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.
full title: wicked (good boy gone bad) part of the seriesinspired by TXT’s album minisode 2: thursday’s child
pairing(s): jungkook x reader (plus a lil) x yoongi
summary: He used to be a good boy, but now he knew what that really meant – being an obedient, dumb, naïve dog to a liar. Thanks to a combination of sex, chains, and rock-n-roll, that wasn’t who he was anymore. Jeon Jungkook has gone bad. Just watch him.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you dislike overabundant swearing, maybe skip this one; D/s threesome smut (fem reader, black leather collars and chain leashes, bondage, hair pulling, cowgirl, choking [note: Yoongi chokes JK and yoonkook choke each other], so much saliva /spitting kink, scratching, m-receiving oral, handjob, doggy); non-idol!AU - sub!Jungkook x goth, dom!reader x sub!Yoongi; Jungkook’s POV to Yoongi’s POV
A hand gripped his chin and shoved it up. Long callused fingers dug into his cheeks as his eyes rolled back, seeing only a blur of black and white. His chest felt like it was clawed open. His skin was covered with layer upon layer of red-hot lines, and those fingernails were digging in again, adding more, more fire, more marks, more pain.
It was too much.
It was just right.
This broken feeling is not too bad.
He tried to move his head and found the other hand grip the back of his skull, clutching a handful of his thick hair. Fingers twisting in between the strands, then curling in and grasping, pulling, ensnaring him with hurt.
“Stay still,” was growled above him, heavy and raspy. Familiar.
I like it.
He gasped and let his tongue hang, moaning as he felt wet muscle stroke his throat, hot lips pressing into his shaking Adam’s apple.
I want this.
“Do you miss the collar, my pet?” the voice in front of him purred, wicked and sweet. The owner of that voice was the cause of the marks he bore now. They were temporary, but the raw feeling was seared into his memory, a feeling for him to savor forever.
Watch me.
Jeon Jungkook opened his eyes, looking up to Min Yoongi, the one whose hands were gripping his head and locking it in place. Those narrowed dark-brown orbs glanced down at him. Cold and cat-like. Around older male’s pale neck was a thick, black leather collar that held a metal silver ring in the center, dangling above the Jungkook’s head. Jungkook’s eyes went to it, staring at the swaying silver catching the light of the bedroom.
Yoongi leaned down.
Let the cold metal touch Jungkook’s sweaty forehead, sending icy shock followed by surging jealousy through his burning veins. The collar ring lightly bounced against his brows in the steady rhythm that was the brutal force of hips smacking into his crotch, slick walls constricting around his rock-hard cock while his arms were bound, his clenched fists pressing to the small of his own back.
Jungkook tried to speak but he couldn’t.
His words were being snuffed out by his own moans.
Yoongi clicked his tongue and lifted his head. He seemed disappointed. Annoyed. The long-sleeved white shirt his hyung was wearing was ripped down the center, the edges jagged and torn, revealing his collarbones and part of the pale chest underneath.
“What good is givin’ you a chance to talk if you don’t take it?” Yoongi scoffed, his Daegu satoori adding a rough depth to his dangerous tone.
The hand on Jungkook’s chin slid down.
Break me more.
Those rough fingertips pressed down on the sides of his neck the same time Yoongi yanked Jungkook’s head up by his hair, forcing him to look forward as his blood began to thin out.
Just break me.
Yoongi choked him as Jungkook stared into the eyes of his favorite kind of pain, the eyes of the woman in black, the eyes that glittered with devious intent, the eyes that didn’t match. One real iris, one fake white iris. A contact lens. She cocked her head. Her clothes were still mostly on while she rolled her hips, thrusting his stiff length inside her tight heat. Nimble pink tongue flickering out, dancing against the side of her lips. Her hands splayed out over his inflamed chest, her pointed black fingernails digging into his pecs.
Fucking him on the black leather bench at the base of her bed like he was a piece of meat, not bothering to give him the grace of expensive sheets and soft mattress under his rigid, straining thighs.
She was grinning.
A little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy.
She slashed down his sides, tearing airless gasp leaking out of his throat that morphed into an obscene moan as her hands hit the bench, the forward position allowing her to put more force in her fucking. Her torn-up band tee hanging down, breasts still covered in a black satin bra underneath, not even giving him a view for his unfocused eyes to lock on, the chain on her skirt jangling, smacking him and her, her juicy thighs squeezing his hard ones.
“Choke him harder, Yoongi,” she hissed, licking her teeth, open-mouthed smirk right in his face.
The pale hand around his neck took more blood away.
He craved the taste of pain and he knew it.
I like this altered face of mine.
Lightheaded and suspended in air, pleasure and pain flaring up his stomach, into his burning lungs, snaking around what was left of his heart that was full of scars from someone else, from another time where Jungkook believed in love, but love only gave him stress and pain, so now he gouged it out with blackout lust.
I like this me.
Higher and higher, less and less air, seconds like hours, ropes cutting into his skin, her slick, sweet-smelling cum dripping down between his tense legs, staring into Yoongi’s dark eyes that only grew darker in the shadows, his hyung bringing his face close to Jungkook’s panting-open mouth, that low whisper a command not to be defied.
“Cum.”
I like being bad.
Yoongi dug his fingers into Jungkook’s hair and pulled back hard.
It all crashed down, choked wail tearing out of him, his back arching to the extreme, stinging hurt from his head shooting down to meet pain crisscrossed over his chest, down to meet searing throbs of ecstasy and tense, straining legs, his hips jerking up strongly and pumping his orgasm out in short fierce jolts, spilling into the condom and deep inside the woman in black.
Airless, bloodless, suspended in pleasure.
For a singular, isolated millisecond, Jeon Jungkook was in heaven.
Kill me, just kill me.
Yoongi released him.
Air punched into his lungs and Jungkook’s head snapped back, pathetic whine mixing with coughing, held up by Yoongi’s hand behind his head, the other now between his shoulder blades, the powerful pulsing of her pussy forcing blinding bliss to interrupt his pain, helplessly falling apart to her grinding hips, her satisfied sigh drifting over him, hot breath against his burning, clawed-up skin. Yoongi pushed Jungkook’s lolling head up since unable to do it himself, panting, struggling to breathe, his limbs like lead from the high of his orgasm, his vision focusing, finding what he was looking for.
Those eyes.
Right iris real, left iris fake white.
She leaned down and licked his heaving chest, leaking saliva all over his marked skin.
Jungkook moaned, leaning into it as Yoongi’s hand moved from his hair and onto his collarbone, sliding down, graceful fingers following the dripping spit, spreading the slippery saliva all over, tongue and touch tracing the red lines and circling his nipples, and Jungkook’s hips thrust up into her even though the condom needed to be replaced, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care anymore, he just didn’t care.
His hyung snickered at his reaction.
“So needy.”
That’s right. I need this.
Up his trembling neck, and then she grabbed his chin and spat into his mouth, slick liquid sliding down his tongue and into his throat, and he greedily swallowed it all with a wanton moan. This was not the future his naïve past self had dreamed of back then. He couldn’t even remember what he wanted. Now? Now he was tattooed, pierced, chained. Tied up, scratched up, all kinds of fucked-up and Jungkook never wanted it to stop, never wanted to be let go, never wanted it to end, his kind of forever now was this kind of never.
He killed him.
The old, good Jungkook killed, replaced by this new, bad him.
-
“You really have changed, Jeon Jungkook.”
He almost didn’t recognize that voice. That voice used to mean everything to him. Everything. Nervousness and tenderness, heart on his sleeve, precious smiles and laughs, then creeping doubts, uncertain nights, staring at himself, picking at his face, swallowing his heart and wagging his tail for something that was all shattering slowly before him, all make-believe, all in the name of love.
But love was a lie.
Jungkook turned his head slowly, his black hair shrouding part of his vision in this dim nightclub, staring down at the one he used to call love, darling, one and only.
How stupid he was.
I loved that lie.
He tilted his head.
“Who are you?” he said to his ex-girlfriend, hollow and dead.
But not anymore.
She scowled, clad in a tight rose-colored chiffon minidress and dainty nude stilettos, jerking her head up and down at his appearance. Turning up her nose at him. Disapproval all over her delicate, pretty features, tossing her long, curled hair over her shoulder as she took in his distressed black and white wide-striped sweater with zippers at the shoulders, tight black leather pants, and thick-soled, silver-studded boots.
His neck clinked, heavy and weighted by a black leather collar and silver chain leash.
“You look like a dirty, mangy dog,” she spat.
Those words used to hurt him. She would say that when his shirt was untucked or if his jeans were ripped. Little things that did not match up with the heavy disdain in her voice, sending him into a wave of rocketing panic as he immediately tried to correct himself, trying to be the person she wanted instead of himself.
Was I ever myself?
Now, Jungkook found that those words barely stung.
He didn’t have a heart to feel them anymore.
He stuck his hands in his pockets, the chain leash dangling in front of him, leather handle hitting his thigh.
“And you look like the fuckin’ whore you always were,” Jungkook replied, slow and bored.
The old him wouldn’t have said something so cruel. The old him would have cared about her feelings, even though she hurt him countless times, knowing how fragile he was and dropping him over and over, leaving him to pick up the pieces, blaming himself every single time, believing it was him that lacked the understanding, believing that she must be right because she loved him, believing in the lie that was I love you, but there was a lieinbelieve, and Jungkook knew that now.
Her face contorted, painting dishonest injury over her scorning expression.
“How could you say something like that, Jungkook?” she pleaded, wretched with crocodile tears. “I came all the way to the city to find you and tell you I still love you.”
He had believed it every single time, back then, but that was the past.
“Come home.”
Her pretty hand outstretched, pampered and polished.
“I love you. We can make it right.”
Honeyed words that reeked of sewage.
He raised an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes.
I’m free now.
“Find another dirty, mangy dog to wag their tail at you,” Jungkook growled, the expansion of his neck from his deepening voice hitting the sides of the collar, causing the attached chain to clink and sway by his hips. “You’re uglier than I remember.”
The façade dissipated and she stared at him, enthralled, glassy eyes glittering with grotesque lust.
“I would have kept you if I knew you were going to get hot and sexy,” she breathed. She chuckled, a hideous smirk eating at her face, looking him up and down, unabashed, an object in her eyes. “Who paid for your body tonight? I’ll double it.”
She winked.
“For old time’s sake and charity.”
He let himself feel the anger. Relish in it. Become it. Harness it.
“Even if I was a prostitute,” he snarled, raising his chin. “No amount of money could convince me to touch your parasitic, STI-infested, flat ass.”
He could see the anger was rising now, but she was pushing it down, plastering a fake, sick smile to her face as her shoulders tensed, taking a step towards him, pulling herself to her full height, forcing out pitched laughing to mask her rage at his dismissal. Hilariously, it seemed to be the last adjective that pissed her off the most.
“Come on now, Jungkook,” she cooed, disgusting, prancing her fingers in the air. “Of course, we’re just joking.”
“I’m not joking,” he retorted. “I mean every word.”
Her expression cracked, fury leaking through.
“Tch, I don’t even know why I bother talking to you,” she snapped, clenching her jaw. “You’re thick-skulled and useless. There was never anything good about you except using your dick, and even that I found better replacements. But since you’re so pathetic,” she chuckled darkly, eyeing the hanging leash by his hips. “I don’t need your permission to remind you I’m the best pussy you’ll ever have.”
Her hand shot out.
Jungkook yanked his hands out of his pockets, but he was too late.
Another hand shot between them, snatching the handle of the chain leash next to Jungkook’s crotch. It twisted and slapped the back of his ex’s hand with the leather strap, so hard that the sound cracked through the loud music and drunken conversation.
“Ow!”
The screech of pain was so loud that the club fell silent.
“Get your dirty, mangy hands off my precious pet.”
A gruff growl, the sharpened tone of a predator.
The woman in black.
Leather jacket, too many zippers. Underneath, a bra with a mesh shirt over it. Shockingly short skirt adorned with hanging silver chains. Shredded tights and knee-high boots with a tall platform and high heel, causing her to tower over the other woman. Usually, she had a smirk or a grin. Demonic, but pleasing in its own way.
Not now.
His ex-girlfriend clutched her hand, gawking at the ice-cold gaze of one real iris, one white contact.
“You– You bitch!”
All of a sudden, Jungkook felt his contained irritation morph and burst into white-hot wrath. He did not care much about himself, but to say something so careless… he didn’t care if she was a girl. He didn’t care if he used to say I love you to her. He didn’t care that being the bigger person meant that he should back up and walk away.
Jungkook wanted to ram his knee into his ex-girlfriend’s face until she was completely unrecognizable.
Before he could do so, the woman in black sucked in her cheek with a loud popping sound, head cocked as she scrutinized the other woman. “Yeah, so? I’m a bitch. Congratulations, you got eyes,” she sneered, her voice getting deeper, slipping into her satoori.
His ex-girlfriend snapped her head at him, glaring, but Jungkook could see it in her wide eyes.
Fear.
He felt the anger bleed down, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction at seeing that fear.
“Yah, Jeon Jungkook! What’s this? You need a girl to protect you now because you’re so weak and pathetic? You’re even more pitiful than I thou–”
Anothercrack blasted through the stilled air of the nightclub.
His ex-girlfriend screamed, cowering back.
The woman in black rolled her eyes. “Wow, what a damn baby. All I did was hit my own hand and you’re the one cryin’ over nothin’,” she mocked, lightly tapping the leather handle in her palm. “Look here, you’re noisy and frankly quite hideous even though your parents worked so hard to make you pretty on the outside,” she grunted, shaking her head. “Guess if you’re full of shit, it comes outta your ass and mouth, huh?”
Jungkook knew he shouldn’t be amused at the dumbstruck look on his ex’s face, but he was already smirking.
“Get out. Your spoiled ass doesn’t belong here,” the woman in black hissed.
Strangely, his ex-girlfriend seemed to compose herself, gritting her teeth and backing up. Straightened her skirt and put on her crocodile sniffles, glaring accusingly, pointing to her now reddened hand. “I’ll have you arrested for assault, you slut!”
With a barking laugh, the woman in black doubled over. “Hahahaha, yeah?” Hands on her chest, pushing the mesh shirt into her cleavage. “But if I’m such a slut, I’ve probably slurped every policeman’s dick in this city. The handcuffs are just a kinky touch now,” she snickered, ticking her head like a curious weasel, vicious grin widening. “Come on, if you have a plan, you have to do better than that.”
But there was something wrong, because the woman in the rose-pink dress was not backing down, deadly glee overtaking her expression.
“Watch–” Jungkook started, but the leash was suddenly dropped.
“You thought I came alone, didn’t you?” his ex-girlfriend sniggered. She waved her hand and several men slipped out of the crowd to stand behind her. Chiseled jaws, one-size-too-small polo shirts, pressed khakis. “As if.”
Man, this girl is fuckin’ stupid.
Jungkook glanced at the woman in black.
She was not afraid.
“Ho.” A low chuckle, looking at each of those pampered faces. “You that good?”
He could see the slow, demonic grin forming on her lips now.
A little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy.
Jungkook didn’t bother to move. There were five guys and his one pathetic ex-girlfriend that was moving behind them, all versus the woman in black who was removing her leather jacket, tossing it behind her. He caught it, carefully folding it in his hands.
One real iris, one white iris, all danger.
Raised her hand, beckoning them forward.
“Come at me,” she growled, low and treacherous. “Bring it on.”
His ex-girlfriend glared at him, grisly triumph twisting her facial features. “Last chance to save your monster girlfriend,” she jeered.
He shrugged, the chain leash swinging. Then he raised his chin, bouncing it once, ticking his head from side to side.
“Hm, maybe look around you first before you do something stupid.”
And now, now they finally looked around, finally realizing the club was dead silent, because every single face was turned towards the outsiders. Leather, vinyl, mesh, too much makeup and too many tattoos, pale faces edged in black, watching, even the bartender clutching a beer bottle and the band on tables, holding their instruments, squinting down at these idiots that thought it was a good idea to harass the Boss, not only the owner of the music studio the band rented, but also a constant financial supporter of the night club they were standing in.
The woman in black looked exasperated, rolling her eyes.
“Youserious? Are you gonna let me beat up at least one of them?” She pointed at one of the primly dressed men, waving her finger around. “Come on, his nose already looks broken. If I break it again, insurance will cover it instead of him paying out-of-pocket!”
“Come on, Boss. Your dad is gonna be sad if you get hurt,” the bassist of the band chuckled, jumping down.
“Papa can go cry into his gambling money and nurse his sugar babies,” she growled irritably, taking a step forward. “Fuck ya’ll. Imma get at least one punch in for fun.”
Shing!
She jerked back, the gleam of a silver sword reflecting off her eyes.
“Can’t let you do that,” said a deep, raspy voice.
Her head turned, facing cold, cat-like eyes.
“Yoongi.”
Min Yoongi smirked, open-mouthed and pleased. Tongue between his teeth. Long black hair framing his cheekbones, pale skin glowing in the overhead lights. He purred her name back, tilting the traditional sword to reflect off her full lips.
“Lookin’ kissable tonight, Boss.”
The tips of her cheekbones flushed pink at his hyung’s comment.
There was a flurry of noise and the six outsides took that awkward moment to vacate, pushing through the crowd and out the door. Of course, they did. The whole club was grabbing every blunt weapon available and then some crazy guy shows up with a sword out of all things? Jungkook would have bounced the second they were distracted too.
“I always wanted to do that,” Yoongi chuckled, sheathing the sword.
“Whatare you?” she cackled, shoving him in the chest playfully, making everyone laugh. “Some kinda historical drama protagonist? You nicked the damn sword behind the bar and started waving it around left and right! What if you lopped off someone’s head?”
Yoongi scoffed, placing the black traditional sword gently onto the bar top where the bartender sighed in relief, shaking his head at them. “Come on. I told you I did some sword dancing at university. I know how to handle a sword. It’s not even sharp.”
She slapped her hand down on Yoongi’s shoulder, turning him around.
“Come here.”
Angling her head, pushing Yoongi against the bar, lips to lips in a fiery kiss, raspy chuckle between them, her body fitting against his, practically bending his back over the bar.
“Aw, Boss, not on the bar! Get outta here with that shit!”
The bartender was shooing them away and she detached from Yoongi’s face, grinning, a little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy, grabbing Yoongi by the collar of his shirt and slipping her hand in the leather strap that Jungkook held out, tightly grasping it, dragging them both along, insane laughter tumbling from her lips.
He thought it would bother him, seeing the one he used to call love.
Strangely, it didn’t.
Probably because he killed that good boy wagging his tail, ditching those hopes that his love could change unfaithful hearts, because the only thing worse than a dumb bitch was the one that believed in her lies.
Jungkook felt the leather collar snap into the sides of his neck and felt himself smile, following the call of the chain.
-
It felt so good.
It felt so good being bad.
“Tighter.”
Min Yoongi stared into those large, dark brown orbs, glassy and fucked out. Tattooed arm extended, hand turning at his command, winding the silver chain around the leather strap and pulling hard, the sides of the thick black leather collar pressing into Yoongi’s neck.
He mirrored Jeon Jungkook’s movement.
Yoongi watched the younger man’s face shadow with pleasure, the slurping sound under them getting louder, messier. He let his hips roll forward, fuck, the tight wet heat all around him, looking down to watch Jungkook’s cock getting swallowed with some effort. Her hand around the base, rubbing the balls with her slippery palm. Yoongi thrust harder, slightly bent forward from Jungkook’s strong grip, feeling the tendrils of lightheadedness creep up his head, his cock getting even harder, twitching inside her at the anticipation.
Guess there as a reason for the length of these chain leashes after all.
Yoongi lifted his head again, licking his lips, watching Jungkook.
It was such a beautiful, exquisite descent into madness.
He snapped his hand up and Jungkook’s head tipped back, leather collar squeezing the sides of the younger male’s neck, his sweaty black hair flying, wanton moan dripping from his shapely lips, the tiny mole exposed under a trembling mouth. The silver lip ring glinted in the bedroom lights, wayward pink tongue caressing it.
He knows how to look pretty.
Yoongi smirked as Jungkook noticed him watching.
The eye contact was held for way too long but they were also choking each other and fucking the same woman between them, so it was hard to tell how much was too much.
There was a loud slurp and lips smacking against sensitive skin, visible shiver overtaking Jungkook’s broad frame, gasping as she lifted herself, string of spit snapping, halfway crawling up the younger man’s chest, laughing hoarsely.
“You’re gonna make me choke on his dick, Yoongi.”
“Good,” he hissed out, snapping his hips into her soft ass and making it bounce.
He could hear the rapid sound of hand on wet cock, could see it all over Jungkook’s face, overcome by pleasure and pressurized by speed, his head falling back, choking himself more, shoulders and chest flexed from tenseness, struggling to hold his torso up, and it must have been difficult, the pace of that tight and unforgiving hand matching the tight and unforgiving walls that wrapped around him, squeezing his stiff, throbbing length, harder, trying to make her lose grip, but she planted her hand onto that muscular chest and pushed back against Yoongi, forcing him deeper inside.
Fuck.
Jungkook pulled harder.
Fuck!
The younger man’s lips curved into a roguish smirk.
What happened to the good boy?
Yoongi clenched his teeth and yanked hard.
He must have gone bad.
“Cum for me, Jungkook,” Yoongi heard himself whisper, smokey and thin in his ears, using the last of his breath. Those brown eyes widened, surprised to hear it from him and not, well, the one furiously jacking his dick.
Closer.
Yoongi grinned, maybe a little psychotic.
Closer.
There.
“Fuck!”
And he had no idea who said it, him, Jungkook, her, maybe all three, but then it was a mess, white dripping down the back of her hand and splattering onto Jungkook’s lower belly, her pitching forward and clutching the younger man’s shoulder, wildly moaning into his flexed, hard chest, then the sudden clenching pulse around his twitching cock, and he was gone too, strong jolts filling up the condom, bent over her back, the sudden rush of oxygen knocking the wind out of him, his arm going slack, his hand letting go of leather and metal.
He heard Jungkook gasp, his arms giving out and falling onto the bed with a hard fwump!
Her hand on Jungkook’s shoulder immediately slid down onto the bed, her elbow locking, and she held herself up, anchoring Yoongi in place. His chain leash draped over her shoulder, hanging in the air, already released in Jungkook’s euphoria. She laughed huskily, just a touch of deviousness, slowly rubbing her cum-covered hand all over Jungkook’s spent cock.
Whines and whimpers echoed in the room, the younger man squirming under them, but there were no weak pleas, no refusal, no desire to stop, only those glassy brown orbs opening, begging to be broken, more, just break me.
She leaned down, hot breath against Jungkook’s shaking lips.
“Good boy.”
Snickered, sweetly sinister.
“Just kidding.”
Her agile tongue slid out and licked Jungkook’s cheek, making him break out into a mischievous grin.
drabbles inspired by TXT’s album minisode 2: thursday’s child
warnings: language, angst, mentions of drug use / dealing; also inspired by dear my friend byagust d ft kim jong wan of nell; reader’s POV; starring Min Yoongi
–
denial.the first stage of grief
-
“You’re okay.”
“You know I’m not.”
“Come on, get up.”
“Get off me.”
He held on.
You almost wretched your arm from his grasp, but Min Yoongi’s grip tightened, and he held on, which was doing a lot more than some people in your life. Why did you believe? You should have never believed. All this time, why? How foolish. You never believed in the conventional love story, so why now?
You stared at them.
The photos scattered around you.
He gave you one every week. Polaroids of lovely moments, dates, hand hearts, smiles, sunny skies and dreamy rain. Sharing an umbrella. A shaved ice with two spoons in it. The sea and the sand. The countryside with the fields of yellow flowers.
The dreams of the dead.
“I told you not to come.”
“It’s my responsibility to check up on you,” he said softly.
Rain.
Just a little rain, right here, drop my drop, falling down, blurring the photos all around you on the floor, the spot that you had been lying on for nearly two days, replaying the moment over and over. The bump on the street, the gasp and spilling of coffee, looking up and sighing exasperatedly into a smile that began the opening sequence that you wish never happened.
That’s so cliché.
“He was my best friend too.”
“That was a long time ago,” you croaked back and you were surprised to find your voice soaked, reaching up and wiping your tears away with the base of your palm, flinging the little rain onto the other photos, ridding yourself of them, because why cry? There was no reason to cry. “You had better things to do.” Slapping your hands down onto those colors, flipping them over one by one, black squares in a domino effect since that was what it really was, black squares covering up the dark moments, the reveal of a small habit, it’s nothing, seeing the blood on his arm, don’t worry, then the black tattoos, one by one, covering up marks, I got you, let’s go to the beach today, cascade the white frames over each other so they held nothing but black squares with dates printed on the back.
People can get tattoos for art.
He got them to cover up how many times he shot up.
You smacked your palms down on the floor and the torrent came, rain splattering down on black squares, a hurricane of emotions, remembering the last time you spoke to him was plexiglass between you with a grungy olive handheld phone and him telling you then when he got out that you two would go to the beach again.
“I believed him…”
You almost slid to the floor again but Yoongi held onto your arm, pale fingers straining from your weight that was more than just mass times the acceleration of gravity, the weight of the end, the weight of the mess, the weight of hate, because you hated that you still believed in that opening sequence, that you could replay it and had hope that maybe this time it would be beautiful.
He lowered, his other hand fitting onto your shoulder, holding up shaking shoulders that threatened to collapse.
“It’s okay to believe the best in people,” Yoongi murmured softly.
I love you, darling.
Slowly, sweeping the black squares together with your wet hands, taking moments to wipe the little rain from your eyes with the backs of your hands, listening to a laugh you no longer heard, fleeting arguments that seemed so far away, the pile up of little secrets that became a big secret, not noticing the world that was so clear and colorful becoming a blur of monochrome.
Give me one more chance.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying,” you choked out.
What was worse, the lying, the drug habit, or the play-pretend that everything was okay when you knew better than anyone that it wasn’t? Or was it staying right until the police came and took him away, trying to convince them that he was a good guy, that there was no way he was involved in that kind of stuff, when you knew full well that he was, lying and pretending that you knew nothing, which only incriminated him further and left you guiltless in the eyes of the law?
Or was it the guilt?
He had smiled at you anyway, telling you that you two could still go to the beach and watch the ocean together.
“You sold cocaine to a bunch of teenagers,” you said into the phone receiver, scratchy and dying.
His smile had faltered. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve caused you trouble.”
The eyes of Min Yoongi’s childhood best friend looked into yours and he probably promised Yoongi countless things, like making music with him and performing together, but he did none of that because now he was behind bars.
“You’ll be okay,” he said to you.
Notwe.
You.
That was when you knew it was dead.
The opening sequence ran through your head,. The bump on the street, the gasp and spilling of coffee, looking up and sighing exasperatedly into a smile that you told you would love until the end of the world, and that was so, so cliché to ever believe in.
“Come on, let’s get up. Leave it.”
You left it on the floor, the rain and the memories.
“Here.”
He handed you soft tissues, clearly unfolded from his pocket, the kind that came in convenient plastic packs. Layered them for you, placed them in your hand.
You almost fell to the floor again.
You belonged with the tragedy.
Yoongi gripped your upper arms, holding you up.
“I hate him,” he said to your hair. “And I miss him. I should have stopped him. I should have done something.”
You shoved the tissues into your eyes.
Yoongi placed his chin on your forehead and sighed softly, shuddering as your felt the little rain soak the tissues, replaying the opening sequence over and over again, and if you just made different choices, if you just contact Yoongi and asked for help, if you and him had done something different, would they still be friends and would you still be whole, not zero, but one?
And the worst was knowing the answer was probably no.
pairing(s): jungkook x reader, yoongi x reader mentions of seokjin x reader, jimin x reader
summary: Jeon Jungkook wants to have sex. No one is surprised. But he has… reasons. Are they good reasons? Debatable. However, there’s something in his way. A Magic-8 ball that seems to relish in cock-blocking him. Nah, it says. Hmph, well, guess what, ball? Like a criminal undercover, Jeon Jungkook is going to steal you and then there’s no one and nothing to stop him from getting what he needs.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; tbh, slightcrack; JK talks to the Magic-8 ball and himself way too much; somehow Park Jimin is involved; Min Yoongi is confirmed to be sex on legs; smut (fem reader, very minor D/s dynamics, m-masturbation while watching sex in the kitchen, edging / orgasm denial, m and f-receiving oral, vibrator use, multiple orgasms, nipple play, forearm kink, sucking on both balls at the same time, hair-pulling kink, penetrative sex); noona!reader; Jungkook’s POV
no, I don’t know how this got to 14k+ words, this was just supposed to be a funny idea and now we’re here, I am excessive, I know
–
“Um…”
“Same question?”
He almost flinched at the succinct, matter-of-fact quip. “Y… Yeah.”
The door closed right in his face.
Jeon Jungkook shoved his hands into his sleeves and sucked on the inside of his cheek, aimlessly occupying himself in the seconds he waited. He stopped sucking on his cheek the moment the door opened again. Same woman, rumpled and perfectly messy hair, big black t-shirt dress with a black and white striped long-sleeve under it, bare legs, feet tucked into furry brown slippers with a small embordered cookie motif on them.
In her hands, a black plastic sphere.
Inwardly, Jungkook groaned.
She shook it.
Frowned, and turned the screen around for him to look.
Nah, said the white text on the triangle trapped in hazy blue liquid.
Inwardly, Jungkook screamed in frustration, wanting to snatch the Magic-8 ball and chuck it out the window.
“Sorry,” she said, shrugging casually.
“Oh… Okay.”
She bowed lightly and closed the door, but not as sharply this time. Gentler and turning away from him slowly. Her eyes didn’t linger too long. It was probably for the best, because Jungkook would feel even worse.
The door closed in his face and Jungkook wrung his sleeves, flinging the ends of his black, oversized shirt into the air in silent rage. He balled the fabric up in his fists and jammed them into his closed eyes, forcing the angry tears back, never hating a hunk of plastic so much in his entire life. The twenty-sixth time he had asked this question.
Every single time, this stupid fucking piece-of-shit 8-ball gave him a different quirky variation of refutation.
“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, backed away from the bedroom door.
-
“W-Will you have s-s-sex with me?”
That was the question. Stutters and all.
She had blinked slowly, staring at him for a full ten seconds. Then she asked, “I’m sorry, but will you please explain again why you are asking me to have sex with you?”
Yes, why was Jungkook asking the hot girl that lived in Kim Seokjin’s house to fuck him?
Although it sounded complicated, it wasn’t really. Kim Seokjin was one of his hyungs who lived in a massive house. His parents were loaded, but traveled a lot due to their work. Now that Seokjin was older, well, naturally, it would be socially and financially beneficial to rent out this home with too many bedrooms to his friends if they needed a place to stay. Firstly, it meant the introverted hyung never had to leave his home if he actually wanted company. Secondly, it meant chores could be divided among the tenants, meaning Seokjin never ever had to clean a toilet again as long as he cooked and occasionally did the grocery shop. Thirdly, it meant that if Seokjin wanted to avoid interaction, he could lock himself in the master bedroom on the top floor and tell everyone to go away or he would kick them out.
Work smarter, not harder, Seokjin-hyung liked to say.
Now, why did this particular woman who owned the cursed Magic-8 ball live here?
Park Jimin, one of the temporary tenants, had the answers for Jungkook.
“Oh,her? Haha, get this. Once time, hyung came back with her and another girl with huge tits. Massive. I’m talking melons. I can say that because she literally called them melons. Multiple times. Anyway, Melon girl was kinda drunk, hyung was a lil tipsy, but she was totally sober. And…”
Jimin nudged Jungkook, cradling his hand over his mouth, whispering with glee.
“I’m one-hundred percent sure a threesome happened that night and I’m a thousand-percent sure that noona was the one who was directing everything.”
Jungkook blinked at that angelic face describing a less-than-holy act.
“… Were you trying to eavesdrop outside hyung’s bedroom?”
Jimin snorted. “No. No, of course not. Psh, no. What do you think I am, Jungkook? A heathen?” Those full lips twisted into an affronted pout. “That stupid door is so damn thick. Real wood, for sure. Hmph. Rich-ass prince.”
It didn’t really explain why the woman with the cursed Magic-8 ball was here, but also, it did.
“Anyway, she moved in a week later. Better rent, she said. Melon lady went to school in New York though. How depressing for all of us,” Jimin sighed. “She was only on break for a short while.”
Little did Jungkook know that this noona would become rather important because, some weeks later, he was standing in front of her bedroom door asking the question. Jungkook did not live in this big house, but at this point he might as well have been. He was here far too often these days, asking Jimin questions. Er. Something very upsetting had happened to him. He had needed answers.
Jimin provided him with, well, something.
Jungkook coughed, trying to collect his thoughts. “Erm… well.”
She blinked slowly, waiting for his answer on why he wanted to have sex with her.
“J-Jimin said it might be a good idea…”
She stared at him. “What does Park Jimin have to do with anything?”
Yes, that would be the natural question, wouldn’t it?
“Ah, h-he said… that you helped him at one point. With sex… stuff.”
This was getting super awkward, not because she was awkward, but because Jungkook was trying to avoid being too specific. He didn’t want her to feel like he was talking behind her back. However, she surprised him completely by saying, “Yeah, he was trying to figure out what sex toys to introduce into the bedroom and how to feel like they were not his enemy, so we experimented a bit to find toys and a headspace he enjoyed.”
Jungkook tried to not shrink into the sofa at the explanation. “Y… Yeah….”
She tilted her head at him. “That doesn’t explain your interest in me though.”
“W-Well, I…. I need h-help.”
He flinched as if physically slapped.
Saying it out loud made it real.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
He bit his lip and looked back up at her, seeing the way she gazed back at him. Not judging, simply genuinely curious and confused. She was sitting on the armchair in the living room, holding a soft plush of a pink bunny and her phone in the other, previously poking around on it before he had sat down and interrupted, taking this chance of Seokjin being upstairs playing video games and the other tenants being out of the house to ask this question. She was wearing a big white hoodie, her bare legs tucked under a thick black blanket with a pattern of miniature red devils cheekily doing various innocently evil things.
“Um… my last girlfriend broke up with me because I fuck like a robot.” He swallowed, feeling the hard lump forming in his throat, unease and bitterness. “Not just once apparently. All the time. And…” He winced, balling his hands into fists on his thighs. “The one before that said something similar.”
“And the one before that?”
He wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.
“We didn’t… fuck. But she said I was a bad kisser.”
“Everyone is aa bad kiss and a bad fuck the first time. Hell, the first couple years. I wouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”
He frowned and searched her face for the lie, but she simply smiled calmly back, gently rubbing the head of the pink bunny in her lap. For some reason, Jungkook wanted to fling the bunny aside and put his head there instead.
Huh?
That was a weird thought.
“But you’re not bad.”
She laughed. “Years of practice, young apprentice.” Her lips curved into a playful smirk, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I might actually be awful. You never know.”
Jungkook narrowed his eyes, frown becoming into a pout. “You have to be good. Yoongi-hyung and you fuck all the time.”
She blinked twice, swiveling her head sharply.
“Pardon? What does Min Yoongi have to do with this?”
He scratched the back of his head. Didn’t she know? “Yoongi-hyung never, ever has sex with someone more than once. That’s his rule.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”
Jungkook shrugged. “That’s what he said.” He mimicked his hyung’s deep, generally impassive voice. “You only need to fuck once. Every time afterword is the same or worse. What’s the point of fucking more than once? It’s a waste of time. But Jimin says you go to Yoongi-hyung’s room or vice-versa at least every week. You have to be crazy good if that’s the case.”
She suddenly jerked her head and stared in the direction of the back of the house where the spare bedrooms were. He saw a myriad of emotions play over her expressive features before she scrunched up her face and mumbled under her breath. Jungkook caught, I do have a certain philosophy, but I didn’t realize… Really? He thinks that, huh? I should ask…
“N-Noona…?”
She jumped a little, blinking at him. “Oh. Right. Well, it would be really arrogant of me if I sat here and said, yeah, I’m fucking fantastic at fucking.”
That’s true, Jungkook thought.
She shrugged.
“I am, though.”
Those sinful lips framed the tip of a devious tongue, playful smirk taunting him.
“I’m an excellent, passionate, wild, rough fuck. Complete opposite of a robot, honestly.”
Jungkook pulled an even bigger pout, furrowing his brows, determination flaring.
“Teach me.”
She let out a big exhale, suddenly standing up.
“Wait here.”
He gawked at those bare legs, shapely and swift, juicy thighs disappearing into the hem of the hoodie. She disappeared for less than a minute, anxious moments of him shoving his hands into his sleeves and tapping his foot, eagerly awaiting her return.
Then she came back with the cursed hunk of plastic.
Oh, innocent him back then, not knowing how fucking horrible that piece-of-shit Magic-8 ball was.
“I’m going to shake this. If it says yes, we fuck. If it says no, you have to wait at least three days before you can ask me to shake the ball again. Deal?”
Why did you nod, Jeon Jungkook? You stupid dumbass.
He grinned.
“Deal.”
She shook it and it said, Nope, not today.
“Hm. Sorry. Next time.”
Yeah.
Next time.
More like, twenty-sixth time and he was still reading, Nah.
-
“I hate that stupid ball. I want to smash it with a baseball bat, run it over, throw it into the abyss, go down into the abyss, and then hurl it to the moon.”
“Shit, bro, it’s a children’s toy,” Jimin laughed.
Jungkook grunted and threw Jimin’s pillow over his face, yelling incoherently into it.
“Oi, stop that,” Jimin sighed, yanking the pillow away. “What’s this business about the Magic-8 ball anyway? Can’t you just stand there and give her puppy eyes until she submits to your will?”
“No.”
“Huh?”
Jungkook pulled a face and let out a big sigh. “She never treats me any differently. I act tough, she’s the same polite noona. I act cute, she’s the same polite noona. I act pathetic, she’s the same fucking polite-as-fuck noona.” He groaned and smacked his fist into Jimin’s bed, not thinking about what else – or who else – had been smacked into this bed. That was too harrowing of a thought. “Yoongi-hyung’s dick must have her under some kinda spell, because I’m literally right here ready to drop my pants and she’s absolutely not budging on this Magic-8 ball agreement.”
“Damn, maybe you’re right. Hyung’s magic wand-dick must be the reason why everyone thinks he’s sex on legs, because it’s certainly not because of his resting bitch face.”
Jungkook didn’t have the energy to even chortle at Jimin’s joke. “I can’t believe my luck is so fucking bad. This has to be a world record.”
“Why don’t you steal it?”
Jungkook stared at the ceiling.
“What?”
“Steal the Magic-8 ball and yeet that bitch,” Jimin chirped.
Jungkook bolted up from the bed.
“Wuh… Steal it?”
Jimin put his hands up, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean… If you take it and it’s gone, then what?”
Jungkook blinked quickly, glancing at his shortest hyung with the full lips and fluffy black hair. “I… I dunno. I never thought about it.”
“So, let’s say you take the ball. She goes to look for it like usual, can’t find it, and then…?”
He followed the circling of Jimin’s small hands, moving from one side to another. “… And then?”
Jimin clapped his hands together. “Nakey time!”
He furrowed his brows, now hesitant and unsure. “Hm… can it be that easy?”
Jimin laughed, shrugging. “I dunno, but the Magic-8 ball is cockblocking you, so you if you forcibly remove it from the equation, you have already improved your chances of banging the pussy seduced by the magic-wand-dick.”
