. His dog was also a big part of his life.
But anyway.
Army was an intrinsic part of who he was and he appreciated every single fan with enough power to light up the city of New York.
But still, after a couple hours of meet and greets and a few hundred faces, the mind starts to wonder and people start to blurr. He would like to say that he remembered every single fan he greeted, but that would not be realistic as he was just one little man with limited storage space in his brain. Sometimes he forgot some, but he liked to believe that the feeling lingered.