On one hand, Jungkook doubted she would simply give up on the game.
On the other hand, that hunk of plastic was a cursed object.
“Alright. I’m going to steal it.”
-
“Secret-agent-mission-impossible Jeon Jungkook about to embark on his most difficult self-assignment yet. Actually, you’re less of a secret agent and more like a criminal undercover. No different from a common burglar, really.”
“Shut up, Jimin.”
Yes, well, saying something and actually doing it were two different things.
The plan was pretty simple, which was about as much as Jungkook could handle. He was a liberal arts guy (at least that’s what his university degree said). Following instructions was not his vibe. He was better at this off-the-cuff kind of stuff. Also, his (unwelcome but necessary) partner-in-crime was none other than Park Jimin, and Park Jimin didn’t read instructions ninety-percent of the time, thus explaining why he didn’t cook.
“You can’t search the house when everyone is at work,” Jimin scolded him.
“Why?”
“Because you also have a job, Jungkook.”
“Eh, I can take a day off.”
“You cannot take a day off to increase your potential of getting laid. Not even actually getting laid. Just increasing your chances.”
Jungkook grumbled but accepted that it might not be the best use of his sick time.
“Also, Seokjin-hyung has an alarm system. He arms it when we’re at work. If you’re not a resident, you’ll trip it.”
“So give me your key.”
“He has cameras, dummy,” Jimin sighed as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Funnily enough, you don’t exactly look like me.”
Jungkook snickered. “Is it the tattoos or the obvious difference in height?”
A brief intermission was taken as Jimin attempted to commit homicide right in Kim Seokjin’s home. Bickering ensued. Hands were thrown. Unfortunately for Jimin, Jungkook was trained in self-defense and pinned him down pretty quickly.
“Anyway,” Jimin growled as he detached his teeth from Jungkook’s forearm to force the younger man to release him, completely ignoring Jungkook’s what-the-fuck-you-freaky-little-imp expression. “There’s four of us who live here right now. Seokjin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung, Magic-8 ball noona, and, the most well-behaved and polite of them all, me.”
“Don’t associate that plastic hunk of evil with her.”
Jimin gave him an offended look at the lack of acknowledgment to his own title but gave up, moving along. “Why you so hung up about this, huh? It’s not like you can’t fuck some other hottie. You just have to shift in age range. The older they are, the more likely they have more experience. Easy.”
Jungkook grunted.
Jimin raised his eyebrows.
He stuck his tongue out and messed with his lip ring. “This is a lot easier. I don’t need to worry about her being some kinda serial killer or some shit. And.”
A beat of silence.
Jimin appeared under Jungkook’s chin, grinning like a madman. “Annnnnnnd?”
Jungkook grimaced. “You said…” He looked away quickly, sucking the inside of his cheek.
He shouldn’t say anything more.
Jimin prodded him insistently, poking at Jungkook’s temple.
The younger man clenched his jaw, speaking between gritted teeth. “You said she put both of your nuts in her mouth and sucked on them at the same time.”
“Aha! You’re a pervert!”
“What?!” Jungkook roared, throwing himself back. “I’m a pervert? I am?! You suggested it! You’re a pervert!”
Jimin grinned.
“Of course, I suggested it. She’s got that cool and calm vibe, plus she’s basically a porn star in bed. You’re way too scared to go for sexy on your own, even though that’s way more your type than those other girls you dated.”
Jungkook found his jaw flapping uselessly. “W-What the fuck are you talking about, I’m not scared–”
“Oh, yeah, you are. You literally ran in the other direction when she came out her room in that slinky black dress and leather trench coat when she was going to that concert with Yoongi-hyung last week. Probably had a giant boner too.”
His ears were on fire. “B-B-Bullshit!”
“Oh, you want to get me started on the literal obsessive way you stare at her hands when they’re resting on the kitchen countertop, with your mouth kinda open and your round peepers all big, waiting for her to move so you can put your hand in the same place hers was seconds before–”
Jungkook slapped his hand over Jimin’s mouth.
A bird cawed outside.
“Anyway,” Jungkook hissed, pointedly glaring to indicate that particular discussion was over. “So, I can’t search during work. Why don’t you look for it? You live here.”
Jimin peeled the tattooed hand off his mouth to speak. With much effort, because Jungkook was wary of the definitely, absolutely, totally untrue nonsense that could come out of those full lips. It happened just now… obviously.
“Uh, no, this is your problem. I’m not getting involved in yourproblem.”
Jungkook stared at him.
Jimin fluttered his eyelashes.
Jungkook thinned his eyes and mouth into lines.
“Here, so tomorrow Seokjin-hyung is leaving for a production for a couple weeks,” Jimin barreled on, launching into the (very basic) plan. “He’s going to stay on site because of rehearsals and stuff. We won’t have to worry about his comings and goings. Yoongi-hyung and noona basically have the same schedule. They go to work and come back to do nothing. But, when Seokjin-hyung isn’t here, Yoongi-hyung and her cook together.”
Jungkook raised his eyebrows.
Jimin wiggled his. “It’s good for us.”
“Is it?” Jungkook grunted.
“It’s not like hyung doesn’t know you’re on your… twenty-sixth try. He’s cool with it.”
He felt a muscle in his upper eyelid twitch. “Did hyung have to ask twenty-six times?”
Jimin shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s sex on legs, remember?”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“It was something Taehyung said ages ago because some girl called Yoongi-hyung that and he thought it was hilarious.”
Jungkook gave Jimin a questioning look. Jimin patted his arm.
“You had to be there, dude.” He rubbed his chin, shifting focus as Jungkook sat with question marks over his head. “If we’re here, they’ll cook for us, but noona’s room is basically right next to the kitchen. If we try to go in her bedroom, she’ll definitely see. It would be better if we leave while they’re cooking.”
“If we leave, we can’t search.”
“No, no. I’llleave.You stay in my room and wait.”
Jungkook frowned. “Huh?”
Jimin looked exasperated.
The lightbulb suddenly sprung up over Jungkook’s head. “Oh! Oh, I see, I’ll come over in the evening, and we say we’re going out to eat or something, but you’ll be the only one actually leaving, and I’ll stay and look for it.” Then he scrunched up his face, lightbulb flickering slightly. “But that doesn’t change that fact that they’ll be in the kitchen. Hyung and noona can still see the entrance of her room.”
“Yeah, if they’re looking. They’re not gonna be looking.”
“Why not?”
Frustrated, Jimin sliced the air with his hands. “Hello? Nobody home for at least a couple hours? Magic-wand-dick with magic-wand-dick seductress in the same place at the same time? What do you think they’re going to do?”
Jungkook blinked slowly.
“Cook food?”
-
After some self-reflection and inner soul-searching, Jungkook did eventually come to the conclusion that two hot, horny people left alone would most likely not be cooking.
At least for some of the time.
-
Now he was paralyzed.
Because it was one thing to know, but whole other thing to be there.
“Yoongi…”
His back against the wall, staring at the bedroom door that closed in his face so many times, and, right around the corner, he could hear a breathless moan and a deep chuckle. His one-track mind suddenly off the rails the second he heard their kiss. Mischievous murmurs, mixed breath and dancing tongue. His heart thudded against his chest as he heard the sound of moving fabric and satisfied sighs, and Jeon Jungkook finally asked himself – what am I doing?
And then he heard his name.
“When are you going to give Jungkook what he wants?”
A low hum, shadowed by kisses on skin.
“When the ball says yes.”
They… talk about me?
“So cruel. Just give it to him. He’s a good kid.”
“You know that’s not how I do things, Yoongi.”
Jungkook felt his breath catch in his throat. Sparks all over his skin, abruptly too hot under his baggy charcoal shirt and black pants, suddenly realizing he was moving closer to the corner instead of closer to the door, his breath stilling, soundless steps to the sinful sound, his fingers spreading out over the wall, the words on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t say them so instead he whispered to the corners of his mind.
How do you do things, then?
“How do you do things, then?” the raspy, lustful voice of Min Yoongi purred.
Jungkook turned his head, pressing his hot cheek against the wall.
“Like this.”
Jungkook peeked over the corner.
He heard the groan and then he saw it. The closed eyes of his hyung, his head tipped back, layers of black hair spilling in the air, her left hand poised on Yoongi’s throat. Index fingernail digging into his chin, thumb next to his Adam’s apple, the rest spread out over his neck, caressing the fair skin as her head moved down, the sound of kisses and tongue over Yoongi’s bare chest, leaving glistening lines of saliva visible in the kitchen’s overhead lighting. Yoongi’s back arched over the counter, his exhale deepening, arms and fingers spreading out over the granite, gasping as her tongue flickered over his dark nipple.
Jungkook’s eyes widened, heartbeat accelerating.
Her fingers curved, wrapping around his hyung’s throat.
Yoongi’s lips parted, breathing out her name in a low hiss.
Jungkook felt his cock twitch, immediately occupying all that loose space in the crotch of his pants.
Her tongue shifted to her own forearm, tracing a line of saliva up, up, Yoongi’s head falling back, constricted breath drifting out in heavy pants, and then their lips connected in a heated kiss, her hair curling against her bare back, the kitchen island blocking Jungkook’s view of the lower half of their bodies.
Her body shifted and Jungkook spied the top half of her juicy, full, naked ass.
He snapped back over the corner, sliding his right hand over his mouth so he didn’t make a goddamn peep. The threatening moan bubbling in his chest could have been both embarrassing and revealing of his position. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have looked. That was a private moment between two people and he shouldn’t have–
Jungkook clenched his jaw and soundlessly whimpered behind his fingers as he pressed his left hand onto his hard-on, trying to get it to calm the fuck down.
He heard Yoongi pant, “Fuck, already going that deep, hah?”
Jungkook clutched his erection and squeezed it harshly, telling it to shut up, it’s not you, stop getting excited over nothing, you delusional idiot, but he could hear the sounds of tongue and lips, of wetness and desire, of Yoongi’s moans and hers getting stuffed back into her throat, and he was rolling his hips into his own hand, his cheeks burning as he felt the pre-cum dripping into his underwear, slick against the sensitive head, his eyes squeezing shut, and he could see her face, maybe even feel her tongue, this is so wrong but I can’t stop, throbs of pleasure racing up his torso and down his legs, running his hand up and down on his pulsing length, I’m so fucking hard, holyfuck, the sounds getting louder, messier, imagining her tongue flickering out and ghosting his balls mid-thrust and Jungkook suddenly tensed his shoulders, gripping his cock viciously hard and locking his hips.
He heard Yoongi hiss her name and her loud, audible swallowing.
Jungkook screamed in his head as he cut off his own orgasm and tried not to make a noise, his whimper thrashing against his ribcage next to his pounding heart.
A mischievous, deep chuckle and Jungkook could imagine the way Yoongi ran his fingers through his long messy black hair, pushing it away from his smirking face to look downwards.
“You look so good with my cock in your mouth.”
There was a flurry of noise, probably changing positions, and Jungkook threw himself off the wall and turned the handle of her bedroom door as silently as he could, slipping into the room and pressing his body flat against the wall, closing the door just as quietly.
He winced, feeling his boxer briefs soaked in pre-cum.
Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen.
He heard a smokey, drawn-out moan of Yoongi’s name.
Jungkook jerked his body away from the wall, shuddering. He was not about to jack off in her bedroom. That was much too cliché to be doing, even for him. He forced himself to look up.
“H… Holy shit…”
It was a neat room, but it was strangely crammed with a ton of colorful things. Soft plushies with cute faces from various franchises, colorful albums stacked side by side between them, hanging keychains on clear hooks on the wall. She seemed to have a thing for plush sheep in pastel colors. The fluffy little guys were placed all over the room. Lilac, plush pink, mint, sky blue, cute little smiles and soft-looking horns, perched on shelves and on top of a huge yellow sheep Pokémon with a blue face. That one had to be at least a meter long.
There was also a big Snorlax sitting on the floor. Jungkook knew the name of that Pokémon.
“Uh…”
There was a myriad of knickknacks too. On the desk, a light purple standing CD player, rolls of washi tape, memo pads, and colorful brush markers. He noticed that the colors were muted, either desaturated darker shades or light pastel. He didn’t expect her to have so many cute things. She primarily wore black with only a handful of other colors, but, upon closer inspection, he could see the reflection of her in select, careful choices scattered about. Black leather notebooks, a hanging keychain of a black skull with a blank white tag, a strange velvet box shaped like a coffin. Curious, Jungkook opened it, seeing a collection of silver rings with ram skull motifs on them.
He recognized them because he stared at her hands a lot.
“No, I don’t,” Jungkook whispered under his breath to absolutely no one.
He closed the box and carefully put it back.
There were small memo sheets taped onto the shelf above the desk. They had small cats drawn onto them, doing things that corresponded to what was scrawled onto them. Do laundry on Friday. Pick up package from post office. In-office work next Tuesday. One of them had a cat struggling to carry a huge hunk of cartoon meat with the bone in it. Grocery shop tomorrow – ask if JK is spending the weekend, will need extra meat. Underneath the initials of JK was a bunny head drawn in pink pen with stars as eyes.
“Why am I pink?” he asked to absolutely no one.
Jungkook suddenly heard a very loud, “Mmm, fuck, Yoongi!”
He jumped and scurried about, scanning the room quickly. Better hurry. He had no idea how long they were going to, uh, fuck on the counter, wait where they actually, maybe I should go see, no, no, Jungkook, focus, find the ball, looking about the room, find the ball, seeing the unmade bed with the thick black velvet duvet, isn’t that sweaty or does she sleep naked, stop right there, think about that later tonight, to the tuxedo cat plush next to the pillows. It was strangely sitting up even though the covers were thrown back, clearly carefully placed before leaving the bed. Weird. Sateen black sheets and pillowcases. And then his eyes fell onto the dark wood nightstand with a hanging black sconce.
Most people had books, a cup for water, perhaps lip balm.
She had a plush Grim Reaper with a fluffy white sheep beside it, a pile of condoms, and a Magic-8 ball right next to her bed.
“What.”
Again, no one was there to respond to Jungkook’s confusion.
Upon seeing the black plastic ball, however, his eyes narrowed. He scowled at it. Raised his hand and mimed shooting it. Why not? It wasn’t bulletproof or anything.
You stupid piece of shit.Time to get your just deserts.
Then he heard the doorknob turn.
He threw himself to the hardwood floor and immediately slid his entire body into the closest hiding spot. Never had he moved so fast. Must have been a damn record. Too bad no one but an army of plushies was here to witness his amazing disappearing act.
“You don’t want to fuck on the bed?” she was saying as the door opened.
On the bed? Jungkook screamed in his head, clutching the sparse dust bunnies under the bed. You can’t be serious, I’m gonna have to lay here and listen to you guys fuck right above my head? There isn’t even space to jack off down here!
“We can fuck on your bed when they get back. No, I want to get something. Stay here.”
When they get back, Jungkook scowled as he saw Yoongi’s pale feet walk past. Rub it into my face some more why don’t you, hyung, stupid sex on legs–
“The Magic-8 ball?” she asked.
Jungkook felt cold sweat break out on his back.
“You never use this thing on me.”
“That’s because I shake your balls and they always say yes to me even if your mouth is saying no.”
Jungkook’s cheeks heated, cooking his face against the hardwood. His hard dick was mashed between his body and the floor. Great. Awesome. Not now, bro. This was too much. He was getting sweaty in the tight space and his dick was refusing to listen to reason. What else is new?
“We’ll see how cocky you remain after I’m done with you.”
Jungkook heard the drawer of the nightstand open, some rustling, and then.
A humming sound.
“Oh?” A devious snicker. “Here?”
Please not here, I will literally cum on your floor under your bed.
“Nah. Get on the kitchen counter. I have to prepare my meal.”
“So dirty, Yoongi.”
Jungkook faceplanted into the wood as he heard them leave.
His hyung had definitely been carrying a vibrator.
He stayed there for a full minute before yanking his body out from under the bed, face on fire, snatching the Magic-8 ball from the nightstand and slinking along to the floor, reaching for the door handle.
Don’t look, Jungkook.
He opened the door and slunk into the hallway, closing it silently behind him. They weren’t going to hear him. She was moaning in the kitchen, a coaxing hum getting loud. There was a sucking sound of wetness accompanying it.
Jungkook made it halfway down to Jimin’s room before he and the cursed hunk of plastic slithered back to the corner closest to the kitchen.
He peered over the edge.
Saw her head thrown back, hair messy and shoulders tense, sitting on the kitchen counter with her legs spread wide open. Yoongi between them, pressing a mint-colored silicone device against her pussy, his pushed-back black hair against her plush thigh, his smirk visible in his profile.
“Don’t close your legs.”
“Not a fucking chance,” she gasped, her muscles flexing, nipples hard and perky breasts pointing upwards as she slid back a little in ecstasy, crying out, the loud squelch indicating her release, and Jungkook held his breath as he witnessed the shiny, glossy splatter against mint silicone and the inside of her thighs.
Yoongi’s hand shifted, revealing the puffy slick lips of her pussy, throbbing with the force of orgasm. He leaned in and Jungkook listened to her breathless moan as his hyung licked it all up, messy and loud, the sound echoing throughout the kitchen. A shudder flickered throughout her body, her fingers tensing on the countertop, dragging along the granite.
“Give in?” Yoongi drawled, deeper in his Daegu satoori.
“No,” she growled down at his hyung.
“Again then.”
Jungkook sank to the floor, gripping the Magic-8 ball and thrusting his hips into the floor in silent frustration, knowing he couldn’t take much more of this, but he was doing it to himself, and he had no idea why. Ugh, there was just something so good and so bad about it, rolling over and running his fingers over his rock-hard, ignored length trapped under layers of fabric, his dreams and his reality mixing together, so close yet so far, just wait a couple more days, you can wait a couple more days, the weekend is right around the corner…
He crawled back to Jimin’s room, clutching the Magic-8 ball and the last shreds of his dignity.
-
“How was the mission?”
Jungkook held up the Magic-8 ball.
“Nice!”
He grunted and shoved the plastic sphere back under him, remaining face-down in Jimin’s bed.
“Uh… You okay, bro?”
Jungkook remained unmoving.
“… Bro?”
-
“I hate you.”
The Magic-8 ball, understandably, said nothing.
Jungkook glared at it. It remained innocently sitting in the middle of his bed, in his apartment with no working air-conditioning unit, which was not a problem right now, but, come summertime, he was going to be complaining every night and escaping to Seokjin-hyung’s house for a sweat-free sleep. The offensive hunk of plastic was completely still, the little circular window revealing the triangular thingy inside it that currently read, I don’t think so.
He squinted angrily at it. “You caused me a lot of trouble. I should throw you away. I could do it right now,” he threatened to absolutely no one because the Magic-8 ball was not sentient. It was just a plastic children’s toy. Jungkook just needed it to know it was hated. “Everyone knows about you, everyone knows it’s all your fault, everyone knows you’re the one that stopped me from–”
His breath suddenly caught in his throat.
From?
Her moan echoed throughout his thoughts, invading everything.
Having sex with her.
That could have been him, in the kitchen. Not Yoongi. Him. That could have been him, leaning back with her hand around his neck, him shuddering as her tongue and lips claimed his chest, him moaning as her mouth covered his cock and slid down her throat, him, it could have been all him, but instead it was his hyung, all because of this dumb black sphere.
It was sexy though.
Watching.
“N-No, it wasn’t,” Jungkook snapped at the Magic-8 ball.
Unsurprisingly, it did not reply.
His heart raced in his chest, remembering every detail. He saw it all. He didn’t look away until he knew he couldn’t hold back his noise any longer. He didn’t want to look away. He didn’t want to back away. He had focused on every detail. Because Jungkook knew he could watch all the porn in the world, but nothing was like the real thing, something he had never experienced himself. Thundering heartbeat, irresistible attraction, need so strong that he almost abandoned the plan and announced his presence, all because…
Because.
“You could feel it,” Jungkook breathed to the air, staring into space. “Passion.”
He wouldn’t say that he hadn’t loved, but there was certainly something he had missed along the way, something he hadn’t thought about, well, how could he yearn for something never knew? He did things because he thought it was right, a good way to express love, and it was, there was no lie there. But it was never like this. Like he was ready to take risks, ready to put his neck on the line, ready to run recklessly into her arms, ready to…
Steal.
Like a robber.
Jungkook turned and stared at the top of his blankets were the Magic-8 ball sat innocently.
It had rolled and hit him in the arm.
The message had changed.
Ask again later.
“I will,” he murmured, picking it up and setting it, circular window down, onto his nightstand, next to his star projector, turning it on and staring at the colorful, artificial, rippling lights as he slipped down into his duvet, landing on his pillows with a flump.
It was quiet, all alone.
Jungkook scoffed.
“I’m crazy, huh.”
The Magic-8 ball was face down, so it was even more unresponsive than usual.
-
Okay. There’s no need to overthink anything.
Jungkook thought to himself as he tugged on the sleeves of his black bomber, revealing the silver chain bracelets on each wrist. Sniffed his black shirt, checking if it was clean for the eighth time. Tucked his black hair behind his ears. Felt it was awkward and flung the ends back out, covering the tops of his ears and brushing against his cheekbones. Then it pushed his hair to the right. Then the left.
Yeah.
It was going great.
Hadn’t even knocked on the door yet. Didn’t even know if she was in her room, although it was very likely. According to Jimin before he left, I saw her come out to brush her teeth and then she wandered back into her room so… unless she jumped out the window, she’s still there.
“Asking the big question?”
Jungkook jumped and his fist flew up.
Min Yoongi raised his eyebrows.
Jungkook immediately put his fist down. “H… Hey, hyung.”
The other male tilted his head, peering curiously at him with a sharp-cat-like gaze. Yoongi was wearing a black bomber jacket as well, although his had white trim and embroidered dragons in silver thread. White shirt with a small logo on the chest, loose black pants with his keys on a chain, hooked to a belt loop.
He ticked his chin to the door. “Feeling lucky?”
Jungkook scratched the back of his head. “Um…”
In his mind, the kiss between his hyung and noona came up in striking detail.
Jungkook felt his cheeks heat and a small tent pitch in his pants.
“You’re pretty persistent, hm?” Yoongi was saying, running a hand through his long black hair. “Lesser men would have given up by now.” He patted Jungkook on the arm. “That’s a good trait to have.”
There was a certain kind of terror as Jungkook glanced at Yoongi’s hand on his arm and Yoongi continued looking at the bedroom door, as if he too had a question to ask the one behind it. Then Yoongi dropped his hand, tucking it in his pocket and turning his head to face him.
Jungkook did his best to swallow his fear as those piercing dark brown eyes landed on him.
“Something wrong?” Yoongi asked in that smokey, raspy Daegu satoori of his.
No. No, not at all.
Jungkook opened his mouth and nothing came out.
Yoongi tilted his head.
He attempted to speak once more. “Where are you going today, h-hyung?”
“Me?” The older man blinked slowly. “Dunno. Wander about I guess.”
Jungkook furrowed his brows, puzzlement eating away at his nervousness. “Why?”
Yoongi gave him a pointed stare.
Then he smiled.
Actually, it was more of a smirk.
Suddenly, Jungkook’s unease came torrenting back.
“See you, Jungkook.”
“W-Wait, hyung–”
But Yoongi was already turning his back on him and the bedroom door was opening.
“Who is having a conversation out here – Jungkook?”
“N-Noona!”
She blinked at him, holding her phone in one hand and the door handle in the other. Wearing black silk pajama shorts and a big black sweater with a white cat face that had angry eyebrows on a rather neutral expression. “Uh, yeah. This is my room. Thought you knew that. This is the twenty-sixth time you’ve been standing here and the twenty-seventh that you’ll ask the question.”
He stared at her; eyes wide.
“You’ve been counting?”
She stared back with an ambiguous, vague expression.
A bird cawed outside.
The front door closed and locked, indicating Min Yoongi was gone, leaving Jeon Jungkook and his noona all alone in a big, empty house in the middle of the day during the weekend.
“… Same question?” she asked plainly.
Wait. She’s been counting. She’s aware. She knows. Of course, she knows. She literally talked about you with Yoongi. What… What’s going on? She… And then the memory of her moan, her head tipped back, her breasts and hard nipples, the ripple of orgasm visibly traveling through her body, down, down to pale hands and black hair, to Yoongi and that could be you, Jungkook. You.
“U-Um.”
She didn’t move, waiting patiently in front of him.
Jungkook reached out.
His fingers brushed her sweater, just under her shoulder. She turned her head, looking down at his tattooed fingers against black knit fabric. Warmth and softness at his fingertips. So close. All this time, so close.
Almost.
His.
“Uh…”
She raised her eyebrows, understandably looking confused as fuck.
Jungkook withdrew his hand quickly. “Erm. Sorry. Sorry, ah.” He shook his head roughly, wincing. “Look, um, I…” He stumbled once more, tongue-tied. “Ah…” Lifted his head, finding he inquisitive gaze, his heart galloping in his chest, absolutely rampant in his ribcage. “It’s rigged, isn’t it? You’re playing around with me and my feelings, aren’t you? You never intended to have sex with me, did you?”
She held his gaze. “What makes you say that?”
He scoffed, feeling something fall down and crush his heart, biting back the sting of pain. “Well, I mean–the ball, Yoongi-hyung and you… anyone can… can tell…” Why? Why is it so hard to breathe? “And… the way… you touch him…”
His words died in the sudden helpless feeling that ate him inside out.
“I touch everyone like that when we’re fucking,” she said gently.
“Hah…” He wanted to believe it, but, no, there was no way that could be possible.
“I’ll touch you like that if we fuck, Jungkook.”
Her face remained calm and collected, and Jungkook felt himself fall apart little by little, crumbling in the eye of the storm, he had come so far, number twenty-seven, come on, if the answer is no, the answer is no, just give it up, I can’t do this anymore, because I…
Her eyes flickered downwards but quickly returned, a sterling resilience in them.
“You didn’t tell me you have those feelings.”
Jungkook felt a shudder shimmer through him.
“You got me feeling like a psycho, noona,” he breathed.
She smiled.
His heart did am uncomfortable flutter and faceplant.
“Ask me the question,” she purred.
Smooth like butter.
What a dainty smile with the perfect hint of naughtiness. He wanted to scream in frustration and triumph, but that would be alarming, so instead Jungkook screamed in his head and asked the question at a normal volume.
“Will you have sex with me?”
He knew what was going to happen next. The door was going to close in his face and she was going to go looking for the Magic-8 ball that wasn’t there. Then he would have to play it cool and–
“I will.”
What.
Jungkook blinked. “W-Wait, don’t you have to get the thing?” he sputtered.
Her head cocked, strands of hair falling down her shoulder. “The thing?”
He made a spherical shape with his hands, wringing them in mild panic. “The cursed ball thingy.” Shook his hands in the air, miming the familiar action. “Then it says no, and you…” Trembling breath, twenty-six memories playing back-to-back on warp speed, making him nauseous in his head. “Y-You walk away from me.”
She raised her eyebrows.
Tipped her head to one side, whispering under her breath. Jungkook caught – I seem to have scarred him, I didn’t think he cared that much, I should have been more attentive, you fool, get it together… Then she jerked her head, startling him and forcing him to snap to attention at her direct gaze.
“I don’t have it.”
“E… Eh?”
She clicked her tongue, twisting her lips to one side. “I don’t have the Magic-8 ball. Dunno where it went. I thought I knocked it over, but I checked under the bed and everything. I don’t know where it rolled off to.” She shrugged. “I’m not one to lose things, especially stuff people gave me.”
He frowned, confused.
“It was a gift?”
Oh, shit.I stole a gift?!
“Yeah, Jimin gave it to me,” she sighed, shaking her head.
Jungkook’s frown instantly evaporated.
There was a silence so barren that it was completely possible for a tumbleweed to blow past.
Jungkook placed his knuckle on his forehead and rubbed a slow circle.
“Jimin-ssi, huh?” he squeezed out between clenched teeth.
“Yup.”
He let out a pressurized exhale equivalent to a small volcanic eruption. “So… if you never had the Magic-8 ball, you wouldn’t…. You wouldn’t have denied me all this time?”
“Mmm, I think I would have changed it to flipping a coin or something.”
He raised his head. A coin? A fifty-fifty chance rather than whatever-the-fuck chance he had going on before? What the fuck?! He was going to murderJimin!
She leaned against the doorframe, looking thoughtful. “I think I would have always added some small element of chance to it, considering, well.” She chuckled softly, smiling up at him.
Thought of homicide slipped away, replaced by that endearing smile with sparkling playfulness, an almost smirk that filled his heart with a weird kind of warmth.
“C… Considering what?”
She gave him a rueful pout. “Considering it’s a little suspicious, isn’t it? Someone as attractive and hot as you, claiming some silly girls said you fucked like a robot? First,” she continued, raising her fist with her pinky outstretched. “You don’t seem like the type to care about what others think about you.”
“I-I-It’s sex! How am I supposed to feel when someone says something like that?” he sputtered, ears burning at her compliment. She said I’m hot! And then, what the, am I a teenager, why am I getting worked up over something like that? Yet his blood pumped harder anyway, excitement and anticipation spurred on by the praise.
She shrugged, ghost of a smirk on her lips. “Okay. Two,” she added, ring finger popping up. Her expression sharpened. “It feels like you only picked me for easy access. Because I live here.”
“B-But Jimin said–”
Her eyes narrowed, piercing.
Jungkook shut up.
Don’t tell her about the nuts thing.
The silence was too long. She scrutinized him silently but then continued, seemingly letting it slide. Her middle finger raised with the other two.
“Three. Seems like you have a noona kink.”
His cheeks felt like they had been thrown into right into a volcano.
“I-I-I don’t – you fuck Yoongi!”
She blinked.
Veeery slowly.
Now Jungkook wanted to throw himself into a volcano.
“… Hyung. Y-Yoongi-hyung,” he squeaked.
Mmm, mmm, mmm. Yes, adding the honorific here will save you.
Her expression contorted a little and her index finger half-raised before Jungkook’s hand shot out and grabbed hers, cramming all the fingers back down to her palm, panic coursing through him, oh my God, this is all going to shit, “Ah, j-just, no more fingers, I’m sorry, yes, I have a noona kink, whatever it takes, I don’t fucking know, okay, it’s not because you’re easy access, it’s because I really, truly, never felt so much desire for a person in my life and you haven’t even touched me, but y-you’re the only one that has never made me want and I don’t know how it happened, it drives me crazy, your…”
His breath caught in his throat.
His fingertips caressed the back of her knuckles.
“Hands.”
His eyes slowly, slowly shifted up, to hers, to a smile with a shadow of deviousness that made his heart race.
“Your hands.”
He held on, maybe the only time he would ever touch her hand after this disaster of a moment. “They must…” he said shakily, squeezing her hand under his. “They must make him feel so good and it’ll never…” He didn’t want to let go, but he had to.
Had to.
“It’ll never be me,” he breathed, voice breaking.
Let go.
Jungkook let go.
Her hand opened and captured his wrist.
His eyes widened.
She yanked him forward, making him stumble and collide, the soft scent of brown sugar and sweet coffee drifting up from the collar of her sweater, his lips parting and her closing the distance, pressing her thumb against his wrist, tracing the silver chain bracelet, her mouth centimeters from his.
“He likes the hands,” she chuckled, seductive and intoxicating. “But mostly Yoongi likes the kiss.”
She pressed her lips to the underside of his lower lip, right at the center.
Jungkook shivered, stunned and jumbled, almost thinking she had missed somehow, accidentally kissing the mole under his lower lip, but there was clear intention, a delicate press of such subtle sweetness that all nervousness inside him crumbled, tumbling onto the contented sigh that escaped from her lips, lost in her touch, the light presses up the side of his mouth, right to his lip ring, her breath shallowing, hitched with threads of arousal that seeped into him too, a puppet to her taste, his inhale extracting from her exhale and then her lips touched his.
She tilted her head and kissed him fully.
It was the varying pressure of tenderness and insistence, as if she was holding back, as if she was so close to breaking and smothering him with desire but she was feeding it to the slowly, building it layer by layer, flickers of tongue and whispers of moans slipping between their lips, her thumb rubbing his palm, her other fingers caressing the back of his hand, multiple sensations like sparks catching fire. Her other hand slipped under his bomber jacket, ghosting over the fabric, the oversized fit keeping air between his shirt and his body, and then she pressed down onto the small of his back, coaxing his body to hers, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Her tongue traced the entrance of his mouth, stroking his lip ring, sliding back, breathing in, humming in approval at his scent. Pressing deeply, swallowing his shivering cry. A pleased murmur and she drew back, her eyes slowly opening, smug smirk dancing on her lips.
Jungkook panted, slack-jawed.
No fucking wonder Yoongi broke his own rule. I would murder to be kissed like that again.
“What… What the hell was that?” he breathed, voice slurred and deep, suddenly aware that his Busan satoori was drawn out in as his mind swirled.
“A kiss,” she quipped playfully.
“That,” he rasped, shooting her an indignant look. “Is complete and utter bullshit. Who the fuck kisses like that?”
She smiled, enigmatic and sly. “Me.”
He narrowed his eyes, turning his hand in hers, intending to grab it tightly, but then her fingers slipped between his, intertwining and locking, palm to palm, and he held on tight, forgetting what he was going to say. She filled the silence for him, speaking softly between them.
“You have a nice kiss.”
“I… I do?”
She nodded, leisurely smile and stroking his back. “It’s earnest. Simple. No frills or tricks. Just you.”
He frowned slightly, knitting his brows together. “That… That doesn’t sound very exciting though. It’s nothing like yours, so…” He struggled, finding no word concise enough. “Dynamic. Intoxicating. Addictive.”
The side of her lips quirked up. “No one ever kiss you like that?”
He stared into her eyes, full of mirth and reflecting his wonder. Shook his head.
“Hm. No one ever wanted to fuck you like an animal, then.”
She held his hand, her other on his waist, two dancers attuned to the symphony of passion, her lashes lowering, leaning in again, murmuring his name and he found his lips breathing hers, reaching out himself, hesitant, is this my place, and her lips pressed just under his again, smile to his skin.
“Do you think I was meant to fuck you?” she mumbled.
“The Magic-8 ball didn’t think so,” Jungkook spat bitterly.
She chuckled, her laughter feathering against his chin.
“I really hate that thing,” he muttered. “It was so mean to me.”
“Mmm…” She dotted light kisses on his lips, each one a lingering wish for more, more. “There’s something about the anticipation though, isn’t there? The uncertainty, the wait, the denial, the almost and then the yes.”
Kissing him again and he was lost in it once more, more intense this time, her tongue darting into his mouth, quick and teasing, tugging on his hand in hers, rolling her body into his, layers of fabric preventing the full sensation, but there it was, the anticipation, the uncertainty, the wait, his gasp trapped in her mouth and then the sharp break of the kiss, her tightly sucking on his lower lip and immediately releasing him, sending a ripple of want through his veins, the whine tumbling out of him, the denial, the almost, and her smile, tugging him in her bedroom.
“You’ve never been in here, huh?”
His eyes shifted, seeing the familiar plushies and pastel colors mixed with flourishes of black and strangely cute occult.
“Erm…”
“You think I have too much stuff, huh?” she chuckled, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out her phone, and he started slightly, he must have been too focused on the kiss to even notice she had slipped it in there to hold him by the waist. “When I like something, I get a lot of it.” She placed her phone on her desk, gliding back to him on light steps, standing in front of him once more.
“Ah… yeah, me too, the hyungs make fun of me because I have a lot of Bluetooth speakers,” Jungkook said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s a lot of choice out there.”
She ticked her head, smiling, a little death that tumbled his consciousness into a worrying mix of lust and desperation now that he had a hint of what those lips could do.
Her hand lifted.
Fingertips grazing his jaw.
He almost moaned, but bit it back, keeping eye contact.
“Sometimes there’s only one choice. One-of-a-kind.”
She smirked.
Fuck, I can’t take much more of this, I think I’m gonna cream in my pants if she keeps talking like that.
Her thumb stroked his cheekbone, her smile creeping into her eyes, glittering orbs of sweetness mixed with wickedness, like brown sugar and strong coffee, the perfume drifting off her wrist to his nose. Her middle finger toyed his earrings, the fingernail dragging down the curve of his ear.
“I don’t like half-assing anything,” she admitted, apologies in her expression. “I don’t like giving up, I don’t like giving in, and I don’t like not giving my all.”
Small snicker.
She’s so fucking pretty when she looks a little evil.
“What about you?”
Jungkook smirked back, the thrill of excitement burning strong within his core.
“Me neither.”
She grinned. “That’s good. I promise to listen to you tell me it’s too much.”
“Okay–”
Her hand glided down his jaw and outlined his neck, following the tendons and muscle. He cut himself off, eyes widening, his heart leaping into his throat, transfixed on her exploring expression. The way she looked at him, like he was tactile art, caressing his skin with her fingertips.
Her fingers wrapped around his neck.
He held his breath.
But she didn’t tighten her grip, only loosely holding, her lashes slowly lifting, seconds ticking past and then she made eye contact. Something hazy and dark in those eyes. Her lips parted, lightly licking the side of her lip.
“Sorry,” she breathed out, strangely shallow, and Jungkook found himself hanging onto every word, fascinated by the way she formed them, collected but barely so, keeping him at arm’s length. “I’m not going to choke you. I… wanted to see you like this. For myself.”
That smile, honest with a flair of mischief.
“I know it’s selfish.”
He remembered her hand around Yoongi’s throat, her fingers splayed, her nails digging into that handsome pale neck, owning it, you could own me too, his blood burning hotter, remembering her touch on someone else, and Jungkook looked down at her clothed arm extended towards him, their bodies separated by too much space. His whisper was heavy and laced with lust.
“Does it…”
Looked up, tilting his head, letting his black hair fall over one eye.
“Turn you on, noona?”
So close.
“I want to please you too,” Jungkook murmured.
She caressed his neck, nicking her fingernails against the sides of his neck, making him gasp.
“When did I please you?” she purred, dream-like, her touch, her voice, her gaze, bringing him somewhere else, her other hand dancing up his chest, rippling the fabric against his skin. “Tell me.”
“All the time.” Shivering, watching her free hand pause and rest on his chest, outlining his pecs through the jersey fabric. “Especially when I’m alone.” Her moan ringing in his ears, right there in the kitchen counter, meters away from him. “It’s so sexy, the way you move and sound, like you feel pleasure everywhere and it makes me want to feel it too, makes me want to touch myself and pretend that it’s you taking my clothes off…”
Her hand on his neck tugged and he looked up, blinking slowly, somewhere between memory and reality, but she only pushed him down slightly and tipped his chin up, forcing him in an awkward crouching position to kiss him. Slow, sensual, flicking tongue and plush lips, mumbling against his open mouth.
“Mmm, you’re such a fucking dream, a pretty face thinking such dirty things,” she purred, removing her hand from his neck and he whimpered, feeling lost, but she kissed the side of his mouth, chuckling softly. “Is there more? Tell me there’s more. Make me want you, Jungkook.”
Her hands on his shoulders, pushing down his jacket.
“I…”
She tossed it into her desk chair, taking his forearm and straightening him, running her fingers against the colorful tattoos of his inner arm.
“I see your hands,” he breathed, watching and feeling her fingertips graze the black on his inner elbow. “A-And I imagine them touching my cock. Your fingers wrapping around me and, f-fuck,” he gasped, his face burning, seeing her hand drift, skimming over his black shirt, lower. “I get so hard, it’s so w-wrong, but sometimes…”
She hovered her palm over his erection, so close, her lips against his ear because his head had fallen maybe shame, maybe need to watch, maybe both, he was going crazy, feeling like a psycho, recalling how it felt in the hallway just outside this door, stroking his leaking cock through his pants and edging himself while watching their sex in the kitchen, he was a bad boy, I shouldn’t have done that, but it had just felt so good, so fucking good that he went home and got himself off for real, thinking about it again, dragging down his cum-soaked underwear and pumping his throbbing length punishingly tight, imagining it was her hand and her voice in his ear.
“It’s okay. You can’t help it.”
Her hand pressed into his crotch and he moaned at the feeling of her fingers encircling his stiff length trapped under layers of fabric, his forehead hitting her shoulder, feeling the wet, slick spot already forming underneath the tip.
“Roll your hips. Let me feel you.”
Mirroring himself days before, but instead of his own hand, it was hers. “F-Fuck…” So much better, rubbing him with each rock of his hips, hooking her fingers under the head and squishing the pre-cum against the sensitive skin. He whined and looked up. Instantly, her free hand rose, grasping his chin firmly and gently, and he saw her smirk, white teeth catching the edge of her lower lip.
“Don’t be afraid,” she nudged, sliding a finger over his chin and tugging down. “Make your noises. Talk to me.”
He was going to say something stupid, he knew it, so he simply moaned instead, humping her hand in the middle of her bedroom, with force and with speed, too impatient to wait any longer, not enough friction so he begged for more in small whines, hoping his pleas reached his teary eyes.
“Just like this?” she hummed, twisting her palm from side to side, alternating the pressure and the tightness, keeping him on the edge. “You fuck your hand like this and think about me?”
Think about you?
Jungkook bit his lower lip, feeling the ripple of desire flow through him.
summary: yoongi spots a couple of guys checking you out at the club. So, of course, he has to show them who you belong to. 18+
paring:non-idol!yoongi x female reader (established relationship)
genre: suggested smut, fluff and a bit of crack behavior from y/n’s drunk friends.
warnings: cursing, jealous yoongi, alcohol consumption, yoongi grabs reader’s ass, and heavy mentions of smut.
w/c:900
Rating:18+
a/n: so…. you might run into a few grammar mistakes since I can’t afford my grammarly subscription anymore (the sad tales of a broke hoe) but please enjoy!
Yoongi only came to the club tonight because you asked him to. It if were up to him, he’d have his eyes glued to his Netflix account, relaxing after a long, hard week of work. Instead, he sat hunched over at the bar, sipping on his whisky as his gaze followed your every move on the dance floor.
You were having fun with your friends; hair styled just as you liked, luscious lips coated with a flirty red shimmer, along with a tight fit bodycon dress that left nothing to the imagination. The more you laughed and danced with your girls, the more the thin fabric slipped up the thickest parts of your thighs, exposing your delicate flesh.
Yoongi ran his tongue across his bottom lip, daydreaming about all the ways he was going to fuck you the second the two of you got home. How he was going to slip your pretty feet out of your heels, placing kisses up your inner thighs until licking between the wet valley he was starving for. That would surely make his wasted time at the club worth wild.
“See that girl, the one in the black dress. She’s badd as fuck.”
Yoongi’s ears perked at the sudden mention of you. His eyes glaring at the man sitting beside him. The men who dared speak about his woman in such a perverse way.
“Yeah, she is.” The second male agrees, suggestively rubbing his hands together as he continues to leer over at you. “Had my eye on that ass all night. Think I should talk to her?”
The male playfully shoves at his friend, “Dude, I called dibs first.”
A chuckle vibrates from his throat, “A woman like that needs a real man.” He bites at his lip as his eyes travel down the curves of your body. “Someone who’s gonna take care of that sexy body all night-.”
CLANK
Yoongi slams his glass on top of the bar, creating a loud thud that causes the two men beside him to flinch at the sound. “Sorry.” He apologizes sarcastically, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he intimidatingly examines the two. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Y-your good, bro-” The man’s sentence gets cut short by the irritating glare deep within Yoongi’s eyes. He didn’t know what he had done wrong to cause such a malice look from a stranger, but he definitely didn’t want to make him any more upset. “No hard feelings.”
“Sure.” Yoongi clenched his jaw as he stood from the barstool, slapping down a 20 dollar bill to pay for his tab. “No hard feelings.” His tone, even more sarcastic, yet vexing than before.
Yoongi was never one to get jealous, in fact, he was quite confident when it came to your relationship. However, something about the way the two men gawked at you like a juicy piece of meat had him aggravated, wanting nothing more than to put them in their place.
Approaching you on the dance floor, Yoongi casually slips his hand around your waist from behind, spinning you around until the two of you are face to face.
“Yoo-Yoongi…” You were startled by the foreign touch at first, but the moment you recognized his chestnut hair, onyx eyes, and gummy smirk, your body relaxed into your boyfriend’s hold. “I thought you were going to stay at the bar-…”
Without giving you time to speak, Yoongi crashes his lips onto yours. His tongue seeking refuge past the entrance of your lips, exploring all the dips and crevices your mouth had to offer. His hands slip down the arch of your back only to unapologetically grab a handful of your ass.
You staggered for a moment, attempting to process where Yoongi’s frisky behavior stammered from. Only to fall victim to his intoxicating cologne and the throbbing he had caused between your thighs. Giving in, you press your breast against his chest, running your fingers throughout his hair to deepen the passion of the kiss.
When Yoongi pulls away, he continues to hold your body close to him. With his arms wrapped around your waist, his dark eyes pierced over at the two men gawking at you moments ago, only now staring with envy across their astonished faces.
“What’s got you so handsy tonight, Yoongles?” You giggle, oblivious to your boyfriend’s exact revenge.
Yoongi replaces his cocky expression with an alluring one. “What? I can’t kiss my beautiful girlfriend in the middle of the dance floor?” He answers innocently.
You arch a brow at your boyfriend, attempting to assemble the situation. “Something happened, didn’t it?” You press on.
Yoongi chuckles, not able to get anything past his intelligent girlfriend. “I’ll tell you later.” he says, leaning in to whisper, “Only after I bend you over the mattress and remind you who you belong to, kitten.”
Yoongi’s seductive tone and lewd choice of words sends a pleasurable tingle straight to your womanly core. The thought of him thrusting in and out of your needy hole has you quickly growing in heat. “Sorry girls,” You apologize to your friends, hastily grabbing onto Yoongi’s wrist. “I’m calling it a night. See ya,” you begin to drag him along.
“Waaaaaah.” Your tipsy best friend calls after you. “Leaving us so you can get some dick. I see how it is, Y/N!”
“Traitor!” The other friend called out to you playfully.
Yoongi only snickered at your eagerness to get him home. He always found you to be sexy whenever you carried that horny yet determined shimmer in your eyes. Also making a mental note to take care of every desire you had tonight.
And to think this all happened because Yoongi got jealous.
Genre:romance; fluff; boyfriend!yoongi x girlfriend!reader.
Warnings:brief hints of insecurity; reader’s necklace is pulled; loss of breath.
Yoongi loved nothing more than to see you wrapped in the jewelry he gifted you with.
He adored the twinkle of your eyes that his lavish presents granted him with, and the sweet pecks of thanks you placed to his lips despite how your words seeped between his lips in every kiss, to scold him for spoiling you.
He cherished every teasing graze of his fingertips over your flesh as he clasped the glimmering trinket around your wrist or throat, just to admire the shivers of your body at the mere notion of his touch.
And when your glistening pendant dangled above his chocolate eyes, mesmerizing him as you perched yourself upon his lap and dipped your lips into his, he was simply taken by you.
But it was the moments such as these when he adorned your body with his shimmering presents, he adored most of all; how your irises would reflect their twinkle whilst you admired his gifts within his arms before you hastily pleaded for his deft fingers to place it over your body.
With a gentle laugh, his fingertips would delicately trace the golden threads that glistened under his wanting gaze, as his plush lips greedily absumed the flesh of your nape, the glittering diamonds he bathed you within enticing him to leave not a mere inch of space between your bodies.
A soft gasp would fall from your lips to cut through your reprimands as his lithe fingers tangled themselves within the silvery chains that delicately traced the column of your throat; just to pull you into his chest, whilst bringing your eyes into his own in the waning space.
The glittering trinket that dripped over his fingers tips would whelve into the soft flesh of your clavicle with every curl of his hands, to draw you deeper into his embrace where your lips would meet his as if a golden tie between your souls.
“Have I let you forget already? You are my treasure,” he would whisper with a tender tug to the chain that clung to your neck, beckoning you closer than before until his pink lips grazed yours as he spoke, “you’re mine to cherish, to love and to protect.”
The heat of his lips would burn against yours as every word would create a delectable friction, that was far more priceless than golden rings; the mere contact with your love would make you greedy for so much more of him than the diamonds he dripped over your flesh, you would covet his kiss, his touch, his love- him.
His dark lashes that kissed the tops of your cheeks would certainly flutter your weakened heart whilst he teased you with his kiss, but he would always be just out of your reach as he chuckled softly at your pleadings.
“I suppose I have to remind you just how priceless you are to me.” He would smirk, his heart waltzing in anticipation of confessing to you of his love in every way he knew how.
With a mere twirl of his fingers, he would take the breath from your lungs as his slender fingers knotted themselves within the delicate pendant you wore, to pull you deeper into his love, he would forever tether your heart to his with a golden thread, and it’s hold would never be broken.
⤷Genre:romance; fluff; husband!yoongi x wife!reader.
⤷Warnings:none.
Yoongi was the very creation of all you adored, all melting together within a masterpiece you called your husband
The warmth of his molten eyes swirled with love so much like your favorite cup of coffee just as the soft shape of his nose so strongly resembled your childhood kitten; not to mention the plush pillows of his cheeks that reminded you of the most beloved breads so perfectly; your lover was simply the manifestation of all the things you loved most, into one, perfect being.
Which is why your eyes focused upon his endearing features, instead of all else whilst you basked within his arms and savored the warmth of his love, willing to merely stare at him for as long as he would allow.
And it was with every skim of his lips or shy flutter of his lashes did you think of something other than him, how you wanted nothing more than for your little ones to share the very features you adored.
With the reverie of your future in mind, your fingertips just couldn’t be helped as they lovingly traced over the line of his jaw and followed the imaginary path to the bow of his lips, contently following the pull to very tip of his nose, where you tenderly pressed into the soft curve.
Your heart faltered once his soft irises rounded into two perfect spheres before he locked them upon your own, surprised by the soft gesture, his chest rose and fell hurriedly under your palms, and for a moment, you feared the worst.
But the smoothe skin of his cheeks creased just below his eyes and foretold of the gummy smile that tenderly kissed his lips beneath your gaze, and you gasped softly at the relief.
“What was that, baby?” He breathlessly whispered within every nook and crevice of the flustered laughter you elicited with the loving touches of his skin, that wrote your words of love in his every feature you admired.
Your own breathing grew uneven as his body curled tighter around your own before his nose carefully nuzzled into the crook of your neck, to tickle your flesh with his hot breath as he flustered you endlessly, returning the unintentional favor.
“It just felt right” you shyly admitted, cupping his soft face within your hands as you cooed at your adorable love, “I love how all of your features fit you so perfectly, and I thought-”
Your words perished upon your tongue once a heat that his presence had made you so familiar with kissed every crevice of your skin, when his curiosity drew him away from the gentle kisses he placed within the hollow of your throat, only for his head to tilt, as if to silently inquire deeper into your thoughts until the truth spilled from your lips.
“Our children will be so perfect.” You suddenly blurted, unable to lie to the one who held you so dearly.
Yoongi’s mouth merely gaped within the silence that followed your confession, and for a moment you believed you had said far too much of your heart, until his lips suddenly met yours, in a fleeting kiss, that was almost twice as sweet as your soulmate.
He parted the kiss far too soon for your approval of the contact, but once the rosy hue of his cheeks scrunched with his sweet smile, you found yourself to forgive him, especially once his eyes stared into yours as if you had given him the very stars above whilst his fingers reached to intertwine with your own.
“If they’re anything like you, my love, they could never be anything less.”
Summary:It’s Yoongi’s birthday, gifts are given and love is exchanged (vice versa).
Warning/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language; smut (fem-reader; fingering; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; handjob; but don’t be fooled, this is the softestsmut ever); fluff;ugh, have I mentioned that this is so so soft? (I’m sorry); I got carried away, but I have heart-eyes for Min Yoongi, so here is a 10K+ fic articulating that; mentions of the pandemic; kisses in the shower; building furniture together? Yeah; more kisses; Min Holly cameo; references plucked from We Get By just because lmaoo; idol!AU - established relationship.
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Um, wow, it was never supposed to get this long and I have no justification for it other than the fact that I love Yoongi sm???!!!!
(That should really be enough, I think).
Anyway, to recall the words of Jeon Jungkook *said with much enthusiasm and affection into a mic, in front a vast crowd, preferably*-
“Min Suga! Jjang-Jjang-Man-Boong-Boong - Happy SUGA day!”
=====
-
Sometime in 2016
“Ah, it’s freezing outside.”
It’s weeks before and Yoongi says this in a huff. It makes you lift your attention from what you were doing, examining him as he sheds his layers. The overcoat is laid neatly on the arm of the couch, his hoodie slightly rumpled at the sleeves from where it was pushed up. The tips of his ears are red. You knew by now that he hates the cold. It takes little to gleam parts of himself that are telling. Like how he would wait and wait before huffing out his complaints, only for them to come out in an adorable mumble and a scrunch of a nose. Or how he lopesrather than walks sometimes. Or the fact that he’s loud in the way he was quiet.
Shuffling across the living space, he comes to your side, draping his arm around your shoulder. The tips of his fingers are cold, soon to be warmed up due to being in close proximity with you.
“Did you have a good day?”
You smile, fitting yourself against him, “yeah. I did.”
He stares at your work, the perennial glow of your laptop screen. It’s a world entirely different from his own but he can identify with the hectic nature of it, the long hours, and sometimes the inevitability of bringing your work home. Your eyes meet and because you’re both shy in your nature, it straddles the line of awkwardness. Still new to each other, to this,you’re delicate in the way you handle being in a relationship.
“You can - stay over, if you want.”
His offer comes out staggered, a soft lisp draping over the vowels. Up close, Yoongi is red all over: the tip of his nose, the apples of his cheeks, his ears. It’s the first time he has a place of his own, no more sharing spaces with the others, which means that you can stay over at his.Sure, it’s small, situated in a narrow building that’s in the noiser part of the city. But it’s a home. That isn’t something akin to the parts he usually shares - like the ones he allows the public or even the members to see, different from parts of his soul he pours into the lyrics he composes. This apartment - his space - it’s meaningful. Remembering that makes you warm all over, especially when you see that your slippers are next to his by the door, or that the spare toothbrush holder in the adjoining bathroom is yours.
Later, you watch him have a meal since he came back late. He eats slowly, humming on occasion to signal his satisfaction. All the while, he holds your hand above the table while you type with the other. It’s not an unfamiliar sight as his thumb rubs your skin out of habit.
You’re cutting my productivity time, Yoongi.
It’s a gentle tease given that you’re chest blooms with something warm each time he overlaps his touch on yours. At that, he smiles, chewing on the food while his cheeks go pink.
Afterwards, as the dishes were drying in the rack, you excuse yourself to shower. On the bed are some of his shirts folded neatly atop each other. You smile, choosing one to wear.
You find him in front of the TV, paying attention to a replay of a basketball game. He mumbles something about the point guard missing a pass, you see that there’s a glass of whisky on the coffee table. The couch is never used much, you camp out on the floor as a force of habit. Settled next to him, the lights from the TV show that his face is clean but so red from the whiskey.
“You shouldn’t drink that everyday,” you chide, leaning into his warmth. He relents for a moment, setting down the sweaty glass. His fingerprints render the surface transparent, the droplets pooling on the coaster.
“It’s alright if you drink it in small amounts.”
You take a sip yourself, grimacing at the bitterness that touches your tongue, burning your throat. Yoongi laughs, pinching your cheek, “it’s not for everyone.”
It’s not like your stubborn allthe time, but something in the playfulness of his tone spurs you to down the entire contents of the crystalline tumbler. And, immediately humbled by the searing burn, your eyes snap shut, your entire body flinching as you coughed. Yoongi rubs your back, laughing.
“Don-t,- agh - don’t laugh,” you ordered, wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes hastily, “ah, it’s so strong, how do you even drink that with a straight face.”
“Hold on,” he replied, letting his hand linger on the small of your back before standing up. Next to the TV stand is a small cart, it’s a movable bar of sorts inhabited by bottles of alcohol with labels you don’t even know of. Returning, he holds a glass with a darker liquid, your stomach turns at the idea of consuming it. Yoongi must’ve caught the apprehension in your face and smiles, “this isn’t the same thing, promise.”
Wary, you take a careful sip, your eyebrows raising at the sweet aftertaste. It’s syrupy, the burn isn’t as intense, but maybe it’s because Yoongi added some ice cubes to pare it down.
“You prefer sweeter things. That’s from a region called the Highlands in Scotland. That one only needs to be aged by three years, usually.”
Trying another sip, you find yourself adjusting to it, “what about you?”
“Ardberg. It’s smokier. Takes ten years to age.”
He slides his glass to yours in a meek toast. The game on the TV reaches its climax, the crowd roars as the team meant to win does. You watch Yoongi watching the highlights, the slope of his profile, the youthful glow of his skin. He’s always been attractive, but there’s something about him talking about the things he knows about. It’s like you can’t help it, to look at him with unabashed interest. He feels the weight of your stare.
“What?”
You shake your head, “nothing.”
It turns out that having whiskey makes you go all sleepy, unlike your previous experience with other alcohols where you get jittery. The TV stays on for a little longer, you cycle between the news, re-runs of Infinity Challenge andNew Journey to the West. At some point, you both made it onto the couch, half-folded onto each other, feeling full. Yoongi’s hand cradles your head at times, his fingers finding themselves into the strands, the gentlest of touches spurring more warmth. It’s nice like this, to be together, doing nothing in particular but feeling satisfied.
“Should we go to bed?” He asked, and you nod. It’s past midnight, creeping into the territory of 2AM.
In his room with the walnut bed frame and dark furniture, the curtains are drawn and Seoul blinks continuously in the distance. The Han is illuminated by the moon, otherwise, it’s a bleak serpent that cuts through the city in a seemingly infinite trail.
“Never realised your view is high enough to see the city like this,” you mumbled, the words coming out slurred at the end. You blink, a little startled that you turned out to be a lightweight. Yoongi pulls the covers up and over your shoulder before you turn to him, snuggling closer. He hums his answer, placing the back of his hands on your cheek, “your face is warm.”
“It’s from all that whiskey you gave me.”
“I told you to sip, not take it like a shot,” he chuckles, smoothing your hair down. You smile because you liked hearing him laugh, you liked it even more when he fussed over you. His affection was cute, which he never tends to show, at least in private like this. It makes you more salubrious.
“I’ll get something else when I come back from our trip.”
The thought dampens things a little. Right. Your boyfriend wasn’t as ordinary as he claims to be. He’s got a schedule that involved numerous trips away, whether it was for award shows, concerts, or reality TV abroad. You knew that you wouldn’t be together to celebrate his birthday this year but summer was also likely taken. You don’t get him to yourself often and you kind of wished that it wasn’t like this most times.
“When are you going?”
Yoongi traces the line of your jaw, his eyes are almost pitch black. The bed creaks as he asserts himself onto you, it’s closer than normal, it’s nice.
“May.”
There’s a knot in your chest. But it untangles as soon as he wraps an arm around your waist, tucking you underneath his chin so that your nose grazes his neck. Yoongi smells like mint, his heartbeat is steady as your fingers curl on his shirt. It’s really nice like this, swaddled in grey sheets that smell like him, your bodies fitting nicely.
“It won’t be too bad,” he murmurs, “we’ll call.”
Yes. You always call. Then, you catch yourself, blaming the whiskey. Inebriation made you sulky.
“I know.”
For a while, you both say nothing. You feel Yoongi’s hold go lax, realising that he’s fallen asleep. You think that you’d want it to be like this for as long as possible, as much as time allowed for. You follow suit not long after, falling into the scent of mint and the soft sighs he exhales.
-
“These are really warm, you made a good choice, choosing my ones.”
You look up, finding the kind eyes of the elderly woman manning the stall. It’s an open market, it’s busy, and the air is too cold for what is meant to be early Spring.
“Yes, I’m glad that I found this one,” you replied, as her soft hands folded it under some baking paper. You don’t know why you were suddenly shy, as if she had the means to know who it was for.
“There are others, more colourful ones if you like. I’ll give you a discount if you buy two.”
Shaking your head, you hand her the notes and a little extra.
“This one’s the right one, thank you.”
-
Yoongi’s hair is a shock of mint at age of twenty-three.
He’s grinning so hard at the brown parchment that you find yourself embarrassed, barely getting the words out you’d rehearsed on the subway over.
“I - I thought you could use it for when you’re cold. I mean, you said that you guys are filming abroad in Europe and I heard it’s still cold even if you go in the summer months, so -”
You don’t get to finish your sentence since he’s taking you in his arms, kissing your temple.
“Happy Birthday,” you murmured, although you’re a couple of days late. You hadn’t seen him due to the back to back commitments. He’s as apologetic as you are, as if everything was in your control. His kisses travel down, they’re light and ghost-like. He’s so near that he becomes a blur of mint green before you closing your eyes.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, tenderly kissing you, catching the tilt of your head by resting his hand on the nape of your neck. He inches forward, you go back, and it’s like this, slow and easy, your noses grazing at times. Your hands grasp at his shirt through his bomber, feel the way his heart is as erratic as yours. Backing up on the table, his hands support himself, planting his palms on the oak surface.
“Hurry back,” you said breathlessly, hands all over him, pulling him in. You hear him chuckle, breaking the kiss only to nip at your lower lip, saying your name softly while curling his finger to angle your chin up. His cheeks are red, an odd yet adorable complement to his hair.
“I haven’t even left yet.”
You press your lips on his again, “I know.”
And their trip does happen in May. He sends you pictures of magnificent landscapes from Norway, the sweeping sceneries in Sweden, the interior of a train he went on. Selca’s of him in a green parka wearing the gift you got him. This time, his hair was darker, a chestnut brown that appears honeyed under the sunlight. You call when it’s morning in Seoul and night wherever he finds himself, his eyes are tired and his grin is wide. You say that you miss each other but it’s never really that long before you’re together again.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, and the next thing is said quietly because he’s not alone -
“I love you.”
It was your turn to smile, “I love you too.”
-
Sometime in 2017
The Wings Tour started a few days ago and you’re nestled in Yoongi’s bed. His hair is as natural as it could get, the darkened strands falling over his eyes as he blinks sleepily.
“Planning to have it darker,” he says, in this low-timbre, scratchy in the way he forms his vowels. Gingerly, you swipe at the lengthier locks, his eyes are shut but you knew he was restless. He often was in the middle of these things.
“Like inky black?”
“Mhm.”
You notice that he’s partial to wearing hoops but you couldn’t help but think that it would suit him even more if he had another pair. The conversation wanes and you’re drawn to it too, feeling the pull of sleep. Then, you say something, more of a reminder for yourself -
“It’s your birthday soon.”
Yoongi stirs, curving his body, getting comfortable, “already?”
“Hm.”
There’s a new lamp in the corner of his room, setting warm hues along the wall. His sheets are navy, they’re slightly worn, pilled at the corners. Tomorrow, you’ll wake before him, a thing you’re used to now, kissing him under the covers as the sun creeps over the city line. This feeling opens up to content, it’s strangely unbearable. But Yoongi doesn’t sleep yet, his hand trails down, down from your back, onto your hip, his leg coming between yours, eliciting a gasp.
“Yoongi,” you whispered, not really relenting yourself. It’s a different hum that makes it past his lips this time, your bodies suddenly pressing against each other with renewed urgency. You nip at his bottom lip, welcoming the pleasant relief that surges through you when holds you impossibly close.
“I’m leaving soon,” he says, pulling the sounds you’ve been harbouring at the back of your throat out, resulting in breathy sighs.
“I know,” you replied, now on your back as he kisses along your neck, dark brown hair tickling your skin. The rustle of the fabric almost echoesin the room, it makes you shy despite you both being alone. He’s with you again, hungry kisses on your lips, your arms looping over his neck, body arching up while his hand skates on your back. Your nails dig into his skin, he hisses, sucking at your bottom lip suddenly, the temperature escalating to a threshold that prompts you to throw the covers off.
“Ah, fuck,” you moaned, his fingers wandering, wandering till they press on your core over the seam of your shorts. It’s a harmless friction, the pressure is just enough that your hips follow his touch. Your arm goes over his neck, your other hand trailing down his front, palming him through the flimsy fabric of his sweatpants. He inhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, the bed groaning as your movements become frantic.
The phone rings - probably his. You both freeze, your lungs contracting and expanding in such a rate that your breaths come out shaky. He pulls away from you, kissing your forehead softly. He walks to the table, picking up without looking at who’s calling.
It doesn’t matter anyway, you knew that it was a nightly reminder of his schedule commencing early tomorrow. Technically, it istomorrow according to the glare of red on the clock nearby. His manager knew him well, and, like the others, he is nagged then nudged accordingly. Yoongi repeats the information, something about a fan sign at 9AM. He watches you, chewing at his bottom lip as he fiddles with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. The mood dips, sleep encroaches on you both, the better option as he has a full day ahead.
So you sleep together, sleep in the form of slumber, holding hands in the dark. It’s a kind of intimacy that takes hold, no matter the time or place. It’s like knowing what Yoongi smells like, those layers of scent never lost on you, like knowing how his breathing descends into a slower cadence when he’s about to fall asleep.
But he doesn’t forget, he never does -
I love you.
And you say it back, those three words, recalling how the first instance was when you both said it at the same time, dissolving in peals of laugher after. It was awkward yet charming, like a second confession of sorts. He hums, his heart so calm and yours trying to keep pace. You nuzzle your nose, your mouth still tasting like his, not ready to succumb yet, not till you say -
“Sleep well.”
-
Ah
Ah
Yoongi, ahn -
Your breath spreads against the skin of his collarbone, hot and staggered. Your back arches, hips tipping down while his fingers fuck you in a steady rhythm, prolonging your first orgasm. Every nerve sparks so much that your legs stiffen. He’s leaving for Chile tonight. The tour is well on its way. The airport will be filled camera lenses, his face will be hidden behind a mask and his hair will be tucked under the beanie you gifted him last year.
It’s his birthday and his hair is obsidian. Tonight, he wears the silver hoops you gifted him during dinner. They graze your skin as you hold him close, the cold metal stinging a bit. It’s too warm, perilous in the way you squirm under his ministrations.
Yoongi kisses you, his tongue sliding smooth on your own, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens then unfurls, he’s too good at this - making you feel good.Your hips move sloppily, the wet noises are obscene, even in the dimness of the room. Your legs are splayed wide, his muscles are firm when set against yours, your moans are continuous, curses following suit, fuck, ah, overwhelmed in the fullest sense of the word.
“Good?” He asks, curling his fingers just so, tearing a sharp gasp from you, shuddering.
“Y-yes,hgnh,” you whimpered, tucking inwards, hips slowing in rotation as the pleasure enters a cycle of bliss and pain, pain because somehow, your body can’t seem to keep up. “I like it,” you sighed, biting down on your bottom lip, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clinging onto his back, slippery from sweat, slippery from how you were earlier, desperately rocking into release. He groans as you clench around his fingers, wetness trickling out, the peak rising and rising, “I’m gonna cum again,” you gasped, rutting your hips, feeling him plunge knuckle-deep, “w-want to, again.”
“You can. Go ahead, cum for me,” he said, a hint of smugness in his voice, his fingers never slowing, slender digits coated in your slick arousal. They curl slightly, rubbing in a torturous rhythm, over and over and over, and your hips stutter as you came, waves of wetness providing a messy squelch, but he doesn’t stop.
“Y-yoongi,fuck -ah,ah,” you gasped, shaking from it all, heart beating a mile a minute as you try to compose yourself.
“Please, I can’t,” you said breathlessly, legs trying to shut as he goes in, rubbing that spot that sends you flinching. “P-please.”
He stops, slowing down to pull away completely. He grips your thigh, keeping you open, his fingers sticky along your skin. The smell of sex clouds the air, sweat drying on certain parts, he kisses you in apology, you taste salt, and you taste him too.
“No, it’s just - it wasn’t bad,” you said, trying to catch your breath, a bit dizzy, “I like it, I like it toomuch, when were together, when -” and because you couldn’t express it, you pull him down, kissing him messily, sighing into his mouth as he grinds. He’s hard again and you miss the feel of him inside you.
“Fuck me,” you begged, feeling the resurgence of heat. Yoongi nods, his tongue briefly resting on the corner of his mouth, pale skin gone pink, his chest drawing deep breaths. And maybe it’s because you’re nervous that he’s leaving again and it’s soaking your chest with feelings that overwhelm. You’re trembling by the time he rolls another condom on, his knees dipping the mattress as he positions himself.
You gasp as you feel him pushing in, the tip stretching you a little more, he groans, mouth hovering over yours, “ah fuck, I think I won’t last a minute.” That makes you laugh and he shakes, “don’t - ah, don’t.” He retreats his hips, yet he’s almost collapsing over you.
“No, no,” you said quickly, pressing on his lower back, urging him, “it’s good,” you said, pleasure-drunk words delivered on his neck. He lets out a controlled breath, fanning your hair as he went, inching in slowly, kissing you, moaning as you were as he bottomed out. And when he moves, your hand flies to the headboard for purchase, palm curling awkwardly on the slim bars, panting as his fingertips graze over your nipples, caressing, pinching, then caressing again.
“Yoongi,fuck,” you moaned, reckless, your voice goes all breathy. Your cheek is pressed against his as he pistons his hips, slow at first, then picking up the pace, going all the way inside you until your breath mists on the metal of his earrings. He kisses you all over, still in control, his tongue making everything hot and wet. His hand clutches yours, fingers digging on your knuckles, your legs hitch up, your head falling back to sight of his skin going from pink to a deeper red.
“Ah,fuck -”
He leans forward, his movements steady, it’s so good even when slowed, and it’s warm all over. He mouths along your jaw, breathy groans travelling right down to your core. Your fingers grip him hard, “Yoongi, ah” the build up reaches an all time high, the effort of containing the pleasure seemingly too much.
“C-close,” you choked out, the friction becoming harder, pushing you to the edge, and Yoongi nods, gently pulling you to him, moving faster, harder.
“Angh,shit,” you gasped, your back arching as you came, causing you to cling onto him, thighs shaking as he rolls his hips, gasping into your mouth as you tighten around him, so wet and messy in between you that he groans, biting your bottom lip. You moaned as he grinds his hips, filling you to the hilt, making you both jolt as your inner walls clamp around him tightly, moaning against the crook of his neck as he came too. His hips still, his lips, slick with saliva, tasting like you, like sex. You’ve always been sensitive and it’s easier after the first time to get to this point, but it’s really in the way Yoongi holds you, how he knows how to make you feel good, where to touch or to kiss.
You both go limp, soon a panting, sweaty tangle of limbs. The sensations become less acute, resulting in pulses - the press of his mouth on your neck, the sound of your name is a soft murmur in his voice. Your fingers play with the shorter strands of hair on the back of his neck, you feel him smile on your skin as your hearts slow down.
With your bodies faded from the activity, you don’t realise that you had both drifted off until the blare of his alarm pierces the stillness in the air. A light sleeper amid his schedules, Yoongi reaches for his phone, kissing a spot between your shoulder blades in. Morning has yet to show itself, the clock nearby reading 3AM. He apologises for waking you up but you don’t mind. He’ll be going away and you’d hate for him to not wake you.
Thankfully, he knows that too, halting his apologies and holding you by your wrist.
“Shower?”
You nod, noticing how the hoops he’s wearing now come in a pair.
“I knew it,” you said. He turns around on the way into the bathroom.
“What?”
“They suit you.”
He gauges that you’re looking at his ears. He grins, his eyes puffy from sleep but he looks as well-rested as he can, despite his hair sticking up (cutely, though). He touches the smaller hoop, wide enough to let his finger poke through.
“They do.”
-
Sometime in 2020
There’s a table where you have dinner on in Yoongi’s apartment. It’s bigger now where he’s moved, more rooms, a larger kitchen with ample storage. He’s had the bed custom made, the frame is still a trusty walnut dyed in a cooler shade of brown. He’s working on his mixtape, aptly titled ‘D-2.’
His headphones are unplugged and you’re doing your own thing while you’re close together like this. On occasion, he would play something, running his tongue over his bottom lip in concentration. It’s mostly going over the rap in certain songs, which leads you to count his measures, the way he made choices regarding his inflections, intonation, and accent. Daechwitabooms through the speakers attached to his laptop. You knew because it’s the song that would drop with a music video and he sent you clips of the behind the scenes. You teased him about his long blonde hair, you look just like a King, Jeonha. He dismissed you with an embarrassed wave of his hand.
He catches your gaze, blinking rapidly. It’s the first time you’re hearing it fully. The words come out aggressive, sometimes the syllables are spat out, the sentences scrambled yet flowing together in a rhythm. It’s the kind of song that gets your pulse going.
“It’s a bit, uh…”
“I like it,” you supplied, “and the beat doesn’t change, right?”
He nods, rubbing his nose with his knuckle.
“You noticed.”
I always do.
Finding your way on his lap, you take out a small box from the pocket of the hoodie that your wearing, presenting it to him. He leans back, his eyebrows raising in response.
“What’s this?”
You shrugged, “open it.”
He does, albeit with one hand as he holds you close with the other. The lid lifts and reveals a red string bracelet laid on the spongy bed. He says your name, ending in a chuckle.
“Ah, what’s this.”
You don’t know why, even after all these years, you still get shy whenever you get him gifts. After all, what do you get someone who seemingly has it all?
“I know it’s a couple of days early,” you said, trying to justify it. There won’t actually be a lot time on the day of his birthday. He tries to put it on, laughing at little when the hook doesn’t thread through the opening. You help him, fastening it to his liking.
“Happy Birthday,” you murmured, kissing the top of his head, then his temple, then his cheeks, until he’s laughing as a gentle protest. Always the one more readily affectionate between the pair of you, he tends to do that when you get like this.
You liked to hear him laugh, he’s been so stressed with everything going on lately. It’s harder with the cancellations, the concerts, the tour they’ve rehearsed tirelessly for. His embrace tightens around you, his hair smells like mint and he’s soft underneath his hoodie. Leaning back, you see that his skin is dewy and flushed.
“Thank you.”
You kiss the tip of his nose.
“No problem, Jeonha.”
He bursts into laughter, his eyes squeezing shut, carving smile lines at the sides, “stop it.”
-
Yoongi finds you under the sheets, face close to your phone, a hermit in a cave. You both smile; he’s back early today. The shirt he’s wearing is nothing short of massive, cloaking him in a soft, cream cotton. The bed dips as he sits down, you notice that his hair is drying, the tips sticking together. He must have showered at work.
“How was your day?”
Putting away your phone, you reach to hug him, to which he relents, his body deflating onto yours. These days, you were fortunate enough to function during normal hours. They’ve adapted to a different norm, but staying in one place has allowed for less stringent commitments.
“Good. Worked on something coming out later this month, went to the gym for a while.”
You sweep your hands over his back, feeling the muscles underneath, “you’re warm.” Your fingertips find his trimmed hair, the ends are sharply shorn, “really warm.”
“It’s nothing, at least it’s not like after a concert,” he said, resting his chin against your shoulder, his hands on your sides, barely exerting pressure. You remember him describing it to you, what it was like to walk up, hearing the thunderous cheers that shake the stage.
There’s nothing like it. As if your soul is sucked out of your body, your senses all on edge.
Yoongi’s fingers press on your skin, they travel along your lower back, holding, squeezing.Lately, he’s been stoic about it all, it’s fairly early and you’re thinking back. Those who get the opportunity to hear the screams of sixty-thousand all at once are for a privileged few. It wipes out the trepidation of basically being an athlete on stage and the gruelling pressure to remain in top form for three hours. And to hear your own words sang back to you - that’s the ambrosia accompanying the cacophonous cheers.
At first, he didn’t even realise that he was stressed because performing was a release for him. But when the concerts were cancelled, he felt like he was losing his job. It all happened at once, where every anxious gaze were on the screens, watching helplessly as carefully laid plans fell apart in a blink. You both read books, watched movies, investing in the mundane, holding his hand through it in order to trick his mind that he was okay and that he was feeling better.
That’s why it’s no small feat to endure what he was going through, the others too.
The crowd has shrunk into screens, delayed (in spite of fibre optic connection), and at times, fabricated.
“You okay?”
You follow this up with a well-intentioned scratch on the back of his head. He hums, pulling back. You’re met with his lips on yours. It takes a few seconds to process it, to react, to respond. His warmth seeps through you, his dark brown eyes can’t hide the blown out pupils, but it’s pretty in the way Yoongi can be. Years couldn’t dampen that way you’re irrevocably smitten for him, ceaselessly attracted to his every facet, those glossy lips, pink most times, and red sometimes.
It doesn’t take much, a few inches maybe, your noses brushing before your tilt your head, feeling the whisper of his breath, the tender graze of his lips. It feels like an age, it’s so slow but tangible, so real.He tastes sweet, the slide of his tongue is hot, you sigh, arching into him, his mouth kissing the corner of yours, then your chin, your jaw, your heights being more compatible sat down. Your breath grows shallow, the sensation overtaking like a heady cloud, he leans, cheek pressed against yours, silver hoops barely indenting, the metal sears a little. And he knows that there’s a spot right below your ear, he plants a soft kiss, sucking suddenly and you inhale sharply, head tilting back in willing submission.
“Clothes,” he rasped, fingers finding the hem of your shirt while yours tug at his collar, all too ready to drag it over his head. In the low light, you part, Yoongi grows timid. He often does when there isn’t that much of a need to fling the layers in haste, when there’s room for romance. Oddly, this leads to missteps, fumbling. With his shirt off, you follow, shivering at the gust of air.
“Need to work out more,” he said, ruffling his hair. It’s dark brown this time, he wanted to let his scalp rest from all the bleach. You liked his hair in any colour but this was your favourite, it reminded you of when you first met, tripping over your words, falling steadily for the boy with dark hair and dark eyes.
“I like your body.”
And you mean it because it’s true. Whether that’s in bed or seeing him change to leave for something, or how he sometimes stays in his underwear, distracted by something on his phone right after the shower. You like its contradiction, the softness of it when you’re an admirer, the strength of his muscles in his arms when you hold him, the way his stomach hints at definition, the dark happy trail going straight down, his lithe legs, hands that have slender fingers and prominent veins.
“Ah, you’re only saying that,” he complains, going red because he was easily flustered. His accent slips out, aided by his voice dropping into a timbre, the satoori manipulating the syllables in a way that you liked.
You help him unbuckle his belt, loosening his slacks, peeling these layers away, fingers finding skin, heat spreading instantaneously. It’s difficult to not get restless this time, not when you’re this close. And maybe it takes a little more effort for him to shimmy out of his slacks, the way they drag down his legs for a bit before pooling on the floor. Down to his briefs, you slip out of your shorts, clothes landing in a pile, out of sight.
His hands secure themselves on your hips, and you’re breathing him in, hands exploring as much as you can, the landscape of his body is yours, smooth and firm and warm.You jolt as his mouth peppers kisses along your neck, down to your collarbones, soft lips find your nipple, the slight bite of his teeth just enough for it to stay good.
“Yoongi,” you breathed, your back hitting the bed, the frame shaking only slightly as your position adjusts. Your fingers dip into the hem of his underwear, pulling to expose further. He lets you, careful with his attention, humming against your skin, dark hair sweeping that it tickles.
“I just -” he says, worked up, his mouth on your neck, the sounds you’re making seem too loud in the room, the walls no longer a muted sanctuary, “it’s not that I’m -”
“Yeah, I know,” you whispered, feeling the way his hand slots onto yours, making you smile. He’s not stressed, you think. It’s different. He says your name, his hand gripping yours, the red bracelet feels rough, contrasting with his delicate skin. It’s startling, the way your hands look together, his fingertips with their rounded edges and blunt nails. Those bony fingers and broad palms, they make your insides flip. He’s not wearing that many rings this time, you kiss his knuckles, skate your lips over the silver ring he likes to wear.
He presses you onto the bed, shrugging off the last of the layers, you stroke him languidly, he balks, gasping slightly as you squeezed. Your bodies are like furnaces, you work to a rhythm that befits how you know him, low moans make it from his mouth onto yours, he kisses you clumsily, the clash of teeth, the press of his lips, these sensations overtake.
“I’ve been - I haven’t been good,” he starts, you shake your head, “I’m not good with words,” he confesses.
You kiss him with fervour because you can, because you need to while bringing him to the edge. For a while, it’s just your laboured breathing, he’s hard and leaking, it drips onto you, it’s sticky, messy.His hips act on their own, his tongue sliding against yours with a kind of desperation that couldn’t be replicated. You taste him, his mouth all too willing to indulge you, his fingers pinching your nipples, but his grip moves to fist the sheets as you coax him to the peak, he shudders, that breathy ahsounding so good.
“Fuck, - ah,” he pants, as you hum in satisfaction, tightening your grip, circling your thumb on the slit. “You, ah, drive me crazy,” he says, kissing you to punctuate this confession. Your heart lurches, it’s exhilarating, like a free-fall.
Any other time, you would have teased him, maybe laughed a little, remarked some witty comeback that would turn his cheeks vermillion. But you kiss him, missing him in this achingly human way. He comes over you for a bit, your chests pressed together, ignoring the way it’s sticky in between, he’s nervous, you can tell because he’s nuzzling that spot below your ear. The embrace is needed, his arms, strong and firm, his heartbeat is rabbity, he exhales.
“I don’t tell you enough but,” he starts, chopping his sentences, syllables going hollow from his nerves, “I miss you, I love,” he lifts his head, kissing you again, “I love you.” You grin into the kiss, chuckling soon after.
“Yoongi-sshi, you’re quite the sap today,” you tease, pulling back to see the tip of his nose go red, he looks so soft, his hair askew, his eyes darting along your features, perhaps a little lovestruck. He rolls his eyes, you appease him, kissing his chin, scratching the place between his shoulder blades, he laughs, it’s hoarse, like how it is when he’s amused. But it melts into a gasp as you widen your legs, your heels pushing against his lower back, down until you feel him there, hard again. It’s a slow grind, his moans are louder with his face turned to your neck. But you say it back.
“You too,” you said, it’s whispered, finding yourself shy.
He pulls away so he could reach for a condom by the nightstand, your shadows shift along the wall, he puts it on and you watch pink seep onto his chest. He gently spreads your thighs, raising one to kiss the side of your knee, your breath hitches, “Yoongi.”
You feel him push in, your hips stuttering as you adjust. The tremble of your body is a tell-tale sign that you won’t really last that long, not when he’s kissing you at the same time, trapping heat, the taste of you and him together, the saltiness of sex, the briny scent of sweat, the way your skin is scalding. You moaned as he fills you to the hilt, he does too, but it’s a deeper growl, throaty as he gasps in your mouth, his fingers twining with yours, the bracelet the only thing on his wrist, impressing onto your skin. It becomes slow, intimate, it’s enough for it to be quiet, suffocating in a good way. You grab at him, clutching at the hard muscles of his back, eyes closed, feeling, tasting.
“G-good, feels good,” you murmured, barely coherent, your words muffled on his neck as his hips rock forward. Your brain gets a little bit unfiltered, he kisses you all over, down your chin, along your jawline, his hips pulling and pushing, constant movement that emits wet sounds, the smack of flesh, it’s too loud, but the feelings in between drown them out. He knows that when you jolt, it’s because he’s brushed a part where it’s good.
The bed groans, the headboard judders, your gasps meet his grunts, the deep rose on his cheeks, the blown out pupils, he’s devastating to look at. There’s a prominent slash on his bottom lip, likely from how hard he was biting down. He looks different, it’s version of him meant for you - only you. The way his hair is back to being damp, some strands sticking to his temples, others clamping together to be pushed back, the dewy sheen on his nose, the clean scent from his skin. You love him like that; it’s almost too much.
“What’s wrong?” He breathes, slowing as he notices you go starry eyed.
“N-nothing,” you stammered, clenching involuntarily, he places his hand on the side of your face, his thumb swiping your cheekbone, it’s tender but it burns. He doesn’t say anything more, pulling you close, foreheads pressed together, his hips resuming that push and pull, you kiss, your hearts fluttering, fingers adopting a bruising grip. It aches in a good way, you moan against his mouth as you came, body shaking from the way it consumes, wet between your legs, inner muscles pulsing. You grip him carelessly, urging him to keep going without using words. You’re lightheaded, whimpering as he complies, plunging forcefully, he murmurs something - something soothing that your moans come out stuttered.
Heat curls inside you, it’s overbearing, your bodies free-falling despite being tangled like this, the sheets are pulled from the bed, skin scraping on the wrinkles, folds, then ridges. His bracelet, a bright red, matches the way he’s gets tainted in rose.
“Y-yoongi,” you said weakly, and he holds you, until he’s careless in the way he moves, thrusting to chase that peak, you shudder, legs folded, trying to tuck them into you more. Ah, fuck, if you do that - he groans, succumbing to his instincts, his hand slotting at the back of your knee, your high gets prolonged and you can’t help but cry out, spasming around him as he came, sensitive everywhere, your breaths are loud. They echo as your ears ring, cheeks pressed together, your limbs flinching as he slows.
After some time, you’re side by side, staring at each other in the dim interior. He holds your hand or you hold his, it doesn’t really matter. In the quiet, there is no resistance, just the pleasure drunk haze you cocoon yourselves in, easily lured by sleep. He leans forward, kissing your neck, his tongue flicking out to taste.
“I kind of like this,” you said, pushing his hair back.
“Like what?”
You shrugged, not quite knowing what you meant either, so you say -
“This.”
Yoongi chuckles, knowing where you’re coming from. The bracelet on his wrist is thin but it’s a contrast to his paleness, complementing the silver that adorn him wherever he goes. He kisses the back of your hand.
“Me too.”
-
March 2022
Yoongi [09:09PM]
How was it? :)
You [09:11PM]
I clapped so hard that my hands went numb ha
Yoongi[09:12PM]
:(
You [09:14PM]
It was good, don’t worry :D
I can’t believe you shouted NG - we tried our best with the wave you know T_T
Yoongi [09:16PM]
It technically was though >:]
Are you safely out of the venue? I can send someone to take you home
You [09:21PM]
It’s okay :) I’m already on the subway
Someone brought the balloons back from the concert XD
There are two purple balloons pressed to the ceiling, comical in the way they are half deflated, pushed up with the sheer will of two ARMYs who are reviewing the pictures they took.
Yoongi[09:23PM]
Wah ~ the huge purple balloons? keke
You [09:25PM]
Yup! Kekeke
Yoongi[09:28PM]
You wore enough layers, right?
You [09:29PM]
Took your scarf with me :)
As the subway carriage dragged itself along the track, you hide your face under the black wool, adjusting the folds over your mask. It’s warm and you knew that it smells like Yoongi. A sweet scent that sticks to the back of your mind.
Yoongi[09:31PM]
You should have taken my beanie too
You [09:32 PM]
I’m finee :) I’m warm enough
Yoongi[09:35PM]
I’m almost home.
I’ll wait for you before I take a bath.
Also, do you like this?
[picture message attached]
You almost drop your phone on the account of him sending you a post-concert selca. His hair is pushed back and his eyes are bright - happy. There’s something about the way the rose flush kisses his skin after a show, the way the light settles on the planes of his cheekbones or nose. It’s pink, always pink, his hair plastered wet, sticking to his nape, gorgeous, almost sultry. He makes pink splotches so pretty on his skin, the way the eyeshadow dusts his eyelids, his nose rimmed with shades of red.
He’s handsome.
(He always is.)
You [09:36 PM]
You almost made me drop my phone -_-
Yoongi[09:37PM]
Keke
Guess I’m good at what I do then :)
Glad you liked it ^—^
You laugh to yourself as your stop nears. You could hear the excited chatter of fellow concert goers and ARMYs happening all around, some are dressed in the bright purple of Jimin’s ‘With You’ hoodie, others wearing Bt21 headbands. It won’t be too long until you’re back home with him and that thought warms you more than any layer of clothing you could have added to ward off the cold.
-
The bathroom smells sweet, like vanilla. The lights are adjusted so that they appear muted, the scent thickening to the point where your head swims lightly. Not too many bubbles form on the surface, just enough to cover Yoongi decently. His bottom half soaks while the steam rises in tendrils, touching the ends of his hair curly. The water is hot enough to tinge his nose pink, his fingertips taking on a familiar red as he holds the sides so that he doesn’t sink. His upper half is mostly dry since he’s meant to sweat. There are some lukewarm drinks on the recessed ledge meant for shampoos.
Usually, Yoongi would soak in the bath for thirty minutes after the concert, shower, then head to bed. He complains that he gets tired easily these days, mumbling them out in a huff. And you understand, since concerts were an exercise and a half. The rehearsals that came before were equally taxing; you couldn’t do what they did in an hour let alone three.
But you’re sat on a small stool right by the tub, hands intertwined with his. He has a day off tomorrow before the next show, a breather of sorts.
“Does it still hurt?” He asks, breaking the quiet vacuum offered by the bathroom. His voice is weirdly echoey against the walls. You look at your hand in his.
“Feels a bit static.”
He kisses your wrist, the water drips over the edge of the tub onto the tiled floor.
“At least your voice isn’t hoarse,” he said, reaching for the cup. You beat him to it, handing it swiftly. After, he hisses, muttering about the water being painfully warm. Leaning his head on the curve of the tub, his mouth gapes slightly, resting the cup on the ledge.
“We normally have wine,” he says eventually.
You nod, running your thumb along the red bracelet that he put on while rummaging for a change of clothes earlier. The same one you got him for his birthday two years ago. It’s strange to think that you were both able to break your solitude, how the years created this perfect symbiosis. Initially, you were both reserved towards each other. The years did all the work, you think. It’s eroded certain things for kinder things to grow - lovingthings. Now, you do what lovers do. Normally, you did have wine, your legs kind of sticking together underwater, your calves against his thighs.
You’ve known him long enough that there really shouldn’t be anything new left to know. But you still get lost, you still find something, a stray freckle by the inside of his knee, the softness of his hair when freshly dried, how his clothes fit him just right despite being resolutely oversized. The way his hands are calloused from playing the guitar or that his edges aren’t really edges because Yoongi is really soft underneath it all.
“I couldn’t read half the comments during my live, should I get LASIK?”
He sighs, sliding down on the tub, his belly button disappearing into the line of water. He looks good like that, a bit frayed, spent. His hair, now lengthier, a sweeping arc on his forehead, curled deliberately when performing, lays undone. His skin is a bit raw from the soak, you squeeze his hand, meeting him in the eye.
“I like it when you wear glasses.”
It’s not a protest but a suggestion. Yoongi wears these ultra-light frames, it’s scholarly so you call him Professor Min whenever he walks by. He laughs it off, though, like he’s doing now.
“Do you really like them on me?”
He’s opened his eyes, looking at you. Without hesitating, you nod, “I enjoy calling you Professor.”
He flicks some water in your direction, you gasp, doing the same.
“It really suits you!”
You smile at the way he curls his lips, lifting them to form this half-smirk, “fine. I’ll keep them for you.”
-
“We’re meant to be quick -”
“Then we shouldn’t have sat down.”
Yoongi adjusts the water pressure, lathering your hair as he does. It had been easier to stay close to the floor, on small stools. The hot stream of water is rather tempting, coupled with the presence of the person you wanted to see most of the time, if not all.
As he runs his fingers along your scalp, scraping the bubbles down, you consider yourself pretty fortunate in life. You shared this ambition with Yoongi, this relentless pursuit in your chosen niche, hoping that one day, it will all matter.
That if you kept pushing - that if you worked hard enough, you’d get to where you need to be.
But then, you never thought that you’d meet someone like Yoongi, let alone have him occupy your heart. But it’s not quite that, not in the superficial way that romantics refer to, because it’s deeper, tangible. He’s a certain buzz in your skin, his grin seared into your mind, the soft kisses he presses on the side of your face, the scent of mint permeating your clothes.
You didn’t mean to, not really.
Yet here you are, a lot more in love than planned.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said, rinsing your hair.
“Hm,” you managed, leaning your back on his chest. “Let me scrub you, otherwise I’ll really spend the night here.”
He laughs before moving. Even if he claims that he runs out energy easily, he’s always the one taking care, doing all the things needed to be done before falling asleep with his phone in hand.
“It’s meant to rain tomorrow - take care on the stage,” you find yourself saying, he leans on your hand for a moment as you lather his hair.
“Ah, really? The staff might have a hard time.”
He closes his eyes as the water washes the soapy suds away.
“I like your hair like this,” you said, tucking it behind his ear, the silver hoops clinklightly. He smiles before pressing his forehead on your shoulder.
“Might keep it then,” he said after a while.
You take care of him this time, holding him close, till you end up nose to nose. There’s less to rinse off, the water makes your skin tacky.
“Yoongi -”
“Just want to kiss you, can I?”
The shower runs in a steady pelt, you’re flustered, like he is. You don’t answer because it’s not something he should need to ask. You touch your nose with his, it feels awkward, only for a second until he tugs you close, closer. Your legs adjust, it’s intimate, all too familiar. His breath is warm against you, his hand hovering on the side of your face, on the nape of your neck, his touch brings out a sigh. It’s gentle, as Yoongi always is. Timidly, your hand reaches for his free one, sliding fingers along the spaces, curling your fingertips over his knuckles. You taste the mild peppermint from the tea he had earlier, yours eyes fluttering close. His tongue licks into your mouth, encouraging a gasp from your lips, the kiss is wet and slow and intoxicating. Your hands hold his sides now, fingers on the tense muscles of his back, not quite close enough to placate the desire that lances through you. Yoongi’s always been a good kisser, attentive to your reactions, his lips are soft, his tongue feels too good, far too good that you’re dizzy in seconds.
“Ah,” he sighs, wincing suddenly.
You remembered that you were both cramped on tiny stools. The water cascades along the wall, your skin is pebbled with goosebumps, he shivers a little when you nip at his bottom lip.
“Yoongi,” you said, brushing your lips together, you say his name against his mouth like that.
“It’s late. You need to sleep, you’re tired.”
He nods, but doesn’t move.
“Yoongi…”
Another kiss, lingering on the corner of your mouth.
“Okay.”
-
“What’s that?”
Daylight breaks through the slits in the blinds, Yoongi wanders in, white long sleeve shirt wrinkled, black slacks, hems dragging on the floor. His hair sticks up cutely at the back, a cow-lick that bounces as he traverses the space.
“A bookshelf,” you replied, face warm because he was meant to wake up to it already built, “your birthday present.”
It arrived a little late this year. You were in Gangnam right after the snow cleared. Nearly lost between the aisles, you perused them with no goal in particular, simply to restock the reed diffusers and get new pillows, maybe a new towel while you’re at it. A store clerk maintained a safe distance, her smile small, Do you need any help? You think about it, about the growing collection of books that Yoongi has piled into uneasy towers, threatening to collapse at any second. Do you have any furniture, like bookshelves?
Luckily, you had the first delivery slot, right as the sun drips orange outside and Yoongi slumbers peacefully in the darkened room. The porters came, you chatted for a while, observing that there are more parts coming in than expected. They reassured you that all that was needed was a screwdriver and another person for assembly. Sliding the parts out of the boxes, you worked diligently so that Holly wasn’t startled from where he slept. You stumbled on your hoodie once, hitting your knee against the corner of the coffee table. It wasn’t too arduous after.
“A bookshelf?”
Crouching behind you, he slides his hands through, hugging you close, his arms resting over your crossed legs loosely.
“Yoongi, wait, I’m sweaty -”
But he brushes your hair away, exposing the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. His chin tucks your shoulder, he’s warm in the way he is right after he wakes up.
“When was this brought in?”
You sighed, setting down the allen key, “it was meant to be brought in beforethe ninth.”
Holly pads into the living room, his soft brown curls like spun gold in the light. He watches the pair of you, tilting his head, his dark eyes probably tired of witnessing your DIY endeavours for the better part of the morning. Yoongi scratches that spot by Holly’s tummy, encouraged as he twists on his back, his belly concealed faintly by a fine smattering of fur. You coo at him, grazing your nail under his chin, till he squirms away from an overload of attention from you both.
“Have you been doing this since this morning?”
You shrug, “it’s meant to be built by two people but I wanted to surprise you.”
“I know,” he said, followed by a small chuckle, “but I like building furniture.”
It was your turn to laugh, kissing the side of his neck, liking the way he gives access, his head falling to the side as you press your lips, slow and soft.
“I’ll make us something to eat,” he offers, in between kissing you, “give you some energy if you really want it to build it by yourself.”
You bite his bottom lip, “it’s just the middle shelf left.”
“Okay,” he replied, kissing you again, “I’ll be back to help.”
He does end up helping you out, and just like that, you’re being taken cared of again. With the shelves slotted nicely, the books appear, side by side, in no particular order. Slim paperbacks, heftier volumes, non-fiction hard bounds, dog-eared copies from his youth. Some books are yours, aged yellow from being kept by the window sill in the bedroom. The stories you’ve consumed in the past two years finally have a home. Yoongi brushes his knuckle along your cheek, his way of saying Thank you.
“It looks nice,” he remarks.
“It helps you see how much you’ve read,” you replied, smiling because he kisses your cheek, “and you also said that you wanted to read more, so…”
“I said that?”
“Months ago.”
Yoongi had been a voracious reader, unafraid to annotate passages of text, things that he wanted as reminders, thoughts, muttering how if he had more time, he could be better and read more. When things slowed, he did, and the books became mini towers dotted around the apartment. Holly collided his snout against a stack at some point, spurring you into action.
“Then you said you might need a bookshelf.”
It’s like this. How when Yoongi says things, you absorb them, drinking his words to easily, accustomed to the taste of him. And, after all these years, the shape of your heart looks awfully like him most times. You tug at the hem of his sleeve, swaying his arm. He says your name fondly, mumbled in that silky timbre.
“You spoil me, you know that?”
You rolled your eyes, running your finger along the spines of the books immediately in front.
“You know, I have the biggest crush on you.”
You tilt your head to see his lips breaking out into a smile, “yah, our anniversary is coming up soon.”
“I know but that doesn’t take away from that the fact that I still have a huge crush on you, is that okay?”
Another laugh, his shy eyes blinking rapidly while his tongue ran over his lip, “I was the one who confessed, though.”
“I gave you a hard time, I liked you from the start.”
He gapes at that, “I confessed at the bus stop in the rain.”
You shrugged, “it was very romantic, very you.”
He shakes his head, launching his fingers, jabbing at your sides, “yah, I was scared out of my mind that you didn’t feel the same!”
You jump away, laughing loudly, “don’t - stop! Don’t you dare!” You warned, trying (and failing) to keep your distance, but your backed onto the couch. Yoongi laughs with you, ruthless even when playful. You don’t mind, it’s a lost battle where you’re breathless, giggling as he inevitably cages you, resulting in a wet kiss on the crook of your neck.
“I forgot how ticklish you were,” he said, peppering kiss along your jawline. And there it is, that latent arousal sneaking up on you. 1PM, still in the clothes you slept in, Yoongi barefaced, gorgeous in the natural light. He kisses and kisses, fingers finding skin too easily.
“Are you leaving later?” You asked, almost succeeding in dragging his shirt off if not for his impatience. Your limbs clash, you both yelp as your elbows collide, the bones hitting in a funny way. But it ends in laughter, messy kisses, and your foreheads pressed together. Your bodies sink onto he leather of the couch, your legs hitching up and over his hips.
“No,” he answers, pulling back, “nothing on today.”
He says this alarmingly quickly, eager like you, lips finding each others in soft, sighing kisses. At a point, you lean back, studying his face. In the very beginning, the tone was decidedly awkward. Before, there wasn’t any time, he was always away, always elsewhere. It made you question whether it could work. Then, the months stretched into years until the truth showed itself without prompt.
Was it always there?
He catches you staring and some part of you thinks he knows what you’re thinking too because he leans forward. The decision falls on the positive. In some way or another, whether you acknowledged it or not, it wasn’t something you could stop anyway.
Yoongi kisses that space below your ear, you sigh, entirely satisfied over a small gesture.
“Bed?”
“We need to eat, you need to eat,” you mumbled, distracted by his caresses, taking little to tumble into this happiness laced pleasure.
“Rather eat something else,” he said, drawing a laugh out of you.
“Wow, you’re an animal.”
He shrugs, flustered for all but three seconds before tilting your chin up, “What? I’m being honest.”
“Yeah?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nods, all to easily, you think. His eyes, whether loving, teasing, or even when they get shy and stray, they’re always on you. It makes you giddy.
“I guess that I do deserve your honesty,” you concede, kissing him back.
He sighs, as if to scold, “you do. And more.”
You cling onto him more, “I know. You make it hard for me to forget.”
And because you’re as bad at each other in a sense that you could never say no, you smile into the kiss, moaning softly when he gets closer, adding weight and pressure. You tumble, yielding to him as he does to you and it’s easy, so easy.
Later, in the stillness of the evening, you’ll fall asleep satiated, hands twined until one or the other stirs. And when morning comes, you see that the wall in the living room is finally occupied by the bookshelf you built together, see him play with Holly, then cook you something before he leaves.
You think that there’s nothing better than that.
There’s nothing better than exchanging eager kisses with someone you love on a worn, leather couch as the sun filters through. Or how there’s nothing like the feel of his hand over yours. Or the fact that it’s still nice, as nice as the beginning, made even nicer with the years behind you and the prospect of the ones ahead.
And when he comes back, tired but happy, you’ll have that glass of wine while soaking in the bath, reminiscing about memories that seemed to occur just yesterday. Then, he’ll ask you about the future, as often does these days. Of course, he’ll grow shy, go all pink then red, but it’s alright because you’re secure and have that connection together, so the promises come effortlessly.
Still Feel It All. (m) | ONE - SHOT | MIN YOONGI, 4.7 k
Pairing:Yoongi x Reader
Summary:Yoongi knew some of it. He knows of the things you take part in, the world you inhabit sometimes. The relationships those included, the things you don’t talk about as much anymore. But, you think, he may not know how it feels, how things pan out if you go too far in one instance.
Warning/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language; smut (fem-reader; oral sex (f-receiving); unprotected sex; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; but this is like, ‘non-explicit explicit sex,’ if you get what I mean - just plenty of feelings); slightangst; there’s so much pining and professions of love and it’s just a lot; for context: they’re roommates rn and were friends with benefits at some point; also, the reader is involved in BDSM and Yoongi isn’t; there are descriptions of a ‘drop’ and the exhaustion and anxiety that may come after a scene, then aftercare) - non - idol!AU
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Just to emphasise: please be mindful of the tags and read at your own discretion! I think that this one shot is a bit intense and to reiterate, if some of the tags above are things that you are sensitive towards, please don’t read ahead.
(Also, the title is a song by MARO if anyone’s curious!)
-
The lease is for a year and on the eleventh month, Yoongi finds you in the shower, soaked in your clothes.
With your forehead pressed onto the tiles, your breath joins the plumes of steam that curled up to the ceiling. It’s too warm and you were light-headed but moving was too hard, weighed down by sopping fabric. Your eyelids are heavy, your lashes tending to stick together, as if the crystals of sleep are stubbornly affixed there.
Trembling in your position, you don’t quite hear anything properly, the shower filters in and out, alongside the strong thud of your heart. But the sound of the door rouses something in you, making you curl inwards more.
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.”
Yoongi’s voice is deep and echoes in the small space, the vowels sound smooth coming from him. You turn your head, beyond shame for the moment.
“’S okay. You’re fine.”
You’re fine.
You’re fine.
You’re fine.
Your brain repeats the mantra, thoughts frayed like the end of a rope. You’ll deal with the fallout later and Yoongi will do his best to understand, he always does.
“Are you okay?”
You liked Yoongi’s satoori,it reminded you of someplace safe, where the sun sets in an orange glow on the horizon, sinking between great mountains.
It’s the not the first time he asks this, of course. Living together made certain things impossible to conceal, but you were clear on your limits. A space is a space and lines can be drawn if the other is willing. Now, though, you don’t mind that someone is asking, even more so that it’s Yoongi. He would have noticed that the door was ajar and it makes the shame a little easier to bear. He was worried and he could tell that leaving you alone wouldn’t benefit either of you.
Still, you resist.
“I’m fine.”
That sounded weird out loud. As if to affirm, your shoulders tense, the water feeling too cold lower down.
“You don’t seem fine,” he says, closer now. It sounds as if he was right by the glass.
The exhale was harder than the inhale, your chest tightens as air is pushed out.
“It’s just - it’s just a drop.”
Yoongi knew some of it. He knows of the things you take part in, the world you inhabit sometimes. The relationships those included, the things you don’t talk about as much anymore. But, you think, he may not know how it feels, how things pan out if you go too far in one instance.
“I need some time, I need…”
You don’t exactly know, if you were being frank.
“You should get out of your clothes,” Yoongi scolds.
It’s soft in the way he reprimands you, like a nag, swallowed in a mumble, almost lost in the consistent pelt of the water against the wall. You had no energy to argue, to turn his hospitality away, so you nod. The slide of the door is a squeak, the air comes through in a rush, and Yoongi is by your side, his hands at your waist. The touch is reverent, even now. Careful and trying.
“Let me help.”
You turn and find him close but his eyes are on the floor, which is filling up with the both of you on it. You hear your breath grow shallow, your mouth going dry. Yoongi’s cheeks are mottled pink, hints of red around his nose, the centre of his lips, his shirt is stained at the shoulders, caught in the ensuing spray.
“You’ll get all wet,” you whispered, the ragged ends of your words masked by the heat and steam.
“It’s okay.”
He looks up at you, it’s quick though, as he works to grab something from the basket hanging on the side. Yoongi,you warned, regaining some sort of control. He hushes you in a second, rummaging for more bottles using this easy concentration he has.
“I’ll wash your hair first, okay?”
Your face is too warm, despite it all. Yoongi lifts the hem of your shirt, up till he can thread it off you. Then, he unhooks your bra, letting it fall away. His gaze avoids the marks on your skin, ones that resemble ropes criss-crossing intricately, others being fingers. Traces of a scene you left.
“I’ll tend to those later,” Yoongi offers after. “Your sweatpants.”
“I’ll keep them on,” you said, and Yoongi sighs in response and crowds you, but in a way that you can hear him better than anything else. The rhythm of his breathing, the small grunts he emits as he tries to squeeze the last of the shampoo out onto his palm. You don’t mean to but you lean towards him, yearning for something solid yet soft. Facing each other, you were able to tuck your chin over his shoulder, resting there for the moment. He says your name, as gentle as the first time you met, on that cold January day. Yoongi, with his averted gaze and saccharine smile. The sun was so bright that day, lightening the tips of his hair into a warm amber.
When his palms bracket your sides, you shiver at the contact, relief manifesting at the tangible.
And that’s the thing about Yoongi.
He’s kind and soft where you were sharp and abrasive. He cares where he can’t help and helps even when he shouldn’t care. You didn’t mind your differences, after all, you were your own person. But you liked that Yoongi held you as if he understood everything, it made you need something you didn’t know you wanted.
“You don’t have to, but I’ll listen.”
Yoongi’s voice is a mere rumble while pressed together like this. Like the words are pulled from his chest rather than his throat. For a minute, maybe longer, you stay quiet. He manoeuvres, his hands rubbing your back in a calm motion.
“I - it was too much,” you manage, your voice unnatural in the echoey space.
“Is what I’m doing too much?”
You shake your head, finding the energy to smile.
“I don’t mind this. It’s good.”
And you almost gave permission for your tears to fall when you feel his hand skate up to your nape, touching your skin, bunching your wet hair, forcing the water to run in excess.
“We didn’t get to this part,” you confessed, “I didn’t get -,” you stuttered, blinking to focus your eyes back because there was a hollow sort of numbness that seeped all over. Your words are like a mismatched quilt, the stitches haphazard. “We stopped, we broke up.”
It wasn’t like there was anything more than sex but you felt strange announcing its end.
“Oh,” Yoongi contemplates, stroking the back of your head, “I’m sorry about that.”
“’S fine. We just didn’t work anymore,” you said. There was more to explain, more to divulge, but you were lost in the way Yoongi touches at the back of your neck, willing enough pressure to soothe.
“Sounds like what happened to us,” Yoongi says after a while.
Your lips curl upwards because he doesn’t say it with malice. He sounded hurt, the words are mumbled, the satooriholding the ends together. It happened on the fifth month, when you fucked. The night was warm and you were both too drunk to commit to a proper thought process, or to stop, really. Then, you tried again, sober, and when you asked to go beyond expectation, for Yoongi’s hand to strike you, he shrank back, nervous. After, it got awkward, like you were stepping on eggshells each time you spoke.
You stopped then.
“We didn’t really talk about it, Yoongi.”
The realisation makes you frown.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it, forget that I brought it up,” he sighs, “is it okay for me to wash your hair?”
“Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning back, meeting his gaze. Those brown eyes that are far too kind, and one look, your shivers settle. And you don’t ask because you feel the pull, you hover your lips over his, barely touching.
You feel the flutter of his lashes on your cheek, “’s okay, you can wash my hair,” you murmured.
So he does, those long, bony fingers doing their best to leave no trace, rinsing the suds away from your scalp, trailing down to the ends.
“I like that you coloured it this way,” Yoongi says, his voice too fond. You find yourself smiling, dipping your head down as he finishes wringing out the shampoo. Some of the red makes it onto the floor, seeping into the hem of his jeans.
“It’s pretty,” he adds in a huff. You don’t protest when he leans close again, kissing the juncture where your arm and your shoulder meet.
“C’mon.”
He helps you stand up and the rest of it goes wordlessly. The rest of your clothes are pulled off, his too. Then, you are wrapped in his robe, and he towels himself roughly, stepping into loose sweats. You look at him as he ruffles his hair, quick movements that flick water off the ends into the air. You see the soft slopes of his body, the landscape of it and its contours. His eyes are your favourite, sharp yet rounded, framed by long lashes, holding a gaze so kind that it’s easy to want - to crave. A pinprick of pain suffuses through your chest and you say it before thinking.
“Can we sleep together?”
He stares at you, drinking your words in. He doesn’t say anything and walks out, and you shrink back into yourself, curling your fingers into a fist. The brunt of the embarrassment felt as a tremble of your lower lip.
“I’ll get something for your bruises,” he says, busying himself as he opens the door to his bedroom. He sounds far away because there were walls between you now. Mi-Rae wasn’t meant to come back until early morning and Namjoon is away on a trip. The apartment has four rooms and two bathrooms, the one you were in was the one you shared with Mi-Rae. It’s enough for islands to form, for lines to be drawn on the sand.
Yoongi isn’t tidy and he cleans when he feels like it. You knew that for a fact after a few weeks of living together. On his chair are layers of shirts, sweat shirts, and hoodies yet to find a home on his shelf. The equipment he has are on his desk, mini-keyboards, a lone mic, his monitor that had a black screen as a background. But it smells like him. It smells like sweet vanilla, like the cologne he wears sometimes, sweet and subtle. You’ll only know if you’re close enough or if you’re in his space.
“Come,” he says, already sat on his bed, meeting you in the eye.
You always felt cared for whenever Yoongi does this. He’s like that to everyone, so you’re not exactly singled out; it’s just the way he was. He doesn’t say much but there will always be food on the table and his smile outside the station when it’s raining and you forgot an umbrella. Back then, you were appreciative, someone resembling a stranger being unconditionally kind. Maybe it was a crush, then.
Now, it’s somewhat changed. But it’s still nice that Yoongi cares in the same way he does from the moment you met. He pushes the robe away, and it slides down your shoulders, the tips of his fingers are cold and you hiss. You remember the ropes being tight but you preferred it that way. The gel he applies is even colder, though. He gives you an apologetic look, his cheeks rounding as he draws his lips into a line. It spreads evenly and you yearn for something you can quite place. You let yourself drop forward again, head on his shoulder.
“Thanks.”
“Do you always come back like this?”
The question is innocent yet probing. Your silence he takes as a cue to elaborate.
“After you - after you’re with someone like that - you said something about a drop,” he tries, but you catch the tremble in his voice, the way it shakes the vowels, he seems hesitant. “I don’t know what that means.”
You inhale and exhale, the pain rushes back. You focus on Yoongi’s skin, pale even in the low light, the bare expanse of it, feeling his warmth, anchoring yourself as you tried to regulate your breathing. The conversation never happened between you and you weren’t sure if you wanted it to happen in the first place. Yoongi was someone who made you feel soft yet thorny things at the same time. He’s someone in your heart but the way he came in was through being lodged at your rib, and you think he’s stayed there ever since, and slowly you got used to the way that hurt sometimes.
“It can be rough,” you began, trying to work through the flashes of memory. “They normally take care of me after.”
“And this time, they didn’t?”
“No - it’s not that.”
It’s about being left on the bed, curled up, about feeling numb for what feels longer than a minute or two, unable to utter a word or move. It was about ending things so impersonally.
We don’t have to be together anymore.
It was cold and unpleasant. It hurt in a different kind of way, more than the marks left to heal for days.
“We didn’t end up finishing the scene, they went ahead, and -” you said, feeling out of touch, “it doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore.”
“Did you love them?”
You raise your head because it wasn’t what you expected. Yoongi wasn’t looking at you at all, but his cheeks were pink, his nerves showing up in a flare.
“No. It’s not like that. It’s not love.”
Yoongi sighed, refocusing and placing more gel on your skin. It’s warmer now that he’s held it for a while. You observe his quietness, finding small moles on his skin, one on his left cheek, the part in his hair, the chapped surface of his lips.
“I’ve never really been in love.”
It was years before. When things got too much, when you were pushed to the limits, you weren’t tired. It manifested as a rush, a high that you wanted to replicate. Eventually, you found another source, and under the heavy hand of another, you experienced something inexplicably euphoric that it stayed with you in your core for days. From there, it developed, until you picked up everything else, met different people, stepping into an escape that you didn’t know you were searching for in the first place. A lack of control translating as actual freedom from the things that shackled you down in your life.
It had more to do with trust rather than love.
And there was hardly an overlap.
“I don’t get it. I don’t get you,” Yoongi mutters, his voice unsteady now.
“It doesn’t change things. I’m still myself,” you explained, the thorny feeling coming back tenfold. “I’m still me, Yoongi. But sometimes, I just want to forget and sometimes, I want to be…”
You hesitate because you feel like you’re running out of words to describe this amorphous feeling that’s followed you since. Yoongi’s touch runs along your collarbone, feeling the grooves of where the rope was once. You gather some strength from there.
“Sometimes, I want to be someone else’s.”
“I’m sorry,” is what Yoongi says. “We don’t have to talk about it, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I wanted to tell you,” you replied, looking elsewhere, on the corner of his ceiling. “I mean, at some point, later on, we can talk about it more.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t touch you anymore either.
“Please take care of me, Yoongi.”
“I’ll get you a shirt and underwear, wait here.”
“No - just, can you sleep here, with me?”
It’s a feeble attempt but you reach out as he stands, circling your hand around his wrist. He was warm and his pulse feels strong. “Can I stay?”
There’s more to that. It’s a plea for something that comes so easily for him. Perhaps that’s why you felt shy asking.
“You and I, we -,” he starts, his voice hoarse, “I don’t think I have anything to offer you.”
What Yoongi said puzzled you. That was hardly the truth because he was always offering you something. Whether it was his gentle comfort, his own space, his words, his embrace. He was a safe harbour and welcoming when the storm battered against the sails. He’s changed but not that much, he’d kiss your forehead if you did something well, cook you something when you were exhausted, support you unfailingly. Yoongi was made of all the good things you never thought you’d get in this lifetime and it made you think of him when moments are idle. You thought about his skin, his scent, his smile, till it became a subconscious craving, even when you were in the presence of someone else. At the end of it all, at the end of the pain mixed with pleasure, you wished that Yoongi was there to pick you up.
The thought makes you blink rapidly, your heartbeat knocking against your chest in an erratic rhythm. You ball your hands into fists, the realisation hitting you too suddenly. Yoongi waits, your hand tightens over his wrist. His eyes are neither soft nor fond.
“No. That’s a lie,” you said, panicked.
Nothing is said, nothing for the few seconds it takes for Yoongi to kneel between your legs. Your breath thins as you feel him press his lips to your neck and you shudder. Your eyes flutter close, the tilt of your head is automatic, and you get kissed on your collarbones, Yoongi’s tongue is hot on your skin, over your nipple that your moans are sighed out. You grow weak as the robe eventually falls away, your body arching towards Yoongi until the fire becomes too much. He murmurs your name, his fingers wandering down, your legs spreading instinctively. You gasp and he finds you wet.
“You’re -”
“I - earlier, I didn’t get to come,” you breathed, “it’s okay. Keep going.”
Yoongi says your name again, and it sounds different, tender.You had to fight to properly see him, already succumbing to the haze of pleasure.
“I’ll do what you like, just - just tell me.”
And that shouldn’t make you want to cry all of the sudden so you shake your head, “it’s okay. What you’re doing is fine.”
“You want to come?”
It wasn’t the most Yoongi thing to say and it sounded too suggestive right now. It makes your face heat up, your mind confused as your body craves and craves. You’ve fucked more than once but the intimacy is different now, informed by new words, shaped into a new meaning. It’s rehashed but renewed.
“I - yeah. I want to,” you sniffed, aware of your position, Yoongi kneeling on the floor, your legs spread and his fingers grazing between. He raises himself up, teeth skimming your neck, his tongue circling your nipple and you fingers clutch at the sheets, the air rushing into your lungs, making them expand. And you’re weaker somehow, breathless as Yoongi touches you between your legs, fingers dipping inside, curling and rubbing that you flinch. You whimpered, bowing onto him, shaking as he goes on and on. It feels good, too good to be cared for like this. Your name makes it past the mist, it’s a concerned tone cloaked under the satoori.
“You’re shaking,” Yoongi says, his thumb stroking your hip.
“No, it’s good. It feels good,” you assured, your voice scratchy, “just - please.”
You stop because you areshivering at this point from being yanked from the peak.
“Lay on your back,” he says, and you look at him, eyes wide.
“What?”
Yoongi wraps an arm around your waist, hoisting you closer to the headboard. You scramble back, leaving behind the robe and it slithers away, onto the floor. But the realisation is quick, you haven’t really done this with him and you think he feels forced.
“You don’t have to, we haven’t - ”
“I want to do this. I want you to feel good,” he said, quiet and embarrassed. You bite your lip because you feel fond, despite everything. “And it’s better than my fingers.”
You’ve had your mouth fucked and gagged, had fingers pressed until you think you couldn’t breathe anymore. You remember the tears that slipped down, salty on your lips, the thrilling feeling of a high. You were used to that as opposed to being on the other side of things, never had the experience of being cared for in thatway. Yoongi says your name again, careful fingers on your damp hair, tucking it behind your ear.
“Okay, yeah. But if you don’t like it, don’t feel like you have to just because -”
Yoongi cuts you off, firmly letting you recline, “I’ll tell you if that happens.”
The sheets are soft and the ceiling is plain, your heart is loud as Yoongi hitches your legs over his shoulders. The anticipation is something you haven’t felt, it’s a certain frequency you were unfamiliar with, yielding to Yoongi’s control. He’s gentle, kissing your inner thighs and you look, because the brush of his hair tickles somewhat, and his breath is warm there. And it’s awkward since he pauses, that you almost protest but then his mouth latches and his tongue swipes over and over that you gasp. The instinct was to shut your legs but he pushes his shoulders to pin you wide, and his nose is cool but his mouth is hot and wet, his tongue probing and circling, and your moans are soft, you turn your face onto the pillow, legs shaking as he holds you down.
“Fuck,ah,” you breathed, knees knocking together as Yoongi pull back, his chin and lips glistening.
“Are you okay? Does it feel good?”
Bewildered, you release your grip on the sheets, “I - yes,” you said, watching intently as Yoongi swipes his tongue on his bottom lip. His chest rises and falls, his hair askew. You realise that he’s tasting you and it’s like a warm sluice in your gut, spreading throughout your chest. He looks different, and you find yourself saying that out loud.
“How?”
You gather your words, thoughts trickling back again.
“Different. The last time we,” you said, delving into the memory, “the last time we had sex, I could tell that you were sad.”
It was an awkward admission, given that you were like this. So you sit up and Yoongi does the same, confusion apparent in the knit of his brow.
“It was like you couldn’t understand the person I was. Like you didn’t like me.”
“But I do,” he said, placing his hands on your thighs. “I just -,” he tries, “I love you. I’m in love with you.”
The words come out in a fast reel that it’s cloaked in a lisp. He pushes his palm and messes up his hair even more that it sticks up, you swallowed. He presses his palm to his temple, the bend of his fingers make it seem crooked and he speaks again, calmer this time, to make you listen -
“I love you and I’m jealous that -”
“Yoongi,” you said, voice matching his tone, “what are you saying?”
Though you couldn’t ignore the way your heart was racing too fast and that it’s more like a drum in your ears.
“It’s not in my control anymore,” he exhales, “and I get that you might need to go to someone else, we can,” he sighs, and your heart feels like stone in your chest, “we’re still friends.”
And you look at each other till whatever was unspoken is brought to the fore. His eyes, which hid many things, now show warmth and a certain fondness you think he has always reserved for you. No words happen because Yoongi kisses you, his lips are so light on yours, his hands moving, caressing and easing you back.
“We carry on,” he says, and you nod, biting his bottom lip, savouring that groan.
There aren’t any complaints, no words that speak of pain you get off to or Yoongi’s hesitation. There isn’t really that control you have to submit to, there’s just your fingers threading through his, the rocking movement of your hips, his soft grunts against your neck as he sinks into you. And there’s the sound of skin, sticky and wet, the feeling of him inside you, it’s so unbelievable that your gasps meet his groans, and you hear whatever escapes when your kisses grow messy. There are no more words, less of those mismatched descriptions and explanations that end up in tangled threads neither of you could unravel, just your bodies moving and doing what feels good. Yoongi groans as you spasm around him, his hips driving down and you come, your legs shaking at his sides as he slows, grinding down.
“Fuck,” you moaned, “ah.”
“I can pull out, wait,” he huffs, sounding breathy.
“N-no, don’t,” you said, your voice raspy, fingers on his back, nails impressing grooves on the muscle, “if you keep going, I can, hgnh,I can come again.”
Yoongi groans, pressing his forehead against yours, and you feel it, feel the myriad of ways he chooses to love you, to care for you, and it soaks you to the bone. You kiss him because the feelings are too loud and you’re too sensitive, your heart skipping and skipping. You realise that you don’t just want the sex, but the feeling that Yoongi brings, a sense of home.
“Y-yoongi,” you began, “I love you,” you said, your voice muffled against his lips. “I love you.”
He kisses you deeply, holds you almost as if you’d break, his movements retreating into a slow tempt, and you panic, not wanting to be brought away from the peak.
“Please, don’t stop, keep going -”
It doesn’t take much for him to come, and you shudder as he grunts low, his climax in waves and after, you let him part, only to sling your legs over his shoulders and dips his mouth on your pulsing centre. He goes until you’re pushing him off, overwhelmed at the amount of times he could make you feel good.
Later, your eyes meet and you grow shy because it really wasn’t sex. It was more than you shared, even when you were together, like this. Yoongi blushes as you part his hair, and you feel shy when he kisses your temple.
“I can learn the things that make you feel good,” he says eventually. You hum, observing the sheen of his nose, the reddened tint of his cheeks. You appreciate how he tries and how that’s love. He looks at you again, his fingers are gentle in your hair. The sheets are soft on your skin and when you place your hand on his chest, his heart is slow but strong. He kisses your forehead as you close your eyes, searching for words to describe how you feel.
“It’s okay.”
Yoongi understands because he continues to care for you, choosing a soft towel and hands you a bottle of water that you almost finish in one go.
“What are we then?”
He asks this as he gulps down from a glass. You knit your eyebrows together, perplexed. He takes this as another moment to elborate.
“You and I,” he says, sniffing, pressed close despite the size of his bed. You curl into him. “I don’t think I can control you in the way you want to be controlled.”
“You don’t have to,” you replied, “we don’t have to be like that.”
Yoongi twines his fingers with yours, palms pressed to trap the warmth, “would you go and look for someone else to do that?”
You kiss his cheek and he leans close, “no, that’s not something I want.”
It takes a moment for you to say the next thing, the thorny feeling becoming something soft.
“I just want you.”
Yoongi goes redder, if that was even possible. “Oh.”
It was underwhelming as he was flustered, and you kissed him softly, breathing his scent in, feel the way his skin is smooth and warm.
“Yeah, we can try again.”
It’s the quiet of the night, where time is stretched into light-years, and you’re in Yoongi’s arms, floating still. He kisses your forehead, your nose, and eventually your lips. He says those words, low and soft, morphing into a sound under your skin, dulling the ache in your heart that you’ve carried for a while.
Summary:Galtea has risen once again, and Yoongi retreats, allowing it to flourish. He tells you that he wants to take you there, someday.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for implied/referenced drug use; implied/referenced drug addiction; angst; brief depictions of war; implied/referenced PTSD; minor character death; the tags areheavy, so proceed with caution; I’ve tried to be as vague as possible but still - Alternate Universe Fantasy/Magical Realism ft.Architect!Min Yoongi.
Imperial City’s populace trudge on, content in their work until the following year arrives without much ceremony. It’s the eleventh month and Yoongi pulls the scarf that you made for him higher till it covered his mouth and the tip of his nose. His head is down, like his gaze. Snow falls as his feet take him to the steps of the holistic facility, where light is plentiful and the physicians are in civilian clothes, not in clinical, white jackets.
“I’ve set up a room for you since you wanted to visit for longer,” Seokjin informed him.
Yoongi nods, rubbing his hands together to spur warmth. The silence is long, as long as the time he took to gather the items together. He supposes that the small bag he has is merely symbolic than anything.
“Has she improved?” He asked, inwardly startled by the hoarseness in his voice. Seokjin nods, its a subtle and appropriately concealed dissent.
They make it through another set of doors, to a narrowed hallway lined with doors. Seokjin stands in front of a window; Yoongi peers inside and is greeted with a view of your back. There was nothing being fed into your veins. He inhales sharply and audibly. Then, he lets it all out in a breathy huff, the skin of his cheeks ballooning while his lips stretched to accommodate the gust of air.
“It’s not your fault, Yoongi-ah.”
A hand closes over his wrist, a signal of tangible empathy. Yoongi draws it back, feeling undeserving.
“It’s fairly common to get addicted after the first couple of doses.”
A comment meant to make Yoongi feel reassured ends up squeezing his heart at every beat. You probably had been at it for longer than he knew.
“Will she get better?”
It’s the same question he asks, like a habit. It dons different iterations of the same vexation.
Will she get better?
Will she be herself again?
Will she come back to me?
It’s an act of anguish, unabated even though he knows that the answer he receives will never be the one he wanted to hear.
“It’s hard to say but it’s manageable. We try to take it day by day here.”
Seokjin knows it too. It seemed that to Yoongi, plateauing was evermore nefarious than decline. To stay the same is to decay.His silence prompts Seokjin, who twists the doorknob open.
“I’ve signed her up for a trial with a more powerful antidote that is projected to flush the drug out of her system completely.”
Yoongi’s stomach twists at the possibility of using a different method.
”How soon before she will be able to get on it?”
Seokjin pauses, comes to your side and crouches down so he could look up at you. He checks your fingertips; they look like they were dipped in a gold glitter. It’s everywhere on you, burning through your skin like luminescence.
“The waiting list is long but it shouldn’t be longer than a couple of months,” Seokjin confirmed.
Yoongi allows himself a few seconds, choosing to watch the outline of your back, your shoulders, the slope of your neck. There’s not much difference anyway, given that each day is much the same.
-
Afternoons are bearable because Yoongi was able to steal some time for himself.
Leisurely, he re-familiarises himself with the map of the facility, the so-called ‘holistic’ practice meant for recovering addicts.
He hated that word.
Addict.
Like you’re some junkie, defeated by an entity the size of a thimble.
He walks the length of the arboretum, passing maple trees then weeping Spruce trees, coniferous trees, the like. Some patients walks amongst them, chatting as they loped together, their veins peeking through their sleeves, eyes bright and golden. The distance he covers reflects his contemplation, each lap is a moment to revisit his choices, to turn them into mistakes. To berate himself as you are tended to in some compound, glassy-eyed and vapid.
-
Have you tried talking to her, hyung? I’m sure that she’ll be able to hear you.
Yoongi tries again.
Pressed up next to you, arms side by side, he holds a copy of Citiesin his hand. He talks in a hushed voice, reading you the pre-amble, about how cities don’t just spring out of nowhere, they must be built.
Sometimes, you stir or mumble. It’s all intelligible, but it’s the most he’s heard from you ever since you got admitted. He takes what he can and speaks again, his voice more enthused.
“Galtea is nestled between the city of Dorea and Thanazt, a city which was sustained by agriculture from its inception. It was the primary source for crops for its surrounding municipalities…”
Your eyes remained unblinking, fixed to an arbitrary point on the opposite wall. There were no replies, nothing clever coming from your lips, no sound of laughter or teasing. Yoongi’s breath trembles slightly, his eyes begin to sting as the words in front of him cease to become readable.
Beneath the sheets, he reaches for your hand, twining his fingers with yours.
He ignores the slight tremor.
-
Seokjin exits the room after giving you something to calm you down.
Alone together, Yoongi curls up next to you as your breathing evens out. He still worries about your faint heartbeat. But he can’t deny the happiness that greets him when you blink, once, twice, then a third time.
“You’re here.”
He smiles at you, smoothing your hair down. The gold is still there, embedded in you. In times like these, he thinks he has you back.
“I built a city for you. I named it Galtea.”
I build all of my cities for you.
But then you leave him again, your eyes dimming, your body sagging onto the bed as the tremors returned. Your veins pulse through your skin, he grimaces, unsure why he can’t keep his eyes from brimming with tears when you’ve been like this for months.
He presses a kiss to your lips. They’re cold, as cold as they were in that dream he had. You remain inert. He takes your hand, clasps his palm against yours, waiting for a reply that would never arrive.
“I think it’ll be your favourite. The best one yet.”
-
It’s never happened before, Seokjin tells him, but you weren’t a typical patient.
Yoongi looks on as more hands fuss over your body, your head lolling to the side as they try to purge you of the toxicity. It’s an ugly reality that he can’t look away from.
Later, when he has settled his nerves, or at least kept them far enough to have a decent conversation, he gathers the courage to string words together.
“You said she wasn’t getting worse, hyung,” he said.
“She’s not getting better either,” Seokjin replied.
“When is the trial for that new drug? Is there any way you can put her on top of the list?”
Seokjin couldn’t even look at him in the eye.
“Truthfully, she’s not even eligible because she’s too weak. Your name can only get her so far, Yoongi-ah.”
After a few moments, Seokjin places a hand on his shoulder.
“Keep visiting her and keep doing what you’re doing. You don’t know how much this is helping her.”
Yoongi feels something in him slip away. He turns his head towards the long hallway as you thrashed against the soft restraints on your wrists and ankles.
-
The windows are open and the breeze is cold.
“I’m good friends with Hoseok now, I like Urban Planning. I have more time, I can visit you more often.”
Yoongi thinks you were nodding in agreement. He pretends that you do while he supports your head so that you don’t fall too forward. He says your name, swiping the pad of his thumb over your knuckle. He kisses your temple, taste the salt of your sweat, closing his eyes at the memory of you.
“I’m so sorry.”
You make a small noise, a hushed bleat.
He tucks you under his arm, stares out of the window at the snow covered structures of Imperial City. Endless swirls of ice, tiny snowflakes that are responsible for the crunch under his shoes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mhm.”
Seconds pass, he waits, hopeful.
“Visit… more…”
Yoongi sits up, rigid. He leans back, holding you as gently and as adamantly as he could.
“I will,” he breathed, fingers pushing your hair away as you tilt your head. Sleepy eyes greet him but they stay on his, golden irises and gold dust lips.
“You built me a city… that’s… that’s very nice,” you said, a little drowsy. Yoongi laughed, surprised by how easy that was to come by.
“I did.”
He holds you as close as he could, “I’ll take you there, someday.”
More seconds, followed by the slump of your body.
“Mm.”
-
Yoongi understands that you have good days, now that he has more time to visit.
“How about walking to the arboretum?”
You shake your head, focused on painting an abstract picture. Vermillion coats the bristles of the paintbrush, it makes an arc on the parchment he brought for you.
“Can’t leave,” you muttered, offering him a small smile. He knits his brow, sitting by the foot of the bed as you dip the paintbrush in a different colour. Blue this time.
“How come?”
“There’s someone who told me that they’ll come back for me, so I have to wait for them.”
Yoongi clutches the side of the bed, his knuckles numb as his fingers lock over the material.
“Do you know who they are?”
You shake your head, stopping your painting to blink rapidly.
“So why wait?” He prods, trying to get your attention.
He sees your shrug, mixing the colours on the parchment. The paint is pushed past the lines, blurring into a dark mauve creation. The thick textures at the edge dry up, raked into shape by the hard bristles.
“They said that they’ll be here soon. That I shouldn’t go anywhere.”
Yoongi said that to you the day you entered this place. Again, he looks away, helpless.
-
When he’s apart from you, it takes him long minutes after he wakes to come to terms with the fact that it’s not a terrible dream.
Find someone to hold on to, Yoongi. Find someone you can love until the end.
-
The end of the year is in an hour. Snow falls heavier with each minute. Yoongi wraps a scarf around your neck, the same one he wears when travels to see you.
“Hey,” he whispered, fixing your hair as you made room on the bed.
“Hi.”
With your hands intertwined, he watches as the night descends over Imperial City. The Emperor has ceased work for everyone to see the city into the new year.
“You always come by,” you said softly.
Yoongi could only smile.
“I like the stories you tell me, reminds me of someone I know.”
The snow falls and falls, layering over buildings, pathways, and people. Yoongi opens his body up and you slot yourself where he did so.
“Want to hear about Galtea again?” He asked, bringing the sheets up to ensure that you were warm enough. He sniffed, though he knew that it wasn’t because of the drop in temperature. You nod.
“I built a bridge that connects each side of the city together. It would be nice to cross it after a trip to the theatre, or maybe after dinner.”
“Sounds nice…”
Yoongi wipes his eyes brusquely, his hand coming away wet at the heel of his palm. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more. Then, he feels your touch, your own fingers over his.
“They always told me that when the year ends, there was a place they’d like to go to… a cottage with a red door.”
Yoongi clears his throat, stifling a particularly aching sob that threatened to come out. You smile at him.
“Would you like to come with us one day?”
He tightens his grip over your hand, his smile trembling at the corners of his lips.
Summary:The city is finally taking shape. Yoongi works diligently to see it through, but memory can be a cruel thing. And so, while he build the perfect city, he hurtles towards a broken reality. Perhaps some things can’t be remedied by hope.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for implied/referenced drug use; implied/referenced drug addiction; angst; brief depictions of war; implied/referenced PTSD; minor character death; the tags areheavy, so proceed with caution; I’ve tried to be as vague as possible but still - Alternate Universe Fantasy/Magical Realism ft.Architect!Min Yoongi.
Jimin leaves and for the first time in a while, Yoongi was able to draw something without erasing it after a few seconds. Not quite allowing himself to admit it yet, he acknowledges that this will be his legacy. He has overseen the design and construction of countless cities, all different but all with his mark.
But this one, this utopia, is one that will stand for centuries, long after he’s gone.
When he closes his eyes, slowly, the image of you comes together as if he was sketching you,. The graphite of his pencil becomes more deliberate, the delicate components slide along the rough surface of the paper. Dusting off the excess, he discovers lines and curves from his own hand, simple when viewed individually, but together it forms the utopia. An apotheosis of sorts.
A city in borne out of the echoes of your voice, the curve of your smile, and the light in your eyes.
Soon, the parchment is filled, and the new city comes to light.
Only when the final drafts were finalised in the early hours of dawn did Yoongi allow himself to sleep.
-
“You’ve come a long way, Yoongi,” you said, your arms draped over his neck while you sat on his lap. In front, on the kitchen table was an invitation to the Imperial Gala. In cursive, emerald script was his name, his position, and the relevant time and date.
It’s been a few months since your time at the facility. You were back to work, wearing contacts to shield the obvious glow in your irises. You were painting again and Yoongi was able to restart and focus at work.
Happiness didn’t become as fleeting as he feared.
“Would you like to come with me?” He asked, securing you more onto his lap. Gala’s weren’t something he aspired to, preferring to keep pushing and build more and more. But to have you there in support would alleviate every discomfort. It was nice to be able to rely on each other again.
“I’d like that,” you said, tracing the raised font with your finger.
“I’m glad that you’ll be able to come with me,” he adds. You lean back, a small smile gracing your lips.
“I’m glad that you’re taking me. That makes me happy more than anything,” you said, hugging him suddenly.
Taking the invitation, you turn it over and find the map of Imperial City he helped to build. You trace the details, subconsciously thumbing the areas you’ve been to together. Here, you take as many strolls as you could, see as many plays as your energy allowed.
“I’m glad that you’re happy,” he said, searching your eyes.
Your contacts were elsewhere and the gold shone in vivid pulses. He feels your arms tighten over his shoulders, he welcomes it because it was better than the previous state your were in: barely able to hold onto him while submerged in a state of blankness.
“Promise me something,” you whispered.
His chest constricts, his heart hammering in a heavy thud.
Anything,” he murmurs, he has nothing but fondness for you.
You give him a small smile, your fingers tender along his scalp. The gold runs around your irises like a river of glitter. It’s in your veins too, your body failing to contain its mark. Even if it was poison though, it was eerily beautiful on you.
“Promise me that everything will be alright.”
-
Yoongi resents himself for failing to keep that promise.
Each night he spends alone in the home you shared, each night he sweeps his arm over the empty space where you were meant to be, he wiles away the hours steadfast in his misery.
He asks himself as question that there was no answer to.
Could I have done more?
-
“This looks… amazing, hyung.”
Namjoon said it with enthusiasm, punctuated by an awed exhale. Yoongi blinks. He didn’t realise what he had started. The lines of fine lead slashed the parchment, the smooth charcoal coming out in an easy glide. It produces harsh arcs and sharp points, the finer details were duly incorporated. All together, it looked promising.
“It’s just a draft.”
Namjoon gives him sympathetic smile. Yoongi knows that he looks forlorn, rarely showing a smile these days. He doesn’t bother with eating regularly, he goes home late and comes in early. But it’s been days since this breakthrough and he wasn’t going to waste it. Who knew when he would be this productive again.
“It looks good, hyung.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as Namjoon was out of sight, Yoongi reaches for the roll of parchment on the far corner of his desk.
-
The gala wasn’t so bad when Yoongi had someone to dance with. The elaborate ceilings, the endless food that flowed from the cornucopia in the centre, things that he tried to detach himself from were bearable for the night. He showed you off to everyone he knew, dancing and laughing like you were back in Galtea, where your dreams went only as far as the next day. Even if your eyes were hidden behind artificial lenses to conceal the gold, he didn’t care, you were radiant.
Afterwards, you lay together in bed, buzzed. There’s a worn copy of Cities that Yoongi returns to, rescued from the rubble of his university. Your back is to his chest and you both trace where ancient cities used to be and are now built over. Yoongi appreciates when the banal becomes transcendant, like reading together. In flipping a page or tracing illustrations over and over, there was a sense of possibility. He grasps for moments like these, wanting the seconds to stretch out into hours.
“I heard it’s lovely in Eufemea, always sunny and warm,” you murmured.
“We can go there sometime, when you want to,” he offered, separating your hair with his fingers. You don’t assent, however. Your willingness to stay in a dream almost sends him into anguish; he embraces you, trying to minimise the pain of your silence.
“I wish I was more like you,” you said, changing positions to your arm folded beneath your head, bare skin sticky beneath the sheets. Yoongi’s brows furrowed. Moonlight makes it through the expansive windows, the shafts break on the curve of your body.
“Me? I lack in a lot of ways. I get stuck, I don’t - ”
“But you’re brave. You know how to get unstuck. If you’re talking about someone who’s stuck, you’re really talking about me. In Galtea, I’d probably be working in that club till I died or until the patrons got sick of me. And now… “
You look away because you’re reminded that Yoongi could see the gold in your eyes. The ceiling becomes your focus, and your profile becomes his.
War showed up differently, depending on who you were.
He twists his finger in your hair in quiet appreciation. He senses that you’re still running away in your thoughts and he desperately wanted to follow you.
“But you’re out now, you’re here and far away from anything that could hurt you,” he reassures.
You turn your face, the gold pulses brighter after you blink.
“Because of you.”
-
“What are those structures underground?”
Namjoon slid a steaming mug of coffee towards Yoongi to supplement his question.
“Just something I wanted to add, you know, if the inhabitants wanted to have some fun,” Yoongi answered calmly.
“Never seen that in any of your previous designs, hyung,” Namjoon replied, “but it might be unsafe if you build it too far below,” he mused.
“It shouldn’t be, they’re not that big anyway, like sweaty boxes beneath the floor.”
Yoongi thinks about the fluorescent lights, the way you would traverse the cramped space, the tray lifted high, the liquid in the glasses sloshing but never spilling. Warmth coats those memories, despite the lights being almost always blue.
“You’ve added a lot of bridges,” Namjoon murmured, pointing to several drawings that arch over a river. Yoongi smiles to himself, sketching out a grand theatre.
“Wouldn’t they be nice if you wanted to go for an evening stroll?”
“Or after going to the theatre, you can walk along the length of them,” Yoongi adds.
Namjoon hums, “sounds incredibly romantic.”
Yoongi replies in a light laugh.
It really is.
-
“I’m ready to go back, Yoongi. I can’t be here forever.”
You held his hands, tilting your head slightly so he could look at you.
He hates that he can see gold before the true colour of your eyes.
“Are you sure? It might be too soon…”
It’s been a month since you came back from the facility. Objectively, things were good. You were following the programme faithfully, diverting the urges to more productive things. The apartment is filled with your canvases and new projects. You knitted him a scarf that he uses from time to time.
“Remember what you promised me.”
Yoongi inhaled deeply. It was his job to tell you that things would be alright but here you were, prompting him instead.
“Okay.”
-
As the Chief Architect of this city, Yoongi had privileges. For one, he could control the admission of contraband such as drugs or speakeasies.
He sees the drug that leads to gold irises and comatose.
Another image materialises: you in the chair, pumped full of that liquid concoction in an attempt to trick your body into thinking that it could survive without it.
This was his legacy. A city he forged to preserve what you meant to him.
With a heavy hand, he crosses it out until he could no longer see the words.
-
Yoongi watches, leaning his body against the frame of the door for support. It’s your first day back to work. He observes how you curl your index finger at the back of your shoe, slotting your foot in. On your shoulder was a leather sling bag with the usual art supplies, your apron, and the papers to explain your absence.
“Call me if you need anything, I won’t be able to catch your message on time if you text,” he warns, his eyes darting over your figure.
You turn to him, your eyes in their normal shade, the gold aptly hidden by contacts. When you smiled, he does too.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
He chews the inside of his cheek as you round the corner to go to the elevator.
A part of him thinks that it might not be fine.
Another part of him, the part that he clings to, hopes that it would be.
-
Memory is a choice that Yoongi would rather relinquish.
He was doing sogood, getting back to his usual rhythm. It was unhealthy, yes, but the prolonged periods of concentration was what he was used to. Eating, sleeping, and even bathing came secondary. In those moments, he felt like himself: like he had a purpose.
Yoongi runs his finger over the buttons of the phone, it’s late and he’s restless. His home is far too large, far too cavernous to concentrate. He used to love having a space that, upon the first glance, never seemed to end. Back when he was young, he and family all lived on top of each other, privacy was a luxury he never thought he’d be able to afford.
Now, it’s all glass windows coupled with walnut accents to break up the enormity of it all. The lights were switched off and the rain drums endlessly against the window. In the silence, he realises that the glass walls he’s built for himself were the cruelest. He can see through them but there was no way out.
“I don’t think what I’m making will be worthy of anything, much less the Emperor,” he said to the mouthpiece.
Below, he sees the Imperial City become drenched with rain, the sheets of water distorting the neon signage on several buildings into psychedelic whorls.
“Breathe, Yoongi-ah.”
He tries.
In and out.
In…
and…
out.
“I want it to be perfect, I want it to mean something but I can’t see how I can make something like that,” he said.
“It’s alright, Yoongi-ah. It will be fine. When do you leave?”
Yoongi blinks rapidly.
Is it already the end of the month?
At Seokjin’s comment, he gives a cursory glance at the paper calendar that hung near the door to the kitchen. It’s a couple of weeks until the visit.
That was the reason to the disruption of his productivity.
“I still have time,” he said, sitting back down on his desk. The parchment is still blank, his pencil stays sharp and unused. He’s right back where he started.
“Just try. Try to look ahead rather than in the past this time.”
But Yoongi can’t think beyond the past when he ought to dream of the future. He stays in your embrace, in the soft murmur of your voice, the heat of the first city he saw destroyed, the gravel of the cobbled path you both traversed. He remembers his parents, the slums, the starvation that tainted his youth. He remembers the first night at AMBROX, the small squares that dissolved on his tongue, the smiles you couldn’t wipe off as you stumbled through the door of the apartment.
Earlier, he was so sure that he could capture you and make a city based on a feeling.
He grips the phone until his knuckles go numb.
“I’ll try.”
-
Yoongi finds the small, square stickers in your drawer when folding clothes from the laundry. You were still at work and wouldn’t be home until after the day has officially ended. That was no too long from now.
He arranges them on his palm, wonders how something minute and opaque could be so potent.
Yoongi never thought his patience could ever reach a state of finite. Selfishly, he thinks that it was an insult to relinquish control to the unremarkable squares on his palm. Your addiction was vile and robbed you of your own mind. The facility never prepared him for when living in the present was no longer effective, there was no fresh beginnings and in truth, he was tired.
As soon as he hears the front door open, he closes his eyes and sighs at the ceiling. He had been fooled by you, blinded with trust that things could get better. Resentment pierces the fog in his chest, he shouldn’t have chosen that part of him that hoped.
“Yoongi?”
He crushes them in his palm.
“In here.”
You emerged through the doorway. From afar, the contacts faltered in hiding the gold that fought though. He follows your eyes to the open drawer, then to his palm.
“Yoongi…”
“Have you been using again?”
You pressed your lips in a thin line, ashamed. It’s in the way your posture shrinks away from him, anchored by the vice-like grip your hands had on the door frame. It wasn’t quite fear in your eyes, but… relief.
You didn’t care that he knew.
“I need to hear it from you. Have you been using again?”
He breathes life into the thoughts that he fought tooth and nail to stay buried. A part of him knew that it would never work the way he wanted it to. That to be surrounded by everything that insulated you from poverty, destitution, and scarcity didn’t really matter. Not when you were deteriorating before his eyes. So he protects himself by wielding his anger. It was too large, growing from this obtuse feeling to something beyond conscious repression.
“We’ve talked about this, we’ve done every single step, I’ve gone to every single appointment with you, why can’t you just…” His voice is unlike his own, it sounds more authoritative. He thinks this is how the Emperor addresses his adversaries, his chest puffed up, and eyes ablaze.
You shrink back, he could almost see the self-recrimination stirring in your gold irises. Yoongi hated gold, he hated what it represented, he hated what it did to you, to him.
The gap increases, he lets it.
“Fucking talk to me,” he said, his voice ending in a tremor, his chest is tight, and the tips of his fingers are cold.
“Yoongi, it was just once. I wasn’t going to take the rest,” you said, your back hitting the wall. “It was a mistake.”
Something in his jaw ticks, his molars clenching with the force capable of grinding it flat. He was a fool to think that of all things that could awry, he counted you relapsing as an exception.
“It was a mistake,” you said again, more feeble this time, aware of the farcical nature of your admission.
He thought about leaving you then, it came to him in the span of seconds. He would have left you and never looked back.
The mistake wasn’t yours. It was his for thinking that he could trust you.
-
Contrary to his reservations, the proposal that Yoongi’s sends through is approved in less than a day.
In front was the official seal from the Emperor and a well-intentioned hamper of celebratory items. Namjoon pours the bubbling champagne into a spare flute while Jungkook examines the label of the wine near the corner of the stack.
“Congratulations, hyung!” He beamed, his eyes shining.
Yoongi exhales, letting the tensions in his shoulders dissolve. Jungkook hums and helps himself to a glass of whiskey instead. The final plans were laid out neatly in front of them and Yoongi meets Jungkook in the eye soon after he reads the name of the utopia he has built.
Galtea.
Chief Architect: Min Yoongi
Construction commencement date: Expedited.
“This really is beautiful, hyung,” Jungkook said, his eyes scanning the rendered structures.
Yoongi nods, lips in a straight line. But he thinks that if you were here, you’d say the same thing.
-
While you were back in the facility, Yoongi thinks up a city that was meant to prosper like flowers that turn towards the sun. It was the most involved he’s ever been, overseeing its construction at every stage.
On the day when the gates are bolted to their place, he rushes to pick you up. You shield your eyes from the sun, already smiling. Sola was as cheerful as its inhabitants, complete with buildings as tall as they can be, linked together with vines from each point. It’s a city in constant movement, windmills attached to the roofs of houses, stuccoed belvederes at the highest points, and gilded weather vanes twirling in the wind.
Usually, it takes a lot of effort to even think of a city on your own. But Sola materialised in less than a week.
He thinks that the things that saved him would save you too.
So he builds and builds, tireless in the face of looming defeat.
“It’s wonderful, Yoongi.”
He looks at your eyes, now bloodshot with gold. It hurts a little to see you this way so his hand leads you forward.
“C’mon. I’ve got more to show you.”
-
As soon as the location for Galtea was finalised, Namjoon accompanies Yoongi to check the inventory.
“Will you go back to Urban Planning when this is over?”
Yoongi flips the paper over the clipboard, everything was accounted for. He thinks of Hoseok and the office in the lower floors.
“They’re waiting for me,” he replied, “this was just a favour for the Emperor.”
Namjoon clenches his jaw, “you’ve truly outdone yourself with this one, hyung.”
Yoongi fights the urge to bite his nails. They were were behind large slabs of marble in one of the warehouses in Imperial City. Several of the foremen chatter nearby, Yoongi wanted to stay alert for any queries.
“Is it because of her?”
Namjoon sets his eyes on him, showing that he knew more than he cared to impart. The clipboard nearly drops from his grasp. A foreman waves him over, much to Yoongi’s relief.
“Did something happen to her, hyung?”
The tension returns on his shoulders. He walks away, leaving Namjoon’s question suspended in the air.
-
Days after you were released, things regained a semblance of routine. You paint while Yoongi takes as many days off as he can. It’s fine, he’s saved enough for rainy days like these.
Currently, you were staring at him from behind an enormous canvas. He blushes from the attention, turning the page of a book he’s picked up to occupy him. The story was a folklore, about a girl who fell down a crevice and her lover, who discovered her too late.
“Haven’t you done enough portraits of me?”
You shake your head, setting the paintbrush down so you could straddle him, carding your fingers through his hair, always in a determined arc to appear smart. He knew you preferred it mussed so he doesn’t stop you.
“It can never be enough, not when you’re my muse.”
A blush blooms in his cheeks, his mouth daring him to smile.
“Ah, I preferred it when we weren’t talking,” he confessed.
You laughed, kissing him enthusiastically.
During these times, Yoongi allowed himself to pretend.
-
The building of Galtea takes less than two months. Yoongi stands above a parapet as workers fashioned its parameters precisely.
It’s a glorious city borne from a treacherous past. Yoongi revived it, pulling out its structures from the ashes of war. It overflows with abundance. New buildings made from new materials, new and improved landmarks, and new faces to inhabit it. In a way, this utopia had no connection to the former Galtea other than through its name. Yoongi tried to preserve the fragments of what gave it its splendor: the theatre, the town hall, and the bridge.
But it means something different now. The city carries your essence in every corner, like a trace of perfume.
It results in enchantment and a grin on Yoongi’s face that he couldn’t quite wipe off.
He finds himself sitting in a café by the gates, cupping his chin with his hand. Streams of people walk through, their eyes filled with wonder. He knows that it’s better than anything else he’s created, leaps and bounds from Palatia, Arora, or Sola. It’s a city that shall never be plundered nor deserted. More surprisingly, having it in front of him was something that thaws him. A feeling that evaded him until now.
“You did it, hyung,” Jungkook said, smiling at a couple who ambled along a bridge, stopping to point at the kaleidoscope river.
Yoongi licks his lips, finally allowing himself to breath a sigh he had been holding back.
-
The final city that Yoongi builds before leaving for the Urban Planning department was Juria. It’s inhabitants are frugal, meek, and morally righteous. The Emperor was annoyed and wanted to spend less. Yoongi delivers by building a city made up of steel and concrete.
At home, things were bleak. Your irises shine gold and all you could do was remain at home. Yoongi makes enough for the both of you but he was in the office for most of the day. He wishes that he was able to split himself in half, to spare you the eerie silence of the apartment for hours on end.
Demoting himself to Urban Planning meant that he only needed to be in the office three times a week. He tried to trick himself into thinking that it was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Namjoon doesn’t cart his desk into storage, keeps his instruments clean and dusted. Yoongi feels nothing, consumed by this need to guard you.
Each day, he sweeps the apartment for anything you would hide.
Yet each night, he comes back he finds you in the corner of the bedroom, staring out into the window. Your eyes are unresponsive but they glow, golden rings in a sea of bloodshot veins.
You don’t even talk to each other, adversaries in your own home.
-
Hoseok’s eyebrows shoot up at the article.
Galtea has proved to be a beloved city. The Emperor lauds Chief Architect, Min Yoongi: “This is a true Utopia.”
Yoongi couldn’t even look at him in the eye, his face burning from embarrassment.
“This is huge, hyung. Your city made it on the headlines! Are you sure you want to stay with us here?” Hoseok said, jokingly.
It’s a few days before Yoongi intends to visit you and his nerves have prevented him from sleeping properly. He wears the dark circles under his eyes in heavy-lidded blinks, his lips parched of moisture.
Everyone knew about Galtea apart from you.
“It’s just a favour for Emperor,” he said, chewing his bottom lip. The skin splits and blood rushes out, he keeps it tucked under his teeth, tasting the copper.
“Still hyung, it would be a waste your talent on making barracks or concrete structures.”
Urban Planning was responsible for making lacklustre buildings for cities that still have impoverished streets. The sole criteria was whether it was good enough to sleep in. Once that was satisfied, the Emperor was free of his conscience and neglected certain populace. There was no thought or art put into it.
This was a consequence of greed. There was no need to drive people from their homes, lest it should signal an uprising. Such chances were low, if not, zero. Perhaps the Emperor realised this far too late, bowing under the pressure of the cities he’s conquered. In the end, this boundless exertion to conquer ended up being less than what it was.
“They’ll be fine without me,” Yoongi said, pushing the article away. Hoseok shook his head, firm in his belief.
“You’re different, hyung. You have talent, you can create.”
Yoongi thinks of Jungkook, how he would suit his desk instead after his apprenticeship was finished.
“I’m not so different if I can be easily replaced.”
-
It’s the eleventh month and snow covers the whole of Imperial City.
After a gruelling shift at Urban Planning, Yoongi sees you, curled up small by the piano. Not fast enough, he drops to his knees, hauling you up. Your eyes are glazed over, gold dust in the corner of your lips.
It was hard to come back and find you like this. You don’t even hide anymore. But it was even harder for him to not be able to do anything about it.
He says your name, forcing his worried tone in the back of his throat so it can come out in a soothing whisper. He caresses your cheek, pretending that he’s not touching clammy skin. You mumble something incoherent, twitching again, your veins blazing like golden roots under your skin. He hated to think that this was the only time you’d feel peace.
“Mmh… Yoongi,” you slurred, twisting away from him.
He holds on to you, sitting you up properly, cradling your head to prevent it from dropping forward. Your clothes were just about soaked with sweat, so he lifts the hem and leaves you in your underwear.
It’s like this nowadays.
“I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here.”
With your bare skin on show, he sees more of the gold that made your veins glow. It pulses in the same rhythm as your heartbeat.
Your addiction has gotten worse but he pretends.
It was just a passing fever and not as a result of a crippling obsession wreaking havoc in your body.
Some part of him nags that it was his fault.
So all he ever did was pretend.
-
Namjoon finds Yoongi filling out a form to request for time off. It’s longer than what he would previously request, but he thinks he needs more time.
“Hyung?”
“Hm?”
“Where do you go at the end of every month?”
Yoongi halts his writing, sits so upright that he seemed instantly rigid. Namjoon cleared his throat, not understanding that he unknowingly crossed a boundary.
“Not very far,” he said.
“I’m sure it’s not your fault, hyung.”
Yoongi’s inhaled sharply.
“What do you know?”
Taken aback, Namjoon hands him a pencil that managed to roll of the surface of his desk. Yoongi resumes his task, content that he wasn’t going to be asked further questions.
-
The final night, Yoongi is cradling you, murmuring hollow words in your ear.
It’s fine. It’s alright. I’ll help you, you’ll get better. I promise.
You’re unresponsive in his arms and all he could do was hold you, whispering empty promises as the flashing lights pierce the gloom of the apartment.
-
Yoongi thinks that he’s a person left alone rather than being alone.
In preparation, Yoongi packs a bag with items that were familiar to you. A small sketchbook, a couple of your favourite brushes and paints, a few pencils. On top, he places a photo album of all of your captured memories together. The gilded frame on the cover carried the picture of you and him in front of Arora. He takes his time, meticulous in the way he arranges them so when you were able to seek out personal items, your delight would grow.
Later, to pass the time, he reads articles about Galtea .
Its people are happy. They walk along its bridges, attend the plays in the elaborate theatres he’s incorporated. The underground clubs thrive nightly, its town hall hosts festivals where everyone can take part. In this Galtea, the sun shines just enough to ensure that the crops are plentiful. There is no such things as outskirts and its people aren’t starving.
He curls up, somewhat nauseous in the large bed, with its dark walnut frame, drowning in the space of it all. He embraces a pillow that isn’t you, hear the creak on the floorboards that weren’t yours, and track the shadows that fall on him knowing that they were from the outside.
It frightened him that he has to conjure you in this way, as if he is embracing the thought of you since the real version was always going to be out of reach.
Two days before, he visits Galtea again. He wanders along the streets with a cloak hiding his face. Each step sounds the same, he got every detail down to the bricks on the floor, the slant of the buildings, the vibrant tapestries that hang on bronze poles. He reaches the place were you first spoke to each other, but now, instead of lines for food, there are cafés, restaurants, and bistros.
Incidentally, it’s a city for everything left that’s important to him.
It’s a utopia that will outlast any war, any threat, or strife.
A city for you.
Past its walls, in a vantage point that only he knows, was the view of a humble cottage. It’s the same one in his dream. He had to bargain with the foremen with ordering completely different materials for its construction but it got built, down to the red, lacquered door. For now, it stays empty.
One day, he wants to take you there and start over.
One day, he’d liked to sit across from you as you painted him. He would never complain anymore when you would tell him to sit still.
One day, he hopes to watch Galtea with you from the best point, where you could see the city glow under the stars.
Summary:Yoongi wants to build a utopia based on how he feels.But he fears that all that is left is ugly, festering emotions. In spite of that, he remembers that he had hope, once.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for implied/referenced drug use; implied/referenced drug addiction; angst; brief depictions of war; implied/referenced PTSD; minor character death; the tags areheavy, so proceed with caution; I’ve tried to be as vague as possible but still - Alternate Universe Fantasy/Magical Realism ft.Architect!Min Yoongi.
For one, Yoongi was able to work through his emotions alone. Mostly keeping to himself, it was an unspoken rule to those around him that he preferred to have his head down, hard at work. Solitary as he was in his habits, he liked being an island. Besides, those he worked with didn’t carry the same burden he did. The claws of guilt breaking the grooves of his brain becomes as easy as drawing breath in the quiet of the night. He didn’t need grating small talk to add to the fatigue.
But there are also drawbacks. Like the obvious sympathy conveyed in concerned stares. Namjoon was always helpless at the face of Yoongi’s torment. Then came the overwhelming emotion of ineptness that followed the lack of inspiration he feels. To miss you was to miss himself as a person and as a creator of cities.
“Hyung, it’s past three, you should go home and rest.”
Yoongi shakes his head even though they’re conversing over the phone.
“I have to get over this, whatever this is. I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened before,” he said after a while.
The glass in front of him is empty, the ice cubes diluting the whiskey collected at the bottom.
“Is it hard to revisit those memories, hyung?”
Yoongi surprises himself with his answer.
“No. Those times were the happiest I ever was.”
Namjoon inhales sharply and Yoongi senses that there were questions at the tip of his tongue.
“You always work hard and I don’t think the Emperor wouldn’t trust you this much if you didn’t make good cities.”
Just then, it began to rain, blurring the outside scenery into a cascade of watery colours. Yoongi rubs his temple with his index and middle finger, tugging the skin against his skull. All he ever did was live in a cycle of pain these days.
“I don’t think working hard can always guarantee success,” he replied.
“All of the magnificent cities you built were as a result of your hard work, hyung. You poured everything into constructing those new homes,” Namjoon continued.
But Yoongi didn’t want to remember.
Remembering conjures not only the images of the cities he made, but also of images of you. He rocked the crystalline tumbler to and fro. The amber liquid tipped to the side, rendered pale under the moonlight.
“Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day, hyung.”
The line goes dead and Yoongi’s alone.
He’s alone as he traverses the apartment. Everything remains more or less the same and he tries to erode the memories he’s attached to the place and its items. If he can’t find happiness, the least he could do is accept the face of his own misery.
A mug was just a mug. Not something special that he kept because you told him you found the chipped rim unique. The easel leaning against the wall of his office, which used to be belong to you, he used to hang random things. There was no paint left in the house and the finished work you had hanging on the wall, he stored elsewhere. Conscious forgetting helps the raw ache in his chest, a Pavlovian conditioning he fashioned against the abyss that awaited him in his thoughts.
Yoongi is honest but never with himself.
There was nothing he could do to bring you back, so he stays where he was, remembering to forget.
-
With a couple of cities under his portfolio, Yoongi begins to make serious money.
Imperial City had a notorious night life and it was unavoidable to live in its walls without getting your hands a little dirty. Those hard to get places were scarcely advertised but you and Yoongi were at the wrong place at the right time.
AMBROX was a known and exclusive club catering for those at the upper echelons of society. Yoongi was eligible because of the status in his ID. The Imperial Seal could get you almost anywhere. Inside was a basement space, cushioned in crushed velvet walls where the patrons were ushered into smaller rooms hidden by thick curtains. It smelled sweet, like bursts of vanilla were injected in the air every second or two.
“Is this really how the other half live?” You whispered, rubbing your arm.
Yoongi’s eyes darted along the main reception area. He saw employees gathering coats and jackets, others were talking with patrons, their smiles a little to wide, implicitly asking for a tip. He passes someone heading out, their irises were like gold rings, burning bright in the dim interior.
“It might be how some spend their free time,” he guessed, distracted by an usher who gently took his jacket from him.
You stuck close, your fingers curling over his as you were taken to an even darker booth. Few words were exchanged between you and the server as a silver tray appears on the small table. The sofa’s were comfortable, moulding to the contours of his back.
The lid is lifted and you look at the server.
“First time?” They asked, their tone hinting boredom.
In front were two shot glasses, two pills, and a small container with two square stickers, small enough to be discrete.
“How do you want it?” They asked, setting the lid down next to the tray.
Yoongi doesn’t even get a chance to speak before you reached forward, taking the small container. The server nods, waving his fingers over the rejected options. The shot glasses and pills disappear in a plume of vanilla scented smoke. Soon after, they leave, overlapping the curtains for privacy.
“Yoongi, look,” you said, placing an opaque square sticker on his palm.
You don’t wait before placing it on the wet surface of your tongue, humming as it dissolves in no time. He swallowed thickly as your eyes become flecked with gold, your pupils blowing to an impossibly wide size. You laughed, no, giggledas you folded into yourself, the side your head hitting the back of the couch in a muffled thump.
“Try it,” you coaxed, pushing his palm up near his mouth. You were always the one willing to try things, willing to go a step further than him with anything.
At your suggestion, he places it at the tip of his tongue, shivering slightly at the saccharine taste. He smiles like you did, feeling like he was wading through honey. A sickly and syrupy weight descended upon his bones, if he moved, it was in slow motion. When he closed his eyes, he saw visions of cities he had yet to build.
Yoongi laughed with you, threading your fingers together. You were so beautiful under the light, aglow in his gaze. He grins, tracing the line of your jaw, wanting to say something.
What did I want to say again?
You come closer, kissing him artificially. It was more of a peck than anything but he feels his heart swell within his ribcage.
“‘Am meant to say something,” he mumbled, lost in your touch. You nod, bumping your forehead against his.
“Feels good, right?” You asked, brushing your thumb on the high point of his cheekbone.
Yeah. It does.
Inexplicably so.
Later, when caught his reflection on the way out, he sees his own eyes have a bright ring of gold against the brown. You stumble out, laughing like a pair of fools, hands outstretched to the sky in wonder.
In the taxi, you sighed in bliss, your nose pressed against the crook of his neck.
“Yoongi?”
“Mn?”
“That was nice,” you murmured, your breath so soft on his skin. He squeezes your hand in his, clammy from being pressed together at the palms, your fingertips come up cold. He meets the driver’s eyes through the mirror, they dart back on the road as quickly as they landed on him.
“Think you could you get used to it?” He asked, searching your face. The gold is fainter now, but you still had an expression of bliss through your half-lidded eyes and easy smile.
“Your promotion or being high?”
He shrugs, the view from the window outside is a blur of colours. Imperial City shines in the night as it does in the day.
“Everything.”
-
A knock at the door startles Yoongi from his uncomfortable sleep. He stretches, taking his time given that the visitor arrived at an ungodly hour. He leaves the couch, pushing his hair back with a damp palm.
“Hyung, it’s been a while.”
Jimin greets him with a shock of pink hair, his irises aglow in a bright, metallic gold.
“Come in.”
He waves the younger man inside, unashamed of the clutter that decorated the hallway. Jimin side-steps the mountain of shoes that spilled from the alcoves, then pretends not to notice the growing amount of dishes stacked like a tower on the sink. The apartment is submerged in darkness but even that couldn’t drive away the oppressive atmosphere of decay.
“Hyung…”
Yoongi sighed and dragged the chair back, waving for Jimin to take a seat.
“How come you’re here?”
Jimin takes a moment to reply. He looks at the multiple drafts of unfinished cities that buried the mahogany table.
“You called me, hyung.”
Yoongi blinks at the younger man’s reply.
“I did?”
Jimin nods, watching Yoongi’s face pinch at something that slipped his mind.
“You said you wanted to talk about something.”
Yoongi cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was worth being embarrassed over. Everyone knew he was having a harder time than most. Jimin lowered his gaze, thumbing the abandoned designs. The rain stopped and the buildings glisten on all sides.
I wanted to talk about her.
“It’s for work.”
-
When Yoongi had some time off, he liked to stay at home. Thinking drained his energy and spending time with you recharged him. Though he would never be explicit in that, some things he liked to keep to himself.
But he knew it showed, especially in moments like these.
“Don’t laugh. This is harder than it looks, okay?” You said, dropping a pencil, then wincing as it rolled on the floor.
You were in front of his drafting table, the angle being too steep. Yoongi is reclined on the sofa opposite, a smile creeping up his lips as you made a preliminary sketch.
“I’m not laughing,” he retorted, dragging his hand over his face to hide the twitch in the corner of his mouth.
“I heard you.”
Yoongi coughed and inhaled deeply, “I was going to fall asleep so what you heard was a yawn.”
You sighed, and he allowed himself to smile.
“Wow, you’re so supportive and romantic. I don’t build cities for a living you know. I just teach kids how to paint.”
Yoongi turns his head to the side, sees you with a concentrated look on your face. In this new life you paint and teach at a prestigious high school even without much qualifications. Both of you live with more than what you had envisioned for yourselves.
“Want me to be supportive and romantic? Like that old film you always talked about? Ghost, was it?”
Before Galtea was reduced to rubble, you would talk to him about a film you saw once at the theatre. You would tell him that they had salvaged some copies of films from the past, films that were at least hundreds of years old. The one scene you would always go back to was the characters shaping some clay. To him, it sounded bothersome as creating things tended to be solitary, at least in the beginning. He deemed that the previous inhabitants of the world seemed more romantic then, at least in their scripts.
“You want me to recreate something like that and be romantic? Like sit behind you and guide the pencil with my hand on yours?”
He could envision you smiling behind the drafting table, rubbing your nose out of habit.
“No…” you trailed off, your eyes practically beckoning him to do the opposite.
The pencil glides over the parchment, he thinks you might on the cusp of creating something but there was no harm in helping you out. He gets up, crossing the distance and settles behind you. With his legs flanking yours, he layers his grip on your hand, pinching your fingertips to control the pencil.
Comfortable, you leant back, resting on his chest, letting him guide the lines over the imaginary city you’ve constructed. There were details you incorporated, columns that ended in stars, what looked like an observatory in the centre, houses that floated above the ground. He feels an idea flower in his mind. You hold his wrist with your free hand, adding another point to a different star.
“You’ve been thinking about your own city?”
You hummed.
“When I was at the orphanage, I spent a lot of time on the roof. I was tired of looking down, I wanted to be part of something infinite.”
And Yoongi understood.
It’s not quite Galtea, but something else altogether.
“I can make this real if you like.”
You shift your hold so that you were holding his hand. He couldn’t see your expression with your back turned to him.
“You drawing it is enough.”
-
“How are things back in your home?” Yoongi asked, pushing a crystalline tumbler towards Jimin.
The pink haired boy shrugs, chewing his bottom lip after he tipped his head back, the whiskey draining from the glass.
“Same old thing, hyung. My parents don’t let me out of their sight, I can’t work for more than three hours at a time.”
Yoongi remembers Jimin’s affluent upbringing, the palatial homes of Eriteria spanned acres, complete with copious orangeries. The sun always shone in Eriteria and Jimin was a golden child of prosperity and wealth.
“Do you miss it?”
The whiskey gets refilled to a third of the glass.
“Miss what?”
Jimin tips his head back in an almost violent snap, widening his mouth so that the amber liquid is deposited in an effortless cascade. His irises pulse in a glittery ring of gold, his rose hair falling back into place in a deliberate curve over his brow. Yoongi thinks he should choose his words carefully but abandons that task. He was never was one to pry but he was tired of pondering.
“Being high.”
Jimin frowns, pinching his eyebrows together. The gold in his irises flash with every blink. Yoongi can’t change things so seeks out answers that drip venom to his conscience.
“I don’t know. Sometimes, I miss feeling like… nothing.”
Yoongi thinks about the time when you began hiding the square stickers, your averted gaze when you knew your irises would shine unnaturally. Those became permanent if you were getting a steady supply and your eyes lit up like the stars.
“Why did you get into it?”
Jimin adjusts himself on his seat, his posture loosening like a puppet with its strings cut. The whiskey Yoongi had was imported, aged and sublime. It also sank in your blood easily, another high. Yoongi watches as Jimin picks at the skin on his thumb, pinching it with his teeth then pulls.
“I dunno, it felt good for a start -”
Yoongi remembers.
“And I thought I was in control. I didn’t go looking for it or anything, it just fell on my lap. Before, it was hard for me to stop thinking. When I got high, it was like everything stopped and I was just… floating.”
Jimin’s tone takes on a dreamy cadence, as if he was back in that drug-addled headspace.
“Do you think it was the same for her?” He asked, meeting Jimin in the eye.
“Could be. I’ve spoken to others who had our problem, they said that things slowed. The drug was great for people who couldn’t get out of their head, ironically enough.”
Yoongi sighed, taking another swig because he was extrapolating again. There weren’t any answers he could gleam and those that he could always left a bitter taste on his tongue.
“I think it’s because of the war. We didn’t see each other for a long time after Galtea fell, she never told me what happened to her during that time either.”
Jimin rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip, toying with the tumbler in his hand. Yoongi knew that the addiction won over him, as steady as the vines that crept along the walls of abandoned buildings in the cities that were pillaged.
“Who knows why people actually do things, hyung.”
Yoongi thought he knew you. He thought that you could never hide from each other after what you went through. Even when Galtea fell and you were driven out of your homes by the person that he now serves, you had each other. That’s what Yoongi tells himself when he feels like there’s a tourniquet to his chest.
“Is she in the same facility now?”
Yoongi shakes his head, tipping the glass back and wincing. The whiskey wasn’t as painful on his throat, but he could feel his chest spasm. Jimin was the only person he could talk to about you freely, like the three of you exist in this level of understanding.
A nexus of things that involve saccharine stickers and golden irises.
“She’s being cared for near here. Somewhere more advanced.”
-
War showed up differently, depending on who you were.
For Yoongi, it was a muted playback. A reel of shrapnel piercing the earth, vivid images of it obliterating his home. It was constant, endless. Building cities drowned them out. Creating something out of nothing compensated for all the destruction that he saw. In that sense, he could forgive himself when it became his turn to pillage in his own way.
But it wasn’t like that with you.
You held it in like you were a vessel.
He chastises himself, thinking about how he could miss something this integral. But he forgets how hard you tried to hide it. During the times you thought he wasn’t looking, your hands would tremble or your voice would sound far away. Perhaps, due to his own private limitations, he hung onto the hope of it passing like it did for him.
All things passed; such was the principle that he subscribed to.
Yet even in the peace of your slumber, he could tell of your hidden tumult through your fitful pulse, the cold sweat absorbed by the sheets at the crack of dawn.
One time on accident, he dropped some of his drafting instruments. The clatter of metal on hardwood had you collapsing on the floor, your hands covering your ears as you rocked yourself backwards and forwards. He came near you, apologising through the soothing motion of his hand up and down your back but to no avail. You were no longer in the room with him, muttering intelligibly, eyes wide and breath heaving.
In that moment, he was reminded the when you fled Galtea, you had to find your own bearings. What happened in the two years you didn’t see each other was information he wasn’t privy to. You had said a comment in to him in passing, during a time when the threat of uprising against the Emperor gained traction.
You can’t beat a gun, Yoongi. You just can’t.
Sometimes, you painted him a picture and he wasn’t sure if it was out of choice. Your eyes couldn’t meet his and he understood. Ugly things have a habit of taking root and even the dregs of war had the potential to shred you from the inside out.
He knows because he catches you staring into space, paintbrush coated in bright vermillion dripping messily on the canvas.
Concerned, he says your name and you laugh it off, resuming a dramatic arc. Surmising that that was meant to be deliberate, it somehow ended up looking like a bloody smile on pure white cotton. But you couldn’t hide the shattered handful of mugs as a result of that phantom tremor in your hands.
War never left you and Yoongi couldn’t do anything about it.
He thought of all of this, drowning out the explanation of the physician who led him to the hallway lined with observation pods. Similar facilities dot the area of Imperial City. There were some excesses that grew unmanageable, and you fell prey to the drug that turned your eyes into the sun. With the windows clear, he recognised the children of some of the officials he knew, all with vapid stares and gold-flecked irises.
“She’s doing well. We’re administering our first-rate programme to wean her off the drug.”
In front of a discrete window, Yoongi forces himself to watch as they pump a bag with liquid gold. The dose seemed more than what he was used to seeing, attached to a slim wire that ended in a needle feeding into your veins.
“Can she feel anything?” He asked, his mouth twisting as your head dropped to the side.
The physician pushes their glasses up, their nose pointed down at your chart on the clipboard. It was your first visit and Yoongi hoped that it would be your last.
“Not usually.”
Yoongi didn’t need to hear more. It was too late and money was no use if it couldn’t bring you back.
On the way out, someone bumps into him. A boy with rose pink hair and a smile far too bright for the environment.
“What were you doing that far into the facility?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.
Yoongi bargained with himself whether he should talk to this presumptuous individual. As a form of caution, he doesn’t answer, walking along the stretch of the hallway, heading for the exit.
“Hello?”
“I’m here to visit,” he replied, curt.
“Hmph. You must be fucking rich for them to allow you to see the procedures.”
Yoongi clenched his jaw.
No amount of money could buy what I want.
He keeps walking while the kid follows.
“Are they important to you? The person you visited?”
He halts in the rhythm of his walk, glancing at him. One look should determine it all, one look that he never could keep in for too long. It made him appear as dejected as he felt.
“She is,” he replied.
A hand comes out, waiting for him to take it.
“Jimin.”
Yoongi stares at it, sees the plastic tag with an iron-clad seal of Imperial City Rehab on the his wrist. A discrete, plastic rectangle showed more information.
Park Jimin. Third visit. Patient no. 1310
He takes the handshake, wraps his fingers over Jimin’s palm. His touch is cold like yours.
“Yoongi.”
-
“I’m building a new city for the Emperor,” Yoongi divulges.
“Ah.”
It’s deep into the night, all of the blinds were drawn and Jimin had taken to tidy up the place. Yoongi allowed him since Jimin wanted to help. Tasks like these gave the illusion of normalcy, of order. After a while, his apartment became noticeably cleaner, the items previously scattered were now in their respective homes. Yoongi wish he could be placed like that, he often felt destitute nowadays.
“It’s been… difficult,” he added, clearing his throat.
Jimin nods, this time from the couch, his gaze to scenery outside. Yoongi’s apartment was well above ground, his view being the surrounding sky scrapers and luxury apartments that this area was famed for. It was funny to think that he had spent much of his early life avoiding the idea of looking down when that was the only thing he was doing lately.
“Were you given any further instructions, hyung?”
The Emperor wrote him a letter that he destroyed when he thought he wasn’t the person for the job. But the words were etched in his mind all the same.
I want you to build me a utopia.
“I think he wants me to build something perfect, something important. A utopia was what he said.”
Jimin turned, searching Yoongi’s face and finding uncertainty.
“She reminds you of all of those things.”
Yoongi nods, honest for once. Jimin lifts his legs, folding them close to his chest so he could embrace them.
“Have you tried talking to her, hyung? I’m sure that she’ll be able to hear you.”
Shame breeds itself in the pit of Yoongi’s stomach. When he talked to you, all that came out were apologies.
I’m sorry I didn’t help you in time.
I’m sorry for ignoring your unhappiness.
I’m sorry.
“I thought we were happy,” he said, after a while. Jimin looks at him with sympathy, his golden irises are muted.
“It could happen to anyone, hyung.”
The silence that followed was telling. Both he and Jimin knew the futility of those words. It happened to Jimin and he got out. He now lives a normal life, and even though he wears his addiction in a visible marker, he can rejoin society, making something of himself again. Yoongi doesn’t know if your fate was riddled with rotten luck but he blames himself for even taking you to that part of Imperial City.
-
The first time you are checked in, Yoongi is allowed to visit twice a week and he stays overnight when he can. He’s always thankful that when he is over you are lucid, or at least trying your hardest to be.
Together on the single bed, too rickety for the amount he’s paid for, and when the moonlight is the sole source of clarity, the quiet becomes inviting rather than insidious. He ignores the tag on your wrist that labels you as ‘Patient,’ he ignores the intermittent shivers you couldn’t conceal and keeps you close.
“When I was back in the orphanage, they told me that my ancestors came from the North, that they were people of the sea sold to owners for hard labour and very little pay,” you murmured, running your fingertip over a prominent vein on your wrist. The slightest pressure pushes the gold close to the surface, it glows and reminds both of you of your malaise.
Yoongi knows that you were brought to the orphanage at the age of seven.
“They told me that they were people of the stars, they always looked up, finding safety in the constellations,” you said as he listened.
“Galtea must have been disappointing,” he joked. You turn to him, shaking your head.
“I don’t think I would have had a better time if I stayed where I was. I met you in Galtea by chance and it was the best thing that ever happened to me,” you replied, draping your leg over his.
He blinked. You think that you met by chance for the first time on the way to get food rations but he thinks about the nights he spent gawking at you in that club. He realises that he never told you about the very first moment he saw you. Instead, he pushes his palm against yours, the steady thrum of your pulse radiates. He adjusts the narrative to appease.
“You think that chances are trustworthy, then,” he said.
You lean up and kiss his cheek, your lips are warm and inviting.
“Of course. It’s how we met.”
-
Jimin gets up and walks towards a bookshelf. He takes out a leather bound tome, flipping through it with curiosity. Yoongi has memorised those pages, an album of sorts. Still frame images of his glittering career, his accolades in two-dimensional snap shots. Architects were revered in Imperial City, though outside its limits, it might be a different story. Jimin stops flipping the pages, the tome perfectly halved in the middle. Yoongi meets him, staring down at the picture.
It stands out because it was a small picture in the middle of an empty space.
In the neat square, your smiles were radiant. It was taken by the gates of Arora, soon after it was opened.
The stars were in the backdrop, bright in spite of the sun above.
“Hyung?”
“Hm?”
“Where was this taken?
Yoongi traces your figures, grateful that the camera was able to preserve your contentment.
“Arora.”
-
Weeks after you were brought home from the facility, Yoongi intends to build the drawing that took root at the back of his mind, itching to materialise from the drafting table in his office. A city of infinite capacity, a city of stars.
One evening, when he was sure that you were asleep, he sits up. Feverish with excitement, he leaps from the bed, his fingers itching for anything to draw with.
The entire city came to him in a dream: a proliferation of constellations borne from the stories you told him.
If you were to build me a city, build one like the one we drew together.
Which one? He joked, feigning ignorance.
You know the one.
Hours pass by while he works like a madman, mapping out the parameters, white lines thick against a gridded background. The parchment he used was the best he could find, the materials the finest he could afford.
The label above is blank but he already had a name for a city made up of stars.
Arora.
No less than six weeks later, the city is built. It stands, imposing at the gates, the stars that top the walls are solar. He walks with you in a luxuriating page, hand in hand. Pausing by the entrance, he waves his ID, allowing entry. The skies are clear and the stars outnumber the incoming populace. They were coming from the North, whimsical and in need of hope.
Yoongi built Arora for you, though.
The effect on its people were incidental. It was you who he wanted to look up.
It was you who he wanted to hope.
“Would you like a picture?”
There was already a camera with the lens pointed at you and him. Shirking away, you fuss over your hair, eyes downcast because the gold was noticeable now. The glittery rings of addiction, bright wherever you went. Yoongi holds your hand tightly, nodding at the photographer.
“Yoongi…” you whispered, hesitant.
A smile spreads on his lips. He wanted to remember this, a moment where you were both happy.
“It’ll be okay.”
He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the picture in the end.
Summary:The creative process is difficult, if not elusive. Yoongi grapples with this reality, frustrated at his lack of productivity. Building cities was second nature to him, like breathing. But of course, there are reasons for this and he knows that he must take the time to ride it out, and in that, he remembers.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for implied/referenced drug use; implied/referenced drug addiction; angst; brief depictions of war; implied/referenced PTSD; minor character death; the tags areheavy, so proceed with caution; I’ve tried to be as vague as possible but still - Alternate Universe Fantasy/Magical Realism ft.Architect!Min Yoongi.
Sunk below the flat line, the sun is halved in a bright, orange semi-circle. The trees cast long shadows across parched fields and in scattered groups, the animals, mostly horses and goats, graze on the cracked surface, their ribs visible through their shaggy fur.
Yoongi’s father grunts as he sits on a tree stump, hiking his leg up to rest his elbow on his knee. It was setting up to be another season of drought. Yoongi could see it in the slump of his father’s shoulders and hears it in the way the tips of the grass cracked from even the slightest push of the breeze.
“I don’t mind tending to the fields after I graduate,” Yoongi said, as if it could remedy the scarcity ahead. His father takes a moment to answer, flicking a fly that settled on the leathery skin of his thigh.
“You have more talent that me, your mother, and the rest of your siblings combined. Use it.”
Yoongi didn’t usually aspire to hear this from his father. He was one of three (soon to be four), and was the only one in university. Architecture landed on his lap like some primordial present. Perhaps because of his background, he didn’t feel beholden to such a gift. The people whom he owed his life to were meant to sustain the fields for generations to come and he didn’t expect to be an exception. It did nothing but make him feel like an outcast among his family. It displeased him at the best of times that he found more comfort in numbers and lines rather than the rough texture of the earth.
“Create something good, something that lasts,” his father said, rubbing the palms of his hands together. They were so dry that it sounded like he was scraping sandpaper together.
You could build legacies from the Earth too, he thought.
“I really don’t mind, father. I can take over, I am the oldest,” Yoongi reasoned, risking a quick glance. His father scowled at the sight ahead. One of the horses had taken to sit and it would be their job to haul it back to its pen.
“I didn’t want to plow fields for the rest of my days but sometimes, life hands you something before you can make a choice.”
Yoongi couldn’t look at his father so he fixed his gaze on the reddish sky. The pointed fir trees were upright, stiff from being exposed to scorching rays all afternoon. The air is dry and caused the chapped surface of his bottom lip to split when he curled it over his teeth. Blood spreads on his tongue, a distinct, coppery taste.
“You have a choice, Yoongi.”
At that, Yoongi chews the inside of his cheek. He didn’t like that his choices forced him to watch his family starve as they paid for his tuition. He disliked it even more that every time he came home, his siblings looked at him as if he was scum.
Mother told me that you were too busy studying and I had to pick up your shift in the morning.
Father told me to give you an extra helping of soup because you had exams.
Oh, you came home?
None of these were said in kind. Yoongi thought that he deserved it, a burden in exchange for this gift to create.
Before he could protest, the voice of his mother pierces through their conversation. Far out at the bottom of the hill, she waves up at them, one hand on her lower back making the swell of her belly jut out. For once, he is grateful for the interruption even though he knows that the food awaiting him will hardly fill his stomach. His father gets up, sighing long and low. He extends his hand to Yoongi, who takes it gratefully. When he thought that it would be the last of their conversation, his father gives him a small smile. The lines at the side of his eyes are as deep as the fissures in the desiccated landscape.
“And find someone to hold on to, Yoongi. Find someone you can love until the end.”
Yoongi didn’t need to see how his father looks lovingly at his mother, as if she hung the stars and the moon.
Oddly though, while they worked together to push the lazy mare to the pen, Yoongi finds himself thinking about flashing strobe lights, multi-coloured hair, and stolen apples in the open market.
-
“Wouldn’t they be miserable if it rains all the time?”
Jungkook pushes the end of his pencil on the mole below his lip. Yoongi just so happened to catch the discussion he was having with Namjoon. The profile of these displaced inhabitants hailed from somewhere similar to Galtea.
“That doesn’t matter if it helps them thrive,” Yoongi said after a few moments in contemplation. The location of the pending city would have all seasons, a guaranteed break from the summer heat.
“Thrive?” Jungkook asked, to which Yoongi nodded.
“If they need to rely on the land for anything, they need it to be exposed to all kinds of different elements.”
Namjoon swipes his pencil over the numerous options for the location.
“It won’t rain all of the time, just most of the time. These people were mainly farmers, it would be familiar to them to live in an places where they can grow crops,” Namjoon reassured, shortlisting land where the sun may not have an overwhelming effect. If Yoongi had more concern, he would advise against building a city that was too familiar. Some things others would rather leave behind, after all.
Jungkook hums, indicating his understanding. Yoongi leaves then, mourning a loss that he couldn’t quite give a name to.
-
It turns out that the Emperor had no mercy.
Everything that Yoongi feared came true in the final months of his education.
The war against the Emperor’s forces began and never seemed to end. His father dies weeks before he was due to graduate and his mother and siblings, crestfallen and forlorn, were separated from him. Each week, he makes sure to post letters, none of which were replied to. With his nerves shot, he forces himself to accept that his family is torn and the fact that his father didn’t even have a grave. All that was left of his father was what Yoongi could remember and that was his feeble attempt to keep their family alive and healthy.
The final moments led to the haunting image of red-rimmed eyes, a weakened grip, and the words ending in the rattle of his last breath.
I’m proud of you, Yoongi. Make sure to never live like me.
Galtea continues to be submerged in flames from bombs crashing down like torrential rain, exploding into splinters and shaking the earth. Giant flying vehicles patrol the sky, their layered wings groaning in their articulation as its rusted doors descended to allow rockets to pelt the mountains in a continuous hurl. Yoongi’s ears would ring from the impact and the table on which he hid under was showered with rubble, his lungs fill with smoke. The university was the final stronghold and as Galtea was brought to its knees, Yoongi swallowed his vitriol and applied for the position of architect for the Imperial City.
When his acceptance rolled in, all he had to his name was a diploma and the few belongings he could gather from what was left of his home. His father’s watch remained clasped to his wrist even after the batteries faltered. His mother dies during childbirth and his siblings abandoned him, severing contact.
Once through the gates of Imperial City, along with the numerous displaced scholars, he commenced his apprenticeship alone and in a dream-like trance.
-
The Imperial City likes to leave room for the past. Yoongi can still remember what the Emperor used to say to him as they surveyed the down-trodden land below.
We must remember the past, Yoongi. It’s the only way to forge a path forward.
He walks along the marbled hall of the Great Museum, chronicling all of the Emperor’s conquests. His favourite section is all about rebuilding the torn cities showcased in an open room with an enormous map. The grooves of the land were constructed from the finest minerals: black opal, jadeite, then tanzanite. He stops by a oft forgotten corner in the South-West, leaning forward while he clasped his hands behind his back.
Since it’s late, the crowd had waned and it’s like he has the place to himself. His eyes try to pinpoint where Galtea used to be, nestled in the mountains and flanked by Dorea and Thanazt. Instead, he finds an empty space of flattened tanzanite, made dull against the muted lights above.
When he began, he aimed to create as many cities as he could to surpass all that he saw destroyed. Years passed and he had many places that had his name at the foot of the gates, an author of new homes and new pastures. By the time he was in his seventh year, his reputation preceded him.
Back then, he couldn’t understand why conquests needed to involve destruction. Even now, he still didn’t understand. In the vast hall, he knew that the reason for him dragging his feet was exhaustion. He was tired of all the loss, tired of watching countless become destitute, forced to flee their homes because of one man’s greed.
Having lived to survive in the early part of his career, it was a deliberate decision to suppress his hand in the destruction. He slept aware of the fact that for new cities to rise, the old ones must fall.
He lightly traces growth rings meant to be the parameters of where Galtea should be on the cool mineral. Its absence incites a sharp pain in his chest, each beat of his heart becoming more and more strenuous with each second passing by. The excited murmur of a family nearby makes him retract his hand. In the quiet of the grand hall, he clenches his jaw, breathing steadily through his nose.
The destruction is going to continue and Galtea is gone. He squints at the marbled texture, his reflection barely formed yet distinct. He sees his father in his features as he hears his voice filter past his lips.
Are you still proud of me?
-
In the third year of his apprenticeship, Yoongi sees you again, but instead of apples, you were hidden travel papers to flee. As part of his assignment, he was surveying the surrounding land that fell after the Emperor conquered much of the South. That day, he was at a small fishing village, Pexia. Its harbours heaved with crowds wanting to sail away before it was destroyed. In its place would be a new city, and if Yoongi was fortunate enough, he could be part of the team that would build it.
You were attempting to push your way to the top of the line as he jogs towards you, renewed by a familiar face. When he makes a grab for your arm, you were quick to flinch.
“I’m sorry.”
Your eyes grow wide, a smile tugging your lips wide as you embrace him, throwing your whole weight in the momentum. He allows himself to cradle your head, to breathe in your scent, to feel your body against his. A part of him latched onto the fact that the ache in his chest dulled at the sight of you.
“How are you?” he asked, right in your hair since you were still tangled in each other, as if letting go would make you disappear. Your answer first comes as a nod, the movement of your head pushing against the cradle of his hand.
“I’m good - I was going to leave.”
He feels your embrace loosen, he hears the crackle of the parchment in your hands as the documents peel themselves away from your hold.
“It’s so good to see you.”
Your eyes shone despite it all.
Galtea was gone and it showed in the hollows of your cheeks and the muted colour of your hair. You were lost, without a home again. With a gentle brush of his knuckle along the side of your face, he wills himself to anchor you both. The words come out since he doesn’t have the heart to stop them.
“I have a job.”
You stare at him, your features contracting at the prospect of hope. Yoongi feels you crumple the paper in your hand. Then, you are jostled by those lining up to leave the city limits, their faces obscured by hoods. Nearby, the boats bump against the stone walls, crusted with barnacles and battered by countless waves. Salt stains the air intermingled with the desperation for a place to sail away.
“It won’t be like this anymore. I promise.”
He sees you visibly relax, his words affecting you hugely, even if he wasn’t sure himself. Yet in his mind, he was going to build cities that you both dreamed of: free from war and strife.
“Alright.”
-
Jungkook had been circling Yoongi’s area for the past thirty minutes with no particular goal in mind. It was lunch and the junior architect hovered under the pretence of productivity. Yoongi slides a draft across Jungkook’s way.
“Has Namjoon showed you these?”
In front of them was an archived map of the Imperial City in the first phase of its construction. Jungkook shakes his head, his attention snagged by the foreign metrics no longer taught in modern schools. By that time, Yoongi was climbing the ranks, eager to survive and get into the superior’s good graces.
Jungkook surveyed the early plans which incorporated tall, aluminum spires, golden gates and bridges. The Emperor’s was luxurious by nature and nothing was spared.
Gold from Zantyr.
Minerals from Artacyte.
Marble from Siettan.
Yoongi could only remember the heavy footfalls of the soldiers, the groan of the wood as blocks of stone, bars of gold, and slabs of marble were transferred into multiple ferries. He couldn’t even look at the people below, knowing that he’d be faced with emaciated arms extended upwards for a morsel of anything from above. Instead, he clutched the papers with designs meant to replace each of the raided metropolises, watching with suppressed horror as the Emperor trailed his hungry gaze on the ramps that bowed from the weight of his plunder.
In the end, Yoongi hoped that turning a blind eye would keep him from the recurring nightmares of chipped nails scraping against the rusted metal of the ships hull. But as the day ended, even in the comfort of his bed and in the apparent safety of your arms, the screams were there. They haunted the halls of his mind, these manic echoes accusing his hands of blood wherever he went. He stood witness as the Imperial forces took and took until a city was fashioned to the Emperor’s liking.
During his expeditions as primary Architect, he stood near the bow of the boat, or the foremost chamber on the flying vehicles. Throughout, he found that the view was the same regardless of the contraption he was on.
The Emperor not only advances, he tramples.
Jungkook ran his fingertips over the lines of the Great Museum, stopping at the skylight dome. His furrowed brow worried Yoongi but he understood from Namjoon that Jungkook was too young. He knew nothing of the screams of the displaced or the hollowed stares of the destitute. Anything Jungkooks knew was taught to him in two-dimensional pictures meant to simplify a grave period in history.
As Yoongi attempted to show him another map, Jungkook slipped a different one from beneath the sheets of archival parchment. Galtea reveals itself on the parchment.
“Was Galtea spared, hyung?”
The name of his home drew a sharp breath from him. Jungkook watched him, innocuous in his interrogation. Yoongi shakes his head, mustering a forlorn smile. The junior architect pressed his lips together, scrunching his nose so that his glasses stayed perched on its bridge.
“What’s left of Galtea now?”
Yoongi licks his lips, his eyes on the growth rings that made up Galtea’s structure. Two-dimensional evidence of his own history, gathering dust in the Imperial archives.
Jungkook waits, patient in the face of his memories unravelling.
Galtea exists on the surface of his mind in its soot-covered infrastructure, with its shattered structures of gutted buildings and homes, the murky water of the river and the gnarled divide of the bridge that he once crossed to get to the Town Hall.
Yet beneath that all, in the very depths, Galtea is in your smile and the warmth of your hand over his. Galtea is tucked in the echoes of simpler times when all he needed to do was laugh with you as the sun set over the horizon. It’s in the humble bungalow he shared with his family, where his worries were limited to their next meal rather than staying alive after shrapnel ravages the land. Later, when he finally allowed himself to accept his situation, when he realised that he was the one who survived.He concluded that it was better to help than be helped.
Jungkook was waiting, setting his teeth against his bottom lip while Yoongi gathered himself.
“Galtea is just mountains and hills now, Jungkook-ah.”
-
Things start to look up when Yoongi builds his first city.
You were holding onto the handlebars of the hovercraft, steering the contained vehicle past the flower-twined gates of Palatia.Yoongi clutches at the seatbelt strapped across his chest, laughing heartily at your enthusiasm. Parking it above a vantage point, you gasped at the abundance of lilies, hydrangeas, and freesias lining the streets.
“You did this?” You asked, whipping back as he unbuckled to take a closer look.
“Not just me.”
“But it was your idea, right?”
He pinches a space at the back of his neck while a blush bloomed in his cheeks.
“Yeah.”
“You’re so fucking cool!” You yelled at the sky, prompting the widest smile from him. Yoongi knew he was good, so compliments rolled off his like water on a duck’s back. But it was different with you. Yours was an opinion he could trust, no matter how frivolous in its execution. Nearby, those entering the gates were startled by your exclamation. They squinted at the discrete hovercraft you were aboard, seeing only your hands gesticulating wildly, pointing at every landmark.
“I’ll build you one, someday.”
Yoongi said it before he could even stop himself. There were no regrets on his part, though. Not when he saw that smile that lit up your eyes.
“I want to have an input.”
Yoongi didn’t realise that it was love then.
But it showed in the cities he built thereafter.
“Okay.”
-
The Urban Planning department is in the lower floors. Yoongi scans his ID and the doors to the elevator slide open. Striding across the common area, Yoongi finds himself inside in an airless room without windows and lined with felt. Hoseok is visible because of his platinum blonde hair and gold-framed glasses, and mostly because he was in the middle of reprimanding a subordinate. Yoongi hangs back, trying to not appear as a witness to this scolding. Afterwards, when they slinked out of Hoseok’s office, Yoongi lets out a low whistle. He forgot how serious Hoseok could be.
“Hyung. What brings you here?”
Yoongi’s shrugs, his mouth pulling down in turn.
“I forgot how suffocating the Imperial Offices were.”
Hoseok shoves a box with neatly arranged files inside an alcove. It gets swallowed into the wall and deposited elsewhere via conveyor belt. He then gives Yoongi a once over, a direct response to his observation. Urban Planning was the size of a match box in comparison, and poorly ventilated at that.
“How’s the new city coming along?”
Yoongi sniffed, picking at the skin of his nail to stall, it catches and peels dramatically upwards, drawing blood. Hoseok stares but says nothing.
“It’s not going that well. I’m meant to build something perfect but I haven’t been able to come up with a single design.”
What Yoongi leaves out was the fact that he was also angry at himself. Angry because he cannot even do what he used to be good at doing. He feels like he’s at the bottom of a deep, dark well, bound at the hands and feet, blindfolded, utterly despairing.
Hoseok examines him with a neutral expression, his wiry arms folded tight over his chest. Yoongi slumps against his desk, as he often did when he was working down here. The atmosphere made you slump at all times. He supposed that producing the same design over and over without much thought was like successive weights on your body. There was no need to think much, he just had to do.
“Is there anything that means something to you? Anything important?”
Yoongi blinks at the reel of memories that were evoked by Hoseok’s question. He smiles instead, trying to mask the obvious discomfort that threatened to reveal itself in a frown. Later, with his back against the wall of the elevator, some part of him can still hear your laugh and the phantom warmth of your touch.
-
Yoongi can’t quite recall when his feelings tipped the scale to something concrete.
Being with you began with the intention of convenience. Having someone from Galtea navigate the enormity of Imperial City was like pairing a new frontier with the warm embrace of someone familiar. Years pass and while you never professed your love for each other, his hand lingers on yours automatically, and you smile brighter than most when you found him waiting outside of the school you worked at.
It’s in the mundane.
Love flourishes in ordinary conversation.
“Did you have a good day today?”
Love came and stayed in your touch.
He takes your hand when asked this since it seemed to slot perfectly against his. In turn, you swing your arms, backwards and forwards in a gentle rocking motion. Imperial City shines under the afternoon light. Its people thrive far from the blistering heat of flying automatons made for destruction. Galtea is gone but Yoongi is content to see it in your eyes and in the way your hair is healthy again.
“I did, but I could have met you at home,” you replied, bumping your shoulder to him. It brings out a halfhearted shrug from him.
“Your work is on the way anyway,” he said.
“Want to grab something to eat outside?”
He thinks of nothing better than that.
“Yeah.”
And while you’re distracted, he takes note of your profile as you surveyed the towering buildings, leagues away from the orphanage you hailed from in the peripheries. He basks in the fact that he was able to afford a better place, closer to the sky rather than the ground. In moments like these, he thinks he could hear his father’s words.
Make sure to never live like me.
As you round the corner, pulling him towards a place you frequented together, he thinks he’s far from who he was but closer to who he should be.
Summary:The Emperor requests a favour of Yoongi. It involves building a utopia, a perfect city. He’s done this countless times and succeeded in most, so why was it so hard for him this time around?
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for implied/referenced drug use; implied/referenced drug addiction; angst; brief depictions of war; implied/referenced PTSD; minor character death; the tags areheavy, so proceed with caution; I’ve tried to be as vague as possible but still - Alternate Universe Fantasy/Magical Realism ft.Architect!Min Yoongi.
=====
Here’s the playlist for it, if you want to listen! :]
This is my first ‘major’ fic for the new year and I’m trying something a little different for this series. Firstly, this is my attempt at magical realism and it’s a particular universe that I’ve grown to love Secondly, I guess that I’ve tried to be more economical with words.
It blankets the hills that flank the walls of the city in an even layer of frost. The green gets covered in white, footprints become visible, like punctuation over the powdery surface. Yoongi finds himself walking towards that place, far away from where he was now.
A cottage juts out on the outskirts, perhaps near his home. A small, humble structure with a thatched roof and square windows. The chimney blows puffs of smoke, misting in the air.
He heads towards the red lacquered door, dragging his feet so it cut lines on the snowy path. Inside is warm and you’re sitting by the fire, undisturbed by his presence. Slipping off his shoes, he lines them up next to yours, its soles shiny from the melted ice. Closer he goes, until he’s finally in your view but you don’t see him.
Your eyes are clouded over and you’re slumped in your seat, mouth slightly parted to complete the catatonic expression you had. Yoongi drops to his knees so he looks up at you, reaching with his hand to cradle your face.
Even his touch does nothing to rouse you.
Yet he tries, rising while still on his knees, pressing a kiss on your lips.
It’s chapped, lifeless and cold. He’s not sure if he could even feel a whisper of your breath or whether you’re actually alive or not. The thought fills him with dread.
When he pulls away, he wakes up with a jolt.
The grey ceiling of his bedroom greets him, the window is open and the curtain billows ceaselessly. It’s dawn, there is something wet by his thigh. His body takes time to thaw, his fingers and toes tingling like static. He runs his touch over the wet cotton nearby, recalling his state the previous evening.
I was designing.
I received a letter from the Emperor. A request for a favour.
I have to build a new city.
His heart has slowed as he cranes his neck to see. The wet patch was spilled ink, the pitch black ichor of his thoughts are now staining the sheets. He lifts his hand, the ones with soaked fingertips, up to his lips. They come up cold at the memory of that dream.
Getting up was actually painful nowadays and if he stays in bed for too long, he would never get up. In a quick, forceful launch, he sits up, feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor.
It’s another day and he’s alone.
-
Yoongi observes the blueprints meant for a new city, envisioning the structure and the parameters of something that will once again have his mark. He’s done this before, countless times even. It should be like second nature by now, yet there is nothing on the page apart from the grooves of heavy pressure from his pencil now erased and surrounded by rubber shavings. Bordering his non-existent design were the various tools to aid him, and in his frustration, were in cluttered disarray.
The communal working space was bathed in light, the windows were recently cleaned allowing for the view of bright, white clouds. Yoongi was at the highest point of Imperial City. The illusion was that there was nothing beneath him, but in truth, he was tired of looking up.
“How’s it going?”
Namjoon wanders over to his desk, pushing his glasses further up his nose. Yoongi sighed, shoving the worn parchment away from him.
“I’ve been the same for the past three days. Nothing is coming to me.”
Taking it as a signal to introduce a break, Namjoon settles his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder.
“We can have some food, maybe you need a break.”
Yoongi takes his attention away from the task on his desk and back onto the window ahead. The clouds were rolling in a misty haze. He is meant to be inspired but he finds himself stuck in the well of his mind.
“Hyung.”
“Hm?”
Namjoon’s hand has left him, the absence of the firm pressure made Yoongi sag onto his seat.
“Let’s eat.”
-
Namjoon chews carefully, his brows pinching together.
The cafeteria was bustling during this time of the day. Food was in abundance in Imperial City, nothing was spared for its inhabitants. Yoongi was grateful to be surrounded by constant noise. He hates his thoughts running amok in his skull. They always leave grating echoes that made him irritable.
“How were things while I was gone?”
Namjoon takes a cloth and wipes his front. The crumbs trickle down, disappearing to his lap.
“Much of the same things. We weren’t tasked to build cities that were too elaborate. I have a junior architect to mentor, you’d like him. He reminds me of you.”
Yoongi chews the inside of his cheek. He can’t remember the time when he started nor could he picture himself at that age, young and impressionable. Someone who still believed in the world he lived in.
The food in front of him was steadily being devoured, even in his state of indifference. To eat is another form of distraction, a method to keep him sustained whilst his mind was rotting, stagnant in his ideas. Namjoon gets distracted by the files he brought to review.
“What do you think about adding spires to this, hyung?”
The design presented before him was meant for a city without linear structures. Everything will either be curved or coiled: a city in the the shape of springs. Namjoon was pointing to a cathedral, Yoongi set his teeth on his bottom lip. At the corner of the document was the number of people meant to populate the new city.
10,000.
A memory gets introduced to him. That was how it was like when he started. Yoongi made his first city for exactly ten-thousand inhabitants. Yet each time after, the population multiplied and his designs grew more and more complex. It seemed that the Emperor managed to take over more land, in turn, demanding more cities to house them. Old cities burned and Yoongi built over them, gradually and in time.
“Maybe you can incorporate it in every structure. They should be able to feel comfortable in their new home.”
Namjoon nods, producing a pen from his pocket and sketching in Yoongi’s suggestions. He knew that those ten-thousand were coming from war. Recently, the Emperor returned from a three-year long plunder in the East. The displaced needed something magnificent, something to make them feel important. Structures that showed them that surviving wasn’t in vain. Yoongi knew that it was difficult to leave things behind, especially if you had no choice.
“What is this one called?”
Pushing the bowl aside, Namjoon draws a steady and careful arc, signifying a dome over the new city. He smiled at Yoongi, the small indents flanked his mouth.
“Paxus.”
-
‘Galtea’s economy is primarily dependent on agriculture.’
Yoongi felt his ears burn, self-conscious in the classroom. He sits near the middle, not quite out of radar but far enough to blend in. Most of his classmates were from newer cities, ones that were dependent on technology, not the land.
The board showed a profile of his home, the factions split by clear demarcations. Further out were the peripheries, he thinks he can see where his home would be, gauging which fields that his father would tend to, then see his mother sorting crops with his siblings.
He’s in university, learning how to build cities. Full of ideas and passion, his dream is to construct cities that would last.
The professor changes the slide to the neighbouring metropolis, Dorea.
With his head down, he scribbles notes on his notebook, his handwriting is scratchy and barely legible. It didn’t matter; he was the only one who needed to understand it. After, he notices that the spine is weakened from being jostled in his threadbare bag. He adds another string to hold all the knowledge he’s accumulated.
At the end of the day, he has to travel back home and take the earliest train if he was to make it for supper. Though sometimes, he wishes he could afford to stay in university accommodation.
-
It’s the evening and the other employees have headed home.
Yoongi chews the end of his pencil as the page stays empty. He reaches for the phone and dials a number he knows off by heart.
“Yoongi-hyung, it’s late, are you doing okay?”
Hoseok’s voice at the end sounds the same at any time of day.
Yoongi lets himself absorb the view outside the panoramic windows. Another day had passed without progress. The city he was tasked to build remains buried in the recess of his mind and the frustration he felt always peaked in the evenings, more so in the quiet. He likens it to climbing an endless, each foothold was deeper but he can’t seem to hold onto anything.
“I’m meant to build a city.”
Perhaps if he details the task, he would be able to start afresh. Outside, the clouds are a deep shade of navy, the stars are scattered like luminescent freckles in the sky. He doesn’t know why he undertook that favour from the Emperor; he wasn’t even part of the Architecture Department anymore.
“Try and think back to the beginning, hyung. The very first city you built was magnificent. You’re talented and Palatia was a beautiful city - still is.”
Yoongi leaned back on the chair, cricking his neck as he did so.
Palatia was a city for lovers. Pleasant to live in, it had intricate ivy vines crept along the columns, flowers blooming at the window sills of every home, and yellow brick facades with burgundy slanted roofs. Simply, Yoongi thought that anything stemming from a labour of love would turn out like that.
“I don’t know. This has to be something different. I need it to mean something.”
“Don’t all of your cities mean something to you?”
There was a time when they were the most important thing to him. There was a time where he was responsible for building all of these cities from scratch, conjuring entire structures from his imagination. He can still remember the firm handshake from the Emperor after Palatia was opened.
This is good work, Yoongi. I’m glad that you’re helping me rebuild the world.
It was so easy then, so why was he having so much trouble now?
“What’s interesting to you at the minute?” Hoseok asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied, defeated.
“What are you looking at now?”
Yoongi stared at the clouds, watching as each one rolled by unhurriedly. Nature was interesting, he had taken inspiration from it a while ago. It resulted in Falia, a city surrounded by green foliage where homes were bungalows with banana leaves for roofs. The city is so embedded in nature that at first glance, you can’t even tell that it’s a city. The walls are made of bamboo and it’s common to travel along the river to get where you want to be. Its inhabitants lived without fear for their next meal, something that Yoongi aimed for himself once.
“I’m staring out of the window of my office, but I’ve already made something inspired by nature a couple of years ago.”
There was a pause; Yoongi hears the creak of a chair over the line.
“What do you want this city to be?”
Yoongi recalls the Emperor’s request.
I want you to build me a city that is perfect. I want you to make me a utopia. I trust your abilities, Yoongi.
“The Emperor wants a utopian city. But I don’t think I have it in me to come up with something like that.”
“Well, what do you define as your own utopia?”
Yoongi’s eyes were back on the blank parchment; it was the fourth sheet he’s taken on the fourth day, and it was the fourth he’s crinkled from countless revisions only to end up with nothing.
I want it to be perfect. I want it to be beautiful. I want -
He tries to picture something akin to that: an ideal city with ideal proportions, everything made just right. Seconds pass as Hoseok waits on the other side of the line, patient with these drawn out pauses that so often punctuate their phone calls. When he thinks he’s onto to something, he winces reflexively.
It’s too close.
He can still hear your voice, feel your touch on his skin, the way your hand closed over his when you led him past the gates into Palatia, as if you were showing him your home.
This is so beautiful, Yoongi.
Yoongi wants that. He wants this city to feel just like that.
-
Yoongi didn’t have any money in his pockets but he knew the man at the entrance of the underground club. Before the throb of the walls became prominent, he would encounter the burly man with a permanent downturned scowl. Incidentally, Yoongi saved his brother from being clipped by a trash truck and that singular event has granted him free entry ever since.
Through the narrowed passage, he descended down sticky steps that clung to the soles of his shoes. The music was loud enough to get under his skin, causing every bone in his body to thrum to the beat. Above, Yoongi lived with his head down, eyes to the cobbled floor, striving to be as less of a nuisance as possible. Here, he could look up, shielded by the ever changing strobe lights, pushed up against random bodies until he was covered in sweat.
It’s a release.
It was somewhere he goes to in the gap between university and his home.
But there were other reasons to come apart from boredom. He first sees you swan out from one of the entrances, your gaze concentrated at the tables you were assigned to. It became a fascination of his to watch you serve drinks, your hand splayed underneath an uneven plastic tray, undulating it like a wave when necessary to avoid spillage.
All you ever did was work and all Yoongi ever did was stare.
He didn’t know why dyed hair seemed more compelling to him now than it did before. Above, everyone could have different coloured hair if they liked. When he was hanging out with his classmates, they would dye strips of their hair for fun during recess, the hues would catch the rays of sun and sometimes lighten over time. Though he supposes that under the flashing lights, you didn’t really have a singular hair colour. It seemed to always change depending on which part of the club you were in.
The music continued to pound while bodies moved in a blurry distortions. You were meters away from him, untouchable. He didn’t know your name, nor had he ever spoken to you, but he knew that you would almost always swat unsolicited hands that crept along your back, and swore brazenly at those who wanted more than a drink. One time, you kneed a customer between his legs for slipping his fingers through the hem of your shorts. Yoongi laughed so hard then, heading home with a spring in his step.
Not old enough to order a drink, he hung back, face up, towards the artificial lights. The beat continued to shake the structure of the club, a contained box underneath the solid stone of the city. Here, he was a nobody. Much like he was above ground.
But it was different here.
Sometimes, he would get the feeling that he was boneless, ready to float off at a moment’s notice because he was being pushed in different directions at once.
He feels someone elbow him in the ribs, the dull pain made him reorient himself. Just then, you were nowhere to be seen. Craning his head, he looked for the two doors, one leading to another bar and the other leading to the exit. After a few seconds, you emerged, the lights above making your hair appear a cherry red. He’s not sure if your eyes met, he was still a little buzzed from the atmosphere.
All he knew was that there was something that bloomed in his chest every time he set his eyes on you. It only took one look at you while you busied yourself with handing drinks to anchor him. To keep coming back to this hole in the wall.
Yes.
It was different here.
-
Despite running on three hours of sleep, Yoongi ends up in the office as if it was a morning shift. By his desk, Namjoon was talking to someone animatedly. Once Yoongi was near enough, Namjoon opens up the floor for introductions.
“Jungkook, this is Min Yoongi. Chief Architect to the Emperor,” Namjoon said, scraping the chair back so Yoongi could sit.
“I’m just here for a temporary project, I’m actually at Urban Planning now,” he said, offering Jungkook a small smile.
“TheMin Yoongi?” Jungkook asked, his eyes bright and wide. Yoongi shoots Namjoon a look, aware of Jungkook’s ‘Junior Architect’ badge. It reflected the natural light that filtered past the windows.
“What did you tell him?”
Namjoon shrugged, “nothing incriminating.”
Jungkook promptly shut his mouth but his gaze stayed fixed on Yoongi, who became shifty from the attention.
“Hyung told me that you made Palatia.”
“And Arora,” Namjoon supplied.
Yoongi feel himself going red at the tips of his ears while Namjoon only beams proudly. Those cities were near the start of his career as an architect. Palatia got him the Emperor’s attention but Arora cemented his reputation. Jungkook fiddles with his badge.
“How comes you’re at Urban Planning, hyung?” Jungkook asked rather boldly. Yoongi couldn’t school his surprised expression as Namjoon pressed his lips together in a line.
It was then that Yoongi felt the fatigue that visited him almost daily. In the spacious home he had built for you and himself, he tosses and turns, restless at the face of his ambition to sleep. The moonlight broke on the surface of his bed, he lays awake confronting the ghosts of the past. Memories of a life he’d rather forget.
“I needed a change in scenery.”
Jungkook’s mouth twists, clearly dissatisfied with Yoongi’s answer. He couldn’t blame the younger man. Architecture was a profession that had longevity and along with it, came respect. To build something out of nothing was an art and the cities that Yoongi built were incredible, if not ethereal.
But he couldn’t seem to identify with those creations anymore. Not when he couldn’t even remember the reason whyhe started.
Namjoon ushers Jungkook away politely, bowing to Yoongi in apology. On his desk were the blueprints of Palatia and Arora that Namjoon must have retrieved from the archives. The lines were strong and deliberate, each shape and drawing were all measured according to Yoongi’s vision. He traced the parchment, preserved dutifully under the lamination. Somewhere, those cities were thriving in peace. He could hear you so clearly in front of these blueprints.
Thank you for bringing Arora to life, Yoongi.
Yoongi built these cities when he was happier; when times were simpler and smiling didn’t seem like a chore.
He misses that more than he cared to admit.
-
It’s a few days before Yoongi has to resume classes for the final year.
Living at home reminded him that he was in the peripheries Galtea. A city that ignored the cracks in its veneer. There are those that live among him that do not lie awake at night, wondering if their temporary homes would be raided because they don’t have the right papers. And, like him, there are those who live wondering whether they’ll even had a meal to tide them over the next day.
“Get as much as you can with these.”
Yoongi’s father extends three dog-eared food stamps, his hand shaking slightly.
The sun scorched the fields to the point of drought and the clouds offered no mercy in the form of rain. The city is starving and its people are too. Yoongi delicately folds them and slips them in his pocket. For every meal he can scrimmage together, there is something unspoken that rings louder when the shadows extend as the night covers the city. The prospect of war seemed so far away months ago, yet Galtea and its people know that its walls weren’t strong enough to keep the sharp prongs of invasion at bay. News came from the harbour a few days back: The Emperor seeks more land to conquer.
“I’ll try, but there’s shortages right now,” he said, unable to look at his father in the eye.
They were a humble farming family and his father bore the brunt of the scarcity. It showed up in his gaunt frame and the bones are visible through his paper-thin skin. Yoongi noted his own sallow complexion as he passed his reflection earlier, but it was incomparable. His father was always a ghastly shade of grey, and each time he looked at his family, it was with red-rimmed eyes that couldn’t be remedied with a smile from his chapped lips.
Yoongi knew that no matter how much food he brought home, his father wouldn’t eat. He had two other siblings and his mother was pregnant. Things were dire and helpless.
“I know, but still try. I want you to be able to eat so you can be strong. Your exams are soon.”
Yoongi also knew that his father might not see him graduate.
“I’ll try.”
While waiting in line, Yoongi sees you slip three apples in your pocket, right under the vendor’s nose.
This was the first time he saw you above ground. Under the blazing sun, your hair was plain, and you moved quickly, like you had a destination in mind. His brows pinched together, the food stamps he was clutching in his pocket weighed heavy in his hand. You weave past others who were too busy with their own hunger to notice.
“You shouldn’t be stealing,” he said, right as you passed by. You stopped walking, looking at him up and down.
“Those won’t get you anything.”
Yoongi was about to ask but he realises that you were staring at his pocket. The line moves incrementally and before you could escape, he grabs you by your elbow. You stumble back, startled by the contact.
“There’s a vendor in the next street who sells pastries and other cakes,” he divulged, unsure why he was so open.
“Those are harder to slip into my pocket,” you replied, tugging your arm with force.
In response, Yoongi grips you harder, almost dragging you forward as the line shortens. You sighed audibly, eyes darting to the side. He feels his reserve wane not knowing if he’d have time to go to the club now that exams were approaching. A part of him is curious as to why you hadn’t fled yet.
“If you wait for me, I could show you.”
“I don’t have any money for pastries or cakes.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.
At that, he doesn’t feel you resist him as much.
“Why?”
“Because he’s a gimp and is partially blind.”
A smile spreads your lips wide, bursting into a quiet laugh. Then, he hears you introduce yourself, which prompts him to do the same.
“I’m Yoongi.”
You extend your free hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
The wait wasn’t long and unlike your estimation, Yoongi was able to get something that could feed his family for at least three days.
Overhead, sirens blared and you hurried to the direction of the next street. The conversation was endless. He learned that you were an orphan but were too old to be adopted. The club was your main gig, but the pay was meagre given that you were technically underaged. He realised that you were as desperate as him, which didn’t invite shame, rather he was able to be himself. It was nice to show that life was hard, to share this perspective with someone who knows what it’s like at the peripheries.
“You’re studying?”
Yoongi finishes the pastry and swallows thickly. You were looking at the lanyard he was wearing.
Galtea School of Architecture.
“Yeah. I’ll graduate next year, if there isn’t a war.”
You puffed out your cheeks, eyebrows raising in response.
“Never met anyone who got past elementary school,” you said, leaning on your arms.
“I want to build cities, I want to make a difference in people’s lives,” he said, sheepish in his admission but liked that you listened nonetheless. It feels like he could be himself, without reservations. Feelings like that, he wanted to hold on to as much as possible. You smiled at him with a certain fondness that he never saw in all the time he’s observed you.
“I’m sure you’ll be great. Remember me when you make it, okay?”
Yoongi thinks he could never forget you but he agrees anyway.
-
Jungkook was unsure as he fiddled with the adjustments on the draft table. It suddenly flips upwards, like a whiplash. He jumps back, startled, his hands flying up as if he was arrested. Yoongi smiled, recalling his own experiences. Their colleagues notice but pay them no mind.
“I thought that this was how you were meant to place it,” the younger one said, his cheeks colouring a light pink.
Yoongi shook his head, reaching down to press a button, hidden in the bolts. The hydraulic mechanism hissed and the table descends without complaint.
“They don’t reveal this during the orientation, I had a senior teach me the same thing.”
Jungkook nods, searching for the button himself. Yoongi looks on, paying attention to a part of him that misses his old job. He wonders what kind of cities that Jungkook would build one day.
“Thanks hyung.”
-
“Do you think the Emperor will spare Galtea?”
It was a question that you would occasionally ask Yoongi while you sat atop a grassy hill. Friendship seemed to thrive between you while war was right at your doorstep. The papers were riddled with articles heralding that, mainly to announce that the Emperor advances, day by day.
From your vantage point, you could see how Galtea was organised in factions. The further away from the centre, the more impoverished you were. You and Yoongi resided on the penultimate faction, nearer to the fields. Although limited, it was still a pocket of civilisation.
“I’ve heard that the Emperor is merciful,” Yoongi replied.
He offers you part of an apple that he’s carved into quarters.
“I wish I could afford to travel. I’d go as far away from here as possible, somewhere where I can start over and not have to work shitty jobs just to make ends meet.”
Yoongi thinks that it doesn’t matter where you go, poverty didn’t care who you were and unless you were born with money-ladened pockets from your ancestry, you were a nobody. While you talked aimlessly, he thinks of his parents, salt of the earth, already in their late sixties and unable to retire or even feed their children a full meal. They have never crossed the walls of Galtea not by choice but because they couldn’t afford to.
All of this, Yoongi keeps to himself.
“Maybe one day. I had some friends say that the lands in the West are warm and their soldiers are strong. The Emperor hasn’t been able to conquer those lands yet.”
You crunch on the apple pieces audibly, sniffing as the breeze picked up.
“I think I’d want to visit the city, go to the theatre once, then take a stroll along the bridge, you know the one by the Town Hall?”
Yoongi knows the one. Galtea had many places of interest but the bridge was consistently flocked to by visitors from the city and throughout. It was a simple design, the highest point allowing for a perfect central view of the multi-coloured houses that flanked the river. Yoongi had been there once on a field trip during his first year.
“Sounds like the perfect day, maybe throw in a dinner by the river,” he replied, mirroring your grin.
Summary:He liked to take his time with you in moments like these. Something about getting back on stage. Something about being back in his element. Something about the roar of the crowd, a tangible, real moment where he was no longer performing in front of numbers at the top left corner or an LED screen.
Warnings/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language, smut (fem-reader; unprotected sex; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; doggy; finger-sucking; slight cock warming; everything that comes with post-concert high tbh lmao); Fluff; idol!AU established relationship :’)
=====
-
He liked to take his time with you in moments like these.
Something about getting back on stage.
Something about being back in his element.
Something about the roar of the crowd, a tangible, real moment where he was no longer performing in front of numbers at the top left corner or an LED screen.
The euphoric feeling doesn’t get left on the stage. It lingers, draping over his body, making it thrum as if he was possessed by something.
You fed off his own post-concert high, tethered to an energy, this emotion that’s bigger than him.
The lights that bordered the headboard were turned low and you shiver on the grey sheets, the strength of your arms giving out while Yoongi keeps a firm grip on your hips. Breathy gasps against the fibres of the bed cover, so soft but that didn’t matter, your skin will come up raw and tender from the pressure of his body against yours.
You didn’t know how it escalated from lazy kisses right after the shower. Then again, you always lost yourself when you were in his arms.
“Y-yoongi…” you gasped as he yanks you back harshly on his cock, the dull slap of his hips against the flesh of your ass ending in a resounding slap.You were so wet, taking his cock in an easy, frictionless suck. From the upstroke, his cock comes away in sticky strings that cool due to the ventilation that circulated the room.
“Mn?”
It would be different each time. Tonight however, his hum was an acute sound, prompting your body to tighten, sticking you in an endless loop of pleasure, as if every question you asked him was rhetorical. He surges forward, pushing the breath you’d been holding in out, heating up the bed with the blaze of your desire. Desperate for anything and tired of being edged, you fist the white cotton in front of you, eyes shutting to cloak the dull colours of the hotel as his thrusts slowed to a drag.
Yoongi’s warm breath is on your skin, followed by the subtle scrape of his teeth on your shoulder blade. You tremble from the sharp feeling, whimpering as he nipped then laved over the marks with a swipe of his tongue. You feel him lean forward and moan at the angle, your pussy clamping around his length as he buried himself to the hilt. His open mouth sets on a space on your back, his deep voice turning into a heavy grunt as your legs continued to shake, pussy clenching over his length in an effort to keep him inside, lower back aching and arched, mindlessly fucking his cock as he stilled.
“Ahn, fuck,” you whimpered, knees sliding apart, sweat causing your skin to slip over his, ignoring the clumsy rhythm of your hips as you fucked yourself on his cock in an attempt to catch your release.
That’s when he forces you upright, a breathy moan escaping past your lips while his hand presses lightly over your throat. Through the haze of your vision, you see what’s immediately ahead. The hotel decor, which took up much of the wall, showcased a bright and sunny scene.
Clear skies. 72 degrees. Prepare for landing.
Inoffensive words in neat, legible font, complete with a backdrop of a beach occupied by scattered crowds.
Hardly the best view, given your current situation.
Yoongi cants his hips, incites shallow thrusts that had you breathing out lowly through your nose, practically vibrating. Then, you feel his hand creep up, long fingers articulating themselves until something presses against your bottom lip. Slick with your shared spit, he continues to prod the curved pad of his thumb, rubbing softly, sensitising your lips. You open your mouth, ignoring the angular chain of the bracelet he had trouble taking off, letting it emboss your chin. He inhales sharply as you wiped your tongue over the digit, suckling slightly, as much as you were allowed.
“What do you want, hm?”
It’s whispered so softly, his lips by the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly. You make an impatient noise, you wanted to see him, leaning your head back, away from his hand.
“W-wanna see you,” you breathed, almost falling forward if not for his arm strapped around your middle.
Gently, Yoongi pulls away and you slump forward, weak arms pushing so you could lay on your back, the backs of your thighs held down by his capable hands. You take a moment to appreciate him.
Dewy skin flushed in rose, broad shoulders, strong arms, and a faint smattering of dark hair that trailed down his abdomen. His hair was longer and a light russet, falling over his brow in soft tufts. Silver hoops and dark brown eyes, handsome as ever. He took the image of you in, a subtle, upward tug from the corner of his lip appearing despite his breathing being exaggerated, his hard cock glimmers from your shared arousal.
As soon as he lowered himself, your legs widen, allowing him to nestle himself in between. His hand cradles your face, the cold metal chain on his wrist made warm from your skin, your lips closing over his thumb in a slow suck. The feel of his cock slipping inside you prompted a moan, mouth opening even more, your eyes never once wavering from his as you grasped his wrist. He matches the thrust of his thumb with that of his cock, pressing on your tongue, coating it with your spit as your eyes flutter close.
“Ahssss,” he hissed, you sighed, your tongue swiping along the digit in a slick drag. He thrusts especially deep, your legs raising to accommodate.
You whined, a silent signal for more.
Just a little more.
And he understands, breath hitching as he pushed his thumb until you could feel it near the back of your throat, the cold silver of his bracelet thudding against your chin, your nails digging on the delicate skin of the inside of his forearm. Your throat closes up on instinct, eyes watering suddenly. After a few more shallow thrusts, the pad making a dent on your tongue, he slips it out, caressing your bottom lip, smearing spit over it.
“Good?” He asked, albeit through gritted teeth as you jerked from how he began to thrust more forcefully in your pussy, the gush of wetness of your folds easing the friction.
“Mnh, yeah,” you said, breathless.
And he sinks his cock further, deeper, deeper till you gripped his biceps, exchanging stifled moans, your nails coming down harder due to the stretch and the new angle. He takes your jaw in a solid grip, and you look straight into his eyes while he bottomed out again, fucking you in a steady, unwavering rhythm. The air grew hotter, sweat erupting from the relentless rocking of your bodies, the way his hard planes rubbed against your clit, his cock thrusting inside you in slow, deep strokes.
“Ah, fuck,” you moaned, your hand reaching up to tangle in those copper strands, pulling towards you, eradicating any distance despite it being cramped. Yoongi kisses you with fervour until you’re both panting in each other’s mouths, hurtling towards that peak. Sweat coats your skin, your hair sticks to your forehead, your temples, he moans in your mouth as your pussy pulsed over his cock, the audible schlickat each retreat making you tremble. You open your eyes, press your head back onto the firm mattress, watch as his jaw goes slack, his gaze boring into yours, brown pools alight with hunger as he fucked you harder in sloppy, uncoordinated thrusts.
“Ssssah,” he rasped, followed by a low moan, his features contracting in effort as you tipped your hips down, entire body tightening. At a particularly harsh thrust, you cried out, slapping your hand against his lower stomach, legs trying to snap shut, unable to comprehend the surge in pleasure each time his cock shoved itself inside your pussy. He leans forward, tugs your bottom lip with his teeth, your name in his deep voice, russet strands and pale skin in your vision.
“Y-yoongi, fuck… ah,shit,” you babbled, arching up, trying to cross your legs over his back, failing miserably. He winds a hand back, circles it over your calf, skating his broad palm down till it slots at the back of your knee, spreading you so wide that you gasped, shuddering as he ground his hips in a tight circle.
“Hgnh,fuck!”
He hummed, ending in a low growl as your pussy contracted around his cock, as tight and as wet as ever, so much so that he slipped out. Your hand shoots forward, heart in an erratic rhythm as you guided him back in your wet heat, gasping into the kiss as he groaned.
“Fuck, ah, fuck,” he grunted, the wet sound of skin slapping against skin, his cock piercing your velvet walls, mind clouding over until the only sound you register is the carnal gasp of your name on his lips.
“Yoongi,” you moaned, barely able to move while held down, but you wind your arms around his neck, catch the lobe of his ear, teeth clashing against the silver metal hoop.
“Fuck -“
You feel another gush of wetness spill past your folds, gooey slick that renders everything pliant, easing the stretch of his cock inside you. Yoongi just knew where to touch you and tease you, he knew how his deep voice affected you and he used all of this to render you into a pleasure-riddle stupor, clawing at him as you approached that blinding peak. You clenched around him, managing a choked moan through gritted teeth as you soared, encouraged by his praise, So good for me, so fucking tight, taking all of me, ah fuck.
And you were sure that he felt it, the way your pussy pulsed over him, closer and closer that you tighten your grip over him, tits crushed against his firm chest, his hand gripping your thigh so hard, that your limbs felt static.
“Ahshit, don’t stop,” you whimpered, loud enough to register that your words were slurred. His hips go faster, circling at the instroke. Your vision sparks, your moans muffled against his skin, shivering at the weight of him while he cups your ass to gain momentum, fucking into you in forceful thrusts until you were practically sobbing from the sheer pleasure of it all. He clutches at the flesh of your ass, finger digging and denting skin, leaving you no choice but to take it, drunk on ecstasy. He licks a flithy stripe from your jaw, his tongue slipping your mouth in a swift movement, wet lips on your own, his hand clasping your chin as he sucked your tongue.
“Mmpfh -“
When he parts from you, his skin is flushed, a light sheen of sweat trails over his pale skin, bottom lip curled only to unfurl to bare his teeth.
“Want to get filled up?” He panted, tongue resting at the corner of his mouth, his hips moving but not fast enough, fucking his cock into your pussy before withdrawing it to the tip, nudging the stiff nub of your clit.
“Hgnh, Yoongi, yes, yes,” you begged, pushing towards him, letting out a frustrated moan until he pitches forward, smacking his hard muscles against yours.
Something catches at your gut, like hot coals that exploded, searing your veins. Barely coherent, you make a grab for him, breath fanning against the crook of his neck, fingers yanking at the copper strands near the nape, shaking from the roughened thrusts. The subtle clinkof his jewellery, the way he tugs at your hair at the root, you gasp into his mouth, seeing fragments of his rosy skin, russet strands, hear the sound of his low grunt as you came in the messiest way, an almost endless, sticky drip that coated his cock in a plentiful gush, words escaping in the same manner as your thoughts dissolved. Yoongi let out a loud moan, rutting his hips in shallow, purposeful thrusts as you whimpered, searching for him, for a soft kiss, which he gave, grabbing the flesh of your thighs, kneading it as he hummed.
“Shit,” you said, breathless, melting in his arms as he set a steady pace again, this time parting from you and grasping your hips, lifting them from the bed. Your breath hitched as he dragged you back on his cock, your throbbing pussy still sensitive against any immediate impact but Yoongi was relentless. You arch up, throwing your head back and playing with your nipples, cupping your tits in a pathetic knead, anything to stay in your orgasm, legs just about flailing as he fucked you, his muscles strained, the lines on his abdomen defined, jaw set as his grunts pierced the sex-stained air. He lifts you high enough that what’s left touching the bed is your shoulder blades, your back in a pronounced curve, thighs ending in a fleshy smack each time he filled you to the hilt.
“Ah…ah,” you cried out, his broad palms squeezing your flesh, skin thudding against skin, nasty, wet sounds matching the gooey drip where you connected. Through the flutter of your lashes, you see the copper strands of hair stuck to his temples, the twitch in his features as you were both stripped back to the basest of desires.
As strange as it was at first to reconcile the fact that someone as warm, gentle, and trustworthy as Yoongi could become someone as carnal as the person he was in this moment, it wasn’t lost on you that he always had this simmering intensity. Sometimes, the realisation sprang up on you without much warning, like when you would brush past and he’d clasp your wrist in a possessive grip. Or when he would flip you over, pressing you up against the wall or any other flat surface, up till you were on your tip toes with your calves straining, or bent over in an obscene angle. The effect was the same: you were putty in his hands, body trembling from the harsh, deep stroke of his cock inside you.
“Ah…ssss,ah,” he pants, alternating it with sharp hisses as your pussy tightened around him intermittently. You feel another wave coming, another reverberation of acute pressure, already past the point of containment as you sense a sound building in his chest. After a few, rough thrusts, you come apart again, wailing uncontrollably, sticky hot gush over his pulsing cock, sweat intermingling with arousal, the smack of your hand against his thigh ringing as a sharp crack in the air. You whined, your swollen clit catching the base of his cock, helpless as Yoongi carried on, so you cupped your tits, pinching your nipples to maximise the sparks that burst everywhere, legs aching even if you were solely being held up by his sheer strength.
“Gonna cum,” he grunts, his fingers sinking over your flesh, nails impressing grooves for grip.
“I-inside,” you gasped, “please.”
And his jaw juts out in order for that final, ragged breath, a sudden burst of sound, pushing you onto the bed as your hips locked. Your moan comes out choked, watching Yoongi as he came, a long, drawn out ah,trembling in the delivery as he fell apart in acute, desperate relief. Hot spurts of his cum fill you up while pinned to the bed, immobilised for him, whimpering as he rode it out, thrusting his cock in and pushing his cum out, having it drip down your ass, staining the sheets.
You shiver as Yoongi kisses the side of your face as your pussy convulsed greedily, aided by the rapid contraction of your inner muscles, mind high and satiated. He props himself up and you’re rewarded with the image of a deep rose flush high on his cheeks, lips shiny with saliva, eyes shockingly dark yet glazed over, bright russet hair matted and messy.
“‘Mmh, Yoongi,” you panted, he pushes your hair away from your face, groaning as you shivered, the tremor making its way all the way down.
“Mh?”
You don’t even know why you said his name, the objective of that inquiry lost in the soft glaze of his eyes and the proximity you shared in the afterglow.
“‘Mm fuck,” you whispered, tucking your head under his chin, aware of the mess between your thighs. He reaches down, thumbing your clit lazily, spurring that whine that was waiting at the back of your throat. His cock twitches suddenly, and he dips his forehead over yours, a moan filtering past his lips, hips stuttering up and into you before stilling once more, rivulets of cum dripping lewdly onto the sheets.
You stay like that for a while, catching your breath at the comedown, your pussy slowing in its flex, calming in a drowsy pulse. Yoongi kisses you, catching the spool of your thoughts, chapped yet soft lips, so him, so Yoongi.You do so until you’re practically exchanging air, panting against each other once more.
Reality settles back in, the fuzzy details of the room come back in view. The shimmering expanse of Los Angeles outside with its surrounding buildings on the flat plane. The linen set in the velvet curtains hints at the square windows glowing neon white against the pitch black night.
“Mm, good,” you murmured after a while, your eyelids heavy, going lax on the firm mattress.
“Good,” Yoongi echoed, nudging his nose against yours, gingerly pulling out. You shivered, blinking up at him as he does his best to clean you both, his hair appearing auburn in the dim light, his features blissed out, all kinds of soft. You lean close, kissing his nose.
“Missed you,” you yawned, after things settled and you’re back in his arms.
“Was gone for three hours at most,” he whispered, though there was a distinct tone in his voice, indicative of the comfortable warmth you both shared. An unspoken reassurance that despite Yoongi being at the world’s stage, you can have this piece of him that no one else did, and that he let you. Being apart seemed more palpable these days, more apparent in the prospect of life restarting again. You nuzzle yourself against him, preceding to run your touch along his arm, searching for his hand beneath the sheets. Once your fingers are slotted together, your palms meet in an even pressure.
“Are you hungry? We can order some room service -”
“Later. We can sleep for now,” you said, squeezing his hand as he presses a kiss to your hair.
Yoongi assents, comfortable in the silence with you, then -
“Love you.”
You grinned, “love you too.”
He rubs his nose against yours, sappy as he is, his grin is as wide as the one on your face.
Summary: attending an award show with your husband is fun and all until the baby in your belly starts squeezing your bladder and you need to pee in the middle of an interview
Genre: fluff, fluff and fluff!
Warnings: a little cursing because you need to pee and people are clicking photos, you’re 7 and a half month pregnant and yoongi’s buff and so in love with you. Husband yoongi is a big warning itself.
A/n: hello hello I’m not dead
Author’s pov:
“And the song of the year award goes to…” you looked at the host with big eyes all the while holding your husband yoongi’s hand tightly and his other hand which was holding you, squeezed your shoulder gently out of nervousness “Min yoongi! Or we can say producer suga!” You squealed and got up immediately, well atleast tried to do so but it was a little hard with your belly in the way but yoongi held you up and pressed his lips on yours in a deep kiss causing you to blush and giggle against his lips as the camera zoomed in on both of you.
Pulling back he leaned his head against yours, smiling widely that matched your bright smile and you whispered “I’m so proud of you” he nodded closing his eyes and kissed your forehead before pulling back and you smiled as the other members also pulled him in a group hug before he walked up to the stag while buttoning his suit jacket. You sat back on your seat with a little help from jimin and smiled staring at your husband who was emitting a powerful and confident aura while standing on the stage.
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Yoongi smiled pulling you close to him with his strong arm wrapped around your waist and caressing your belly softly and his other hand holding the award. You smiled leaning against his shoulder feeling a little dizzy with so many cameras flashing but with his arm wrapped around you tightly, it was a little better. Placing a soft hand on your belly you smiled when a female photographer complemented you and bowed a little while yoongi smirked kissing the side of your head.
As yoongi was answering the questions by the interviewers, your smiled flattered a little feeling the sudden strong urge to pee. You’ve been holding it quite well the whole night because you don’t like going to public bathrooms but now it seemed like the baby was having none of it and started squeezing the life out of your bladder. You didn’t even drink that much just so you wouldn’t have to pee but the baby loves teasing you and decided that it was the right time to sit on your bladder.
As much as you tried to control it, a squeak almost left your lips when a sudden cramp hit you and the urge grew stronger so tugging his suit jacket you forced a smile with all the cameras clicking when he turned his head to face you with a soft smile which immediately disappeared when he noticed the look on your face “what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” He mumbled looking at you worriedly and you shaked your head squeezing his hand which was on your belly “i need to pee” you whispered and his eyes widened slightly before he cursed under his breath “fuck is it urgent?” He mumbled rubbing your side gently and you nodded hastily “very. Please” you whispered with pleading eyes and yoongi kissed your forehead nodding.
He looked at the bodyguard besides him and whispered something to which the bodyguard nodded and said something in his ear piece and a second later you saw all the bodyguards around you form a circle to guide you both out of the ocean of reporters who immediately started rushing and following you both . Yoongi covered you with his body and held you tightly all the while until you both reached your car and he helped you sit inside before sitting too. “Yoongi fast” you whined squeezing your legs tightly and he nodded looking at you apologetically “let’s go. Drive fast but carefully” he told the driver who nodded and started the car.
During the whole ride you were squeezing the life out of yoongi’s hand who groaned slightly but still let you do anything you want and you almost kicked the door open when the driver pulled up at your house and got off before waddling towards the front door as fast as you can with yoongi running behind you. Punching in the pin when the finger print was taking too long, you almost stumbled while trying to run on the smooth tiles with your heels on. Crouching down, he took your platform heels off quickly when you tried to run to the bathroom with them and you placed your hand on his head to support yourself whining “yoongi hurry up! i can’t hold it anymore” “okay okay there you go. Don’t run!” He said when you took off holding your belly and slammed the bathroom door shut.
He chuckled shaking his head and ruffled his already ruffled hair and stood up hearing you babbling incoherent words of relief and took out one of his t shirt for you to wear. A few moments later You came out of the bathroom with a satisfied smile while rubbing your belly to see him shirtless and waddled towards him to burry your face in his hard chest causing him to chuckle fondly and hold you tightly. “Are you feeling good?” He mumbled pressing kisses on your head and you nodded sighing in relief as he unzipped your tight dress “so good” you whispered kissing his neck. Humming he took your dress off completely and unclipped your bra causing you to shiver slightly while he helped you wear his shirt.
You hugged him again causing him to laugh and you kissed him saying “you did so great. We are so proud of you” he hummed holding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss “really?” “Yes” “thank you baby” you giggled and bite his bottom lip gently while he made you sit on the bed. He groaned saying “don’t get me started babygirl. I won’t be able to control myself later” you pouted but still nodded while he smirked went to get your makeup wipes. Coming back he crouched down and cleaned your face gently while you smiled when the baby kicked. Throwing the dirty wipes he came back and helped you lay down gently before laying down besides you and pulled you close to him.
You sighed happily and buried your face in his neck mumbling “tell your kids not to squeeze my bladder when they are so many people around us” his chest rumbled with a deep chuckle and he nodded rubbing your stomach gently “I’ll tell them tomorrow when they wake up. Now go to sleep babygirl” your eyes were closed and soft snores were coming out when he looked at you causing him to smile to himself. He kissed your belly before kissing your head and closed his eyes holding his world close to him.
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The next day’s headline was a photo of you and yoongi whispering to each other with a Caption of “the sweetest couple of all the time” with everyone thinking that you both were smiling and whispering your love but only you and yoongi knows what you were actually talking out.
“O-oh yoongi!” You whined as his pace increased and his cock brushed against that sweet spot causing your eyes to roll back. Yoongi growled hearing you moaning and screaming his name and grunted “fuck babygirl you take me so well, my good little girl” and wrapped his lips around your perky and hardened nipple causing you to whimper as your fingers played with his hair “y-yours” he groaned when you clenched around him tightly and smashed his lips on yours to pull you in a rough kiss which had you gasping for air as he sucked and bite your bottom lip until it was red and swollen “i-i love you yoongi ” you cried out as another wave of pleasure hit your body and he pounded inside you harder with his forehead leaned against yours as he panted and moaned your name “fuck i love you too babygirl, i love you so fucking much” he groaned and you leaned up slightly to kiss him but your attention was diverted when you suddenly heard a phone, or specifically his phone ringing “y-yoongi-” you tried to tell him but he cursed and placed his lips on yours in a passionate kiss with his hand going down in between your bodies to rub your clit which had you moaning his name loudly. As much as you tried to ignore the continues ringing, it didn’t stop budging at the back of your mind. so you pulled back panting and whimpered out “y-your phone oh- yoongi your p-phone” kissing your forehead softly, which was completely different from the way he was pounding inside you, he grunted “ doesn’t matter. Ignore it and look at me kitten” you whimpered at his dominating voice and looked at him with dazed eyes with your ckeeks flushed whispering “I-I’m close” gripping your hips tightly he groaned “i know baby, come for me” against your ear you gasped with your mouth hanging open and a scream of his name escaped your lips as your second orgasm washed over you with your hands grippingjis biceps tightly. A deep growl left his lips seeing you milking his cock with his name leaving your lips like a chant and he rubbed harsh circles on your clit to ride you out of your orgasm groaning feeling his own high approaching “fuck-where do you want me baby” “i-inside me” you whimpered laying on the bed boneless as he groaned hearing your words. He breathed harshly and small groans of your name spilled from his lips as he came right after you and you whimpered feeling his thick load of cum filling you up to the brim. Breathing heavily as his balls completely emptied he collapsed besides you and pulled you closer and you snuggled in his chest yawning and wrapped your arms around his torso. He chuckled fondly mumbling “i love you babygirl ” as you nestled against him comfortably and his arms around you tighten when you whispered “i love you yoon” kissing your head he groaned when the moment was interrupted by his phone ringing again “fucking assholes” you giggled softly as he mumbled profanities and said “it might be important, you should pick it up” already closing your eyes “not more important than you” he murmured kissing your neck and took his phone switching it off without seeing the missed calls and throwed it behind him on the bed. Sighing tiredly he kissed your head as soft snores and little puff of air left your lips and his eyes fluttered shut when you snuggled in his neck causing him to hold you protectively.
Of course he would make sure that people won’t fuck with his money anymore but that can wait for tomorrow. Tonight was just about you, his beautiful girlfriend . His whole world.
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■ summary: you’re theirs. And they won’t ever allow anyone to take or hurt what belongs to them.
■ Genre: fluff, angst
■ warning: blood, gun, mentions of murder, reader almost gets kidnapped, yoongi’s a gang leader, a few kisses here and there, he loves grabbing your butt, established relationship, yoongi has an alter ego, reader almost gets killed too, possessive yoongi and his alter ego, implied smut.
Author’s pov
You giggled as holly licked your face while you were tying his leash,well atleast you were trying to do so because the large dog kept trying to sit on your lap not understanding that he is too big to do that. The brown rottweiler looked at you happily while wagging his tail as you were successfully able to put his leash on and patted his head huffing as he licked your hand too. “You got me covered in your drool holly” you said putting on your shoes before wiping your face with wet wipes and looked at him again “okay let’s go” you mumbled taking his leash and your little bag which contained your phone and wallet and some treats for your baby. Locking the door you started walking towards your destination which was your boyfriend’s office. You know you shouldn’t be walking there because it would be much safer if you took your car but today you decided to give the poor driver a day off and besides just as yoongi had told you to take holly with you everywhere, you were doing so.
“It’s a nice day for a walk isn’t it?” You cooed to the dog softly as he walked besides you on alert only looking at you for a moment before looking at his surroundings again. Yoongi had brought him for you when he found himself falling in love with you. He never thought that would be getting in a serious relationship when he started seeing you. He thought that it’s just a distraction and it will be over soon but he found himself falling for you harder when you accepted both him and his alter ego. Never did he dared to dream that you will accept him for who he was. He didn’t wanted to get his hopes high and get hurt later on. But you proved him wrong when you just hugged him tightly in your warm embrace and whispered “i will always love you yoongi. No matter what. And if i love you then I’ll learn to love your other half too” he remembers how his eyes got misty and his voice thick with emotions as he hugged you back tightly. That was the first time you both said ‘i love you’.Since that day, both him, and his alter ego did everything in their power to keep you safe. He can say that his alter ego is possessive of you just like he is and they both loves you more than anything even though it took a little time for his alter ego to open up with you because he has always found it hard to trust anyone besides yoongi. But eventually, you managed to coax him out of his shell with your love. And about holly, well he was supposed to be a strong guard dog and he is, but you pamper him all day and make him wear different colorful clothes. He bets even holly must be embarrassed to walk down the street in a pink onesie.
You smiled looking at a little girl laughing while running in the park but soon your attention was taken by holly who suddenly stopped and looked back from where you came from with his tail standing straight in alert “hey what’s wrong holly?” You asked looking behind you aswell but you were met with nothing other than a few people walking but it wasn’t anything suspicious. Maybe holly is just paranoid because he has always been protective of you. “It’s nothing let’s go” you said lightly tugging on his leash but your eyebrows furrowed when he didn’t budge instead growled lowly which scared a couple who were walking past you. You gave them an apologetic smile and bowed slightly then looked at holly again who was still trying to go there but you stood in front of him and snapped your fingers gaining his attention “okay holly now stop. There’s no one there. C'mon” you said started to walk ahead and holly reluctantly followed behind you. As you both walked, you frowned noticing holly’s attention was still behind you both but you shrugged it off and smiled as you reached your destination.
Entering inside the building with holly on your tail you pushed the elevator’s button and shifted your weight from one leg to another while waiting for the elevator. “Y/n?” Hearing a familiar voice you looked to your right and a smile creeped on your face when you saw your boyfriend’s trusted man and bestfriend Namjoom standing there. But your smile dropped slightly when you saw his expression. He looked worried. “Hey joon” Namjoon looked down at you with a small smile and patted your back before stroking holly’s head “hey y/n. What’re you doing here?” “Nothing just came to meet yoongi” you smiled seeing holly licking namjoon’s hand as the elevator door opened. He suddenly looked a little hesitant making you worried “what’s wrong? Is yoongi alright? ” you asked immediately thinking of the worst scenario but joon was quick to calm you as he shaked his head and mumbled “don’t worry he’s fine. He’s just a little mad and he’s probably not yoongi right now but I’m not sure because he kicked me out” you relaxed and nodded starting to get in the elevator but namjoon stopped you “wait. Let me take holly with me.” You nodded giving him holly’s leash and crouched down to smack a kiss on the dog’s head “I’ll be back soon sweetie” you whispered smiling softly and waved at namjoon who nodded and watched as the door closed.
You signed and leaned against the cold wall watching the numbers changing to higher ones. What would have made him so angry for his alter ego to come out? And why didn’t he called you? He usually calls you whenever he gets too much stressed. You were snapped back to reality as the doors opened and you walked out bowing towards some men who bowed towards you. Everyone in this building knows you as their boss’s girlfriend so it’s no secret that they all respect you. Reaching outside his office you knocked on the door softly not hearing any reply which caused you to sigh so you knocked a little harder. A smile reaching your face when you heard his deep voice “stop bothering me namjoon amd piss off” “it’s me” you said softly and a moment later, the door was ripped open only for a second to pull you in before it was slammed shut and you were pinned against the door with his lips on yours and his hands gripping your hips tightly. You whispered his name against his lips, cupping his face and caressed his cheek softly as your lips moved against his smoothly “agust” He kissed you harder for a second before pulling back breathing heavily and leaned his head against yours “what are you doing here? Did you came alone?” Pushing the hair falling on his forehead back you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his forehead feeling him sighing tiredly and relaxing under your touch “no i didn’t came alone. Holly is with joon and i just wanted to see you. Am i disturbing you?” You asked looking at him with big eyes and he smirked squeezing your butt earning a soft giggle from you . Wrapping his arms around your waist he hoisted you up in the air effortlessly causing you to wrap your legs around his waist and he started walked towards his desk all the while you were peppering his face with kisses.
Sitting on his chair with you on his lap you caressed his hair as he leaned back looking at you with soft eyes that contained his love for you. “No you aren’t. Needed you” he breathed out as you lightly touched the scar doing under his right eye. “What happened?” You whispered shivering slightly because of the low temperature in the room and he shaked his head increasing the temperature and pulling you closer “nothing kitten” he mumbled pulling you closer with the back of your neck and crushed his lips on yours making you whimper gently. His tongue immediately dominated yours and you supported yourself by placing your hands on his chest and he groaned sucking your bottom lip before biting the supple flesh. Carding your fingers through his soft hair he growled when you tugged them lightly and pulled you impossibly closer with his hand going inside your oversized hoodie caressing your bare skin. You gasped and whimpered his name softly as he relieved all the stress that has built up. “Are you okay?” You gasped out as he kissed you roughly and growled running his tattooed hand over your back “missed you” he murmured pulling back breathing heavily and you leaned against his chest trying to catch some breath “is yoongi okay?” You whispered looking at him with worried eyes. Worried for both him and his other half which caused his eyes to go soft “yes babygirl we’re fine. Just some petty fuckers trying to take what’s ours” you looked at him with confusion as he placed his suit around you noticing the goosebumps on your arms “what do you mean?” He shaked his head kissing your forehead “don’t think about it.” “Agust” he sighed and looked at you with soft eyes and you perked up realising yoongi was back “yoongi?” He hummed pulling you close when he felt you sliding down and wrapped his arms around your waist “what was agust talking about?” You asked with narrowed eyes and he sighed mumbling “that idiot” “tell me” you whined squeezing his cheeks causing him to groan “is everything okay?” “Yes baby everything is fine. You know we will never let anything happen to you right?” You nodded whispering “ofcourse i know” with confusion still present in your eyes . Yoongi’s jaw clenched and he rasped out “ jungkook found out that someone has been following you since a few days” you gasped and his arms around you tighten “what” yoongi kissed your neck and held you close in his protective embrace “some shitheads are trying to take me down” he scoffed giving your butt a gentle squeeze before looking at you with sharp eyes “i will find them and make them regret their whole life” the shiver that ran down your spine wasn’t because of cold but because of the coldness in his eyes and tone.
Yoongi was always the calm one in situations like this and agust is the rough one but when it comes to you, they both become ruthless gang leaders who won’t ever hesitate to kill anyone who dares to hurt you. “Let’s go home” you whispered and he nodded kissing your head as you stood up from his lap. Standing up you gave him his suit jacket back which he kept in one hand and wrapped his free arm around your shoulder and you both walked out of the room. Walking towards the elevator you looked up at him see him looking ahead with a distant look in his eyes. You know that even though he is physically with you, his mind is somewhere else and it won’t calm down until they catch the person. So squeezing his arm you smiled softly when he looked down at you and he smiled when you said “everything will be fine” he nodded scratching the scar under his eye as you both stepped in the elevator and he pressed the button of the ground floor. You exhaled softly and buried your face in his chest as his arm around your shoulder tighten and he pressed a kiss on your head before breathing out “i love you baby” you smiled whispering “i love you too” in his chest. You pulled away slightly when the elevator door opened and you both walked out but your eyes widened and you suddenly stopped causing yoongi to stop too and look at you slightly alarmed “what’s wrong? ” he asked looking around with his hand already going back towards his gun which was safely tucked in his belt. “I forgot holly!” You exclaimed with wide eyes causing him to sigh “I’ll be right back!” You said with a small laugh and ran back towards the elevator while yoongi shaked his head with a small smile on his face as he heard hoseok laughing in the background.
You hummed softly as you reached the floor of namjoon’s office not noticing a man following behind you who was also in the elevator with you. While you were walking towards joon’s office yoongi glanced at his watch and looked back towards the elevator as a few men working under him bowed towards him. “Hyung?” Yoongi looked back surprised to see namjoon standing behind him with holly besides him who growled happily and went towards yoongi who hummed and chuckled as the happy dog sat besides him and he caressed the dog’s head “you’re leaving early? Y/n went to your office” mumbled yoongi taking his phone out to call you while namjoon nodded “I’ve some work to take care of so i was thinking of asking jungkook to look after holly but i saw you here” yoongi didn’t replied instead waited for you to pick up the call but you never did making yoongi frown. “Maybe it’s in her bag” he murmured sighing “don’t worry she will come back soon besides there’s no one on that floor” yoongi hummed questioning and namjoon nodded “i was the last one there”
“Oh?” You mumbled seeing the lights in namjoon’s office off and only then you noticed that you didn’t saw anyone on your way here. You shrugged thinking he must be with jin or Taehyung and turned around to go back to yoongi but you jumped and a scream almost left your mouth when you saw an unknown man standing right in front of you. You didn’t even heard his footsteps. Placing a hand on your chest you sighed and bowed slightly towards the man before walking past him. He must be one of yoongi’s men. Maybe he also came to find namjoon. Soon a frown settled on your lips when you realized the man was still following you and turned your head slightly and sure enough he was staring straight at you. Something about His gaze made you so uncomfortable that a shiver ran down your spin. You unknowingly speeded your steps and your throat tightened when you heard the man speeding behind you too. Why did namjoon’s office has to be so far from the elevator? A gasp escaped your lips when the unknown man caught up with you and grabbed your wrist harshly causing you to look at him with fear in your eyes. “W-what are doing?! Let me go!” You screamed trying to pull your hand away but his grip only tightened causing you to whimper in pain. You looked around and tears filled your eyes when you realized you were alone with this man and he smirked before raising his hand to hold your arm but before he could, you hastily took out the pepper spray from your bag and sprayed it in his eyes causing him to scream and let you go “you fucking bitch” you whimpered hearing his gruff voice and your feet took off with a thought.
Running towards the elevator as fast as you can , a sob escaped your lips when you heard him running behind you and quickly took your phone out. A shaky breath left your mouth as you saw yoongi’s missed call and immediately called him. You gasped as a ring went by before his deep voice was heard “y/n? Baby namjoon’s here-” “yoongi!” You sobbed hearing him getting closer and yoongi immediately looked alert as fear set inside him “y/n? Hey baby what’s wrong?! Y/n?!” Yoongi growled out the last words as you screamed when the man grabbed your hair tightly and turned your around causing the phone to slip out of your hand and fall on the ground “yoongi!” A scream of his name left your lips when the man raised his hand and slapped you hard causing you to fall on the floor harshly while yoongi was already running “hey! Who the fuck is there?! Y/n?! Don’t fucking touch her dammit” yoongi growled and took the stairs when the elevator took too long and ran up the stairs feeling anger coursing through his body as he heard you crying and screaming for help “you’ll regret touching her when i get my hands on you” you faintly heard his voice from afar because of the ringing in your head and whimpered as the man grabbed your collar and harshly made you stand up. Your eyes widened when the man pinned you to the wall and wrapped his hand around your neck squeezing it tightly which had you gasping for air as your hands tried to push him away. He groaned when your nails scratched his hand and squeezed your throat tighter causing you to close your eyes as your oxygen got cut off and your hands fell limply to your side.
And just as you thought that you’re going to die here, the man was suddenly thrown off of you and you fell on the floor wheezing and gasping for air. You placed a hand on your head feeling dizzy and tried your best to look towards the source of voice “yoongi! Stop!” You heard jin’s voice but you couldn’t open your eyes as leaned against the floor feeling tears flowing down your face as you heard holly barking. While yoongi’s voice changed to a more rough one as he continued throwing punches at the man laying below him “you fucking son of a bitch how dare you touch my fucking woman” yoongi threw a harsh punch on the man’s face and you swear you heard a cracking noise causing you to whimper softly as your vision slowly started coming back and you could make out a blurred sight of jungkook and hoseok trying to stop yoongi who was beating the man who almost killed you harshly. Another string of curse words left yoongi’s lips and you realized that he wasn’t yoongi right now . “Agust” you managed to croak out as your hand reached for him and his head snapped towards you.
He was on his feet in a second and rushed towards you. You sobbed softly as his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace and leaned against his chest while his jaw was still tight and his eyes were holding so much anger. When yoongi reached where you were and saw that man choking you, he swear something inside him snapped and he saw red as his alter ego forced his way out and ran towards you. If you haven’t called him right now, then the man would have been dead. You gasped and buried your face in his chest and his arms around you tighten. More anger filling inside him when he saw a trail of blood on your lower lip. Cupping your face gently he made you look at him and you cried shaking in his arms “I’m here now. Everything’s okay. You’re okay” he whispered pressing his forehead against you and took you in his arms . His one arm wrapped under your knees and under one held your waist and he stood up holding you bridal style while you laid your head on his chest, your hand gripping his shirt tightly. Looking at namjoon he rasped out “i don’t want any of those shit heads leaving this damn building. They’ll will regret setting a foot here” Namjoon nodded and yoongi started walking ahead with holly following you both. Reaching home he placed you on the bed and your heart tugged tightly when holly whined seeing you hurt. You cooed and caressed his face to reassure him that you’re fine and flinched slightly when yoongi caressed your cheek which had already formed red causing him to clench his jaw. Somewhere in between the ride home, yoongi came back making you worried that agust might be upset but yoongi reassured you that he is fine. He was too angry at that time and he didn’t want you to see him in his scariest form. And the same went with yoongi. He too never want you to see him as a ruthless gang leader. And that’s why he tried to calm down because he didn’t want to scare you more.
After giving you a warm bath ,he helped you wear his hoodie with a pair of your underwear and carried you back to bed before laying down besides you. He unbuttoned his shirt until his sharp torso was on view and cradled your body close to him. You sighed shakily amd buried your face in his chest. He didn’t spoke anything since you both arrived home and that made you more nervous “yoongi?” He hummed kissing your head and you whispered out “s-someone was following me” pulling back slightly yoongi looked at with furrowed eyebrows “what?” You gulped nervously and avoided eye contact as you said “w-when i was coming to meet you, someone was following me and holly sensed it but at that time i-i thought he was just paranoid” taking a harsh breath yoongi stood up and took his gun from the side table causing you to gasp and stand up too “why the fuck didn’t you told me that before?!” He growled out and and started walking towards the door “I’ll fucking kill every single one of them” “no yoongi please stop” you pleaded rushing in front of him and placing your hands on his chest. His hands found there way on your hips , gripping then tightly as he leaned his head against yours “please stop” you whispered with your eyes closed and placed your hand on his heart feeling it pounding “don’t…don’t ever hide anything from me” he breathed out and you nodded as a tear left your eyes which he wiped immediately. He thinks he knows who has been tailing you but he wasn’t sure and that’s why he didn’t went and killed all of them. But right now that didn’t mattered when you looked so scared and nervous. Pulling you closer he pressed his lips on yours in a gentle but passionate kiss as he poured all of his love in it. Throwing the gun somewhere on the floor he picked you up making you wrap your legs around his waist and his one hand held your thigh with the other one on your back. Laying you on the bed gently he kissed you slowly and softly and a soft growl left his lips that had you whimpering his name. As your lips moved smoothly against each other, he whispered “we love you so fucking much babygirl ” you wrapped your arms around his neck whispering “i love you both. So so much”
As you both spent a night embracing each other fully, he showed you how you meant to them . He showed you that they would do anything and everything for you. As your naked form slept peacefully in his arms, his phone vibrated indicating of a message. Yoongi smirked switching his phone off and held you just a little tighter. The smirk turning into a soft smile when you snuggled closer into him and he kissed your bare shoulder softly before falling asleep as well.
Namjoon: lee and his gang are dead
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◇Summary: you are sleepy and yoongi is busy. And you need to cuddle while sleeping so work can wait when it comes to you.
◇Genre: fluff,fluff and more fluff!
◇Warnings: loads of cuteness because y/n is a cutie patootie which can melt yoongi’s cold . Implied smut just some indirect mention.
A/n : hello hello! This idea was given by my wifey @teluki which inspired me to write this cute little one shot!
Author’s pov
You smiled softly against his chest as his large hand ran up and down your back in hopes of lulling you to sleep. You sighed and gripped his thin white t shirt, relaxing in his strong embrace. Yoongi kissed your head softly continuing caressing your back as you snuggled into his body. You have the habit of cuddling while sleeping. Before you met yoongi, you used to hold your big teddy bear in your sleep because you can’t sleep without holding something. But after yoongi came in your life, the teddy bear was long forgotten because yoongi was really endeared when you told him about this habit at the beginning of your dating and since then he would hold you tightly every time you slept. Yoongi finds this habit of yours absolutely adorable and even after 4 years of dating and 1 and half year of marriage you still sleep in his arms. And that’s why yoongi is always hesitant to leave you alone every time he goes to a business trip because he knows you have trouble sleeping without him besides you.
Yoongi smiled softly when he heard soft little snores coming from you and kissed your forehead when your head lulled back slightly and adjusted your head on the pillow before removing some strands of hair from your face. A quiet chuckle left his lips seeing your chubby cheeks squished against the pillow with your mouth slightly opened . Covering you with the duvet properly he sighed and reluctantly stood up. All he wants to do is get back in bed and continue holding you but unfortunately he has some work to complete. He slowly creeped out of the room as to not wake you up and started walking towards his home studio. He knows that he has to write the song idea that just came to his mind because he will definitely forget it later. Closing the door he sat on his chair and took his notebook and started scribbling whatever came to his mind
Half an hour later, you woke up not feeling the familiar warmth of your husband anymore and a pout settled on your lips when you found his side of the bed empty. You huffed knowing he went back to work again not just because you wanted to cuddle but also because you were worried he might overwork himself again. He has the habit of working continuously for hours without eating or drinking anything and it had been hardly 3 hours since he came home and he is wondering again. Still you didn’t want to disturb him. It might be important if he got out of bed to complete the work. So you sighed and cuddling in the blanket hoping to fall asleep again. But no matter how much you tossed and turned, sleep didn’t came. So after contemplating for another 5 minutes you finally stood up and wore one of his hoodie before making your way towards his studio.
Knocking the door once , as expected you didn’t got any response. So you opened the door and walked inside shivering slightly because of the coldness in his studio. How does he not freeze and can work normally in this temperature? “Yoongi” you called him softly while tapping his shoulder and he jumped slightly before turning his chair around and removing the headphone “ y/n? Baby why are you up it hasn’t been long since you slept” he mumbled pulling you closer noticing the sleepiness in your eyes. You yawned standing in between his legs and absentmindedly caressed his hair “i can’t sleep” you mumbled softly feeling your eyes getting heavier “can’t you work tomorrow?” You continued with a pout which he is sure you didn’t even noticed. He looked back at his laptop and then at back at you sighing tiredly “no baby I’m sorry but i have to complete this today” your pout increased with your sleepy mind not processing anything more than the want to be held by him “but i want to cuddle” you whined childishly rubbing your eyes and a tired smile creeped on his face. No matter how much he wants to pick you up and sleep while holding you he wants to finish this too because he has been stuck at this song since weeks and he can’t let the inspiration and ideas of the lyrics go “I’m so sorry babygirl but i need to work right now. It will only take about an hour can you try to sleep until then?” He said a little strenly making you bite your lip knowing he might get irritated if you kept on pushing him . Now feeling a little selfish you nodded hoping to mask the sadness and took a step back making yoongi immediately want to pull you back to feel your warmth again.
“It’s okay i know work is important. I’m sorry i disturbed you” you said not looking at him and walked out of the room closing the door behind you and made your way towards the bedroom while yoongi cursed under his breath and pushed his hair back sighing. He couldn’t ignore the guilt creeping inside him because he knows you can’t sleep without him and still sent you back. You shouldn’t look so hesitant to ask him about anything and he hated that you did.
You layed back on the bed sleeping on yoongi’s side hoping that his scent will help you fall asleep and closed your eyes snuggling in his pillow. You can’t believe you disturbed him just because you wanted to cuddle. So lost in your internal thoughts you didn’t heard the door opening and closing and you were surprised when you felt the bed dipped behind you and his arm wrapped around your waist with his another arm snaking under your head. You held his hand which was under your head and whispered “yoon-” “shh go back to sleep kitten. I’m sorry i got mad at you” he murmured kissing your neck softly “it’s okay you can work i will be fine yoongs” you whispered caressing his arm adoring how good it felt wrapped around you. “No. Work can be done later. Now go to sleep I’m tired” you giggled and turned your head slightly to kiss him and he immediately responded kissing you back sleepily but you let out a surprised sound when he suddenly started sucking your bottom lip gently “hey! I thought you were tired” you giggled when his lips chased yours and covered his lips with your hand causing him to grunt “it’s okay we can sleep in tomorrow” “no mr min you are going to sleep right now so no funny business” you said hovering your lips on his teasingly and pulling back when he tried to kiss you. He groaned but still let you snuggle in his chest and pulled you closer. “You sure you want to sleep?” He asked huskily while pressing a wet kiss under your ear causing you to shiver and slap his chest .
“Yes i do"you stated causing him to grumble while you tangled your legs with his while he scooted down and layed his head on your chest snuggling in your soft skin "good night yoon” you whispered closing your eyes and heard a deep mumble “night kitten”
The next morning he took his revenge just so you know.
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“Y/n?” You jumped slightly hearing your fiance’s voice suddenly and turned around wide eyed while yoongi bite back a chuckle because you looked absolutely adorable in your oversized t shirt with your mouth full of chocolate ice cream “yes?” You squeaked out hiding the tub behind your back not so sneakily causing him to smile “what are you doing princess?” He asked already knowing the answer but wanting to see what you’re going to do “umm watching the stars?” You said without thinking anything while yoongi hummed walking towards you causing to walk backwards till your back hit the counter “and where are your stars baby” he mumbled taking the ice cream from behind your back causing you to whine and try to take it back but he gave you a look causing you to pout and huff “i was hungry!” He wrapped his arm around your waist looking at the tub which was now half empty causing him to sigh “then you should have woke me up baby and i could have made something. You just got well do you want to get sick again?” He scolded you gently and you shaked your head and buried your face in his chest with the pout still on your lips “m sorry” your voice came out mumbled and he kissed your head “it’s okay” he pecked your lips and continued “do you want to eat a sandwich? I’ll make some” he mumbled already pulling away but you whined and shaked your head feeling your eyes getting heavier with all the ice cream you stuffed “I’m not hungry now. Sleepy” you mumbled causing him to laugh and he nodded “alright then let’s get you to bed” he said and bend down picking you up bridal style and you wrapped your around his neck smiling sleepily and kissed his neck softly before nuzzling your face in his warm skin. He smiled fondly at your habit of becoming clingy whenever you’re sleepy and continued walking towards the bedroom when you mumbled something “yoongs” he hummed closing the door with his leg and his movements halted for a moment when you whispered “i want to have kids” and he looked down at you to see you already closing your eyes and smiled walking towards the bed. His mind now filled with having a little you or a little him running around in the house and their bright laughs bouncing on the walls. Laying you on the bed gently he kissed your forehead before whispering against your skin “i would love that babygirl” you smiled softly and pulled him down with you and he wrapped his arms around your body and pulled your leg up so that it was wrapped around his torso. And just like that, you both fell asleep being tangled against each other with both of your minds filled with the happiness coming in the future.
And tomorrow after you unexpectedly throw up the first thing in the morning, you both also got to know the reason why you wanted to eat pickles dipped in chocolate last week
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A/n : I’m back!
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Summary: destiny tries to separate you with the one you love the most. But as everyone says, two people who are in love with each other always find their way back.
Genre: angst in the beginning, smut at the end with happy ending.
Warnings: swearing, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of past abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of rape, mature content, soft dom yoongi, soft sex, yoongi just loves you a lot
Author’s pov
Sometime in March, 2013
You took a shaky breath and hugged yourself as a harsh wind blew past your bundled up form. Your body tensed up when you heared the familiar deep voice which gave you comfort at one time but now you just wished for the ground to swallow you. “Hey babygirl ” he said sitting besides you on the bench. His eyebrows furrowing slightly when you avoided his eyes and scooted towards the end of the bench when he tried to pull you closer. “Is something wrong?” He asked soothingly and a small cry almost escaped seeing how confused he was. You shaked your head and blinked back the tears which didn’t go unnoticed by him. He was in front of you in a second. Crouching down in front of you ,he took your cold hands in his , with his another hand rubbing your knee gently. “Baby look at me please” he whispered with pleading eyes . You know he hates seeing you cry and you hate how much worried he looks for you. “W-we need to talk” you whispered shakily and his grip on your hands tighten, out of nervousness. But he still nodded and gave you a small smile “what’s wrong ” you took a deep breath and managed to croak out “l-let’s break up” for a moment, time stilled. You saw how his body visibly tensed up and he swallowed thickly before asking “why? Did i….did i do something wrong?” You shook your head and tried to free your hands from his grip but it tightened as soon as you tried to push him. “Y-you didn’t do anything wrong yoongi. It’s just…I’m doing this for your own good” “No” he said harshly and stood up pushing his hair back before taking a deep breath and looking at you with unshed tears in his eyes “please…please tell me baby. I-i promise I’ll fix it baby. I-is it because I’m not stable right now? You know my training at big hit has started . We are finally about to debut. I promise I’ll-I’ll give you everything you want. I promise I’ll work harder baby” he was now almost begging you. But he didn’t care. Not when he is so close to losing you. He can’t lose. You are his everything. His whole world. He won’t be able to live without you. A soft sob escaped your lips hearing his words. Of course you aren’t leaving him because of that. You don’t care about money. You don’t care that you both live in a small house. Because it’s home. “No yoongi. Please try to understand me. I-I’m doing this for you” your broken whisper caused a flame to ignite inside him which soon turned into anger. “No! No you aren’t y/n! You are just being selfish. You want to break up with me but you won’t tell me why. Let me fix it .Please, please baby you promised you will never leave me” the last words came out as soft whispers and your heart broke at how his voice cracked in between. You almost broke down when he said those words
Hybrid Min Yoongi x Female Reader; Platonic OT7 x Female Reader; Namseok; Jinkook
Summary:After helping Yoongi get away from his abusive former owner, you’re left to focus on your relationship and how it progresses. That is, until you find six other hybrids who need your help, and their former owner decides he’s going to make your life hell. Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff Word Count: 2,247 Rating:M Warnings (updated per chapter): stalking, wild animal attack, major character injury, blood, implied homophobia, slight internalized homophobia, starvation, hospitalization, discussion of sexual assault, discussion of physical assault, discussion of controlling behavior, heavy petting, marking, slightly toxic relationship, spiraling thoughts, fictional discrimination
Major thanks to @eatjeanjin for beta-ing this and for listening to me complain almost constantly. You’ve been nothing but helpful and sweet, and I’m so grateful for your opinions and assistance.
Yoongi rolled his eyes but obliged. “He doesn’t hate you. He just doesn’t trust you. Or humans in general I guess.”
“But that makes no sense.” You checked your phone to make sure you were still walking in the correct direction. “If he doesn’t hate me then why’s he an asshole all the time?”
“That’s just Jin-hyung.” Yoongi shrugged. “He’s overprotective of all of us.”
