MY FAVOURITE FIC IS BAAAAAACK

MY FAVOURITE FIC IS BAAAAAACK

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

title: broken (pt. 1) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell. note: this is only one half of what was supposed to be a whole chapter! broken, pt. 2 will come out after i’ve had time to make it something i’m proud of. trying to rush everything out didn’t do any favors, so hilariously and ironically, broken is broken up into two hahaha. warnings: language, angst, tension, yoongi’s pov is longgg, alcohol consumption, tobacco mentions, bro🥲, yoongi in the studio😩, the studio boys make another appearance👀, …someone else makes their first appearance👀👀, scuffles, tense situations, did i say angst?, water bottles get their own warning, long hair yoongi, basketball yoongi🫠, crying, bro a ha ha, jimin has tats and he’s not afraid to show them, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, honestly he is on another level of warning here don’t perceive me💀, the fluff is fluffing here like what, backstory we’ve been waiting for😗, yoongi on the phone, hand holding :’)), kissing :’)), oh god the kissing❤️‍🩹, there’s just a lot in both parts i’m sorry y'all playlist: broken (lp) drop date: dec 3rd, 2023, 4:00pm est word count: …19.1k 🚶‍♀️

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Words abandon you.

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Moonlit Throne | Masterlist

“do you… trust me?” it’s a low whisper, soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never wavered. 

“yes.”

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff parts posted: 45/45 words: 68k contains: drabble series, historical au, royal au, romance, drama, the very definition of “it’s complicated,” inspired by daechwita. a/n: please pay attention to the dates, but read in the order that the drabbles are listed, not in chronological!

historical context/references. | fic playlist.

february 1869 {m} - your king takes care of you and his business, no matter who is watching.

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𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner

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A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.

“Oh, fuck-!” You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it’s no use. “Oh, fuck,” you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.

What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.

The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it’s later than you thought.

You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It’s deserted.

Your roaming data works up here, although it’s a little more patchy than you’d grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you’d be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn’t too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.

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This is so beautiful IM so glad that I stumbled upon this

Now We Reign | myg

☆summary: when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?

☆pairing: Min Yoongi x singer female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: work collaborators to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, cursing, OC has family problems similar to those Yoongi went through, financial insecurity, loneliness, cheating but not cheating because they are on a break, sexist interviewer, explicit content: grinding, dom!reader, switch!Yoongi, big dick!Yoongi, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, face riding, tits/nipples play, hickey, fingering, protected sex, choking, clit play, denied orgasms (due to consensual drunk sex), fingering, mentions of anal sex, handcuffs, anal plug, anal fingering

☆word count: 34.9k

☆a/n: it’s so weird to post something other than The Forgotten Spaces :’) I hope you’ll still enjoy this! As per always, thank you to @moonleeai​ for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

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close call | myg x reader

🎵 summary: burying your head in the sand won't change the fact that the man you love walks a thin line between life and death. and sometimes you can't outrun your worst fears.

🎵 pairing: reader x mafia!yoongi

🎵 rating: mature, 18+, a wee bit self-indulgent

🎵 genre: smut, mafia AU, guarded AU drabble though it can be read as a standalone story

🎵 warnings: smut with feelings (of course) angst, a lot of angst, super angsty you have been warned this is a veritable angst buffet

🎵 word count: 4.5K

🎵 notes: so, uh...long time no see? phew fam, these past 4-5 months have been really tough for me from a writing standpoint. i've probably written and deleted hundreds of thousands of words and just felt really out of touch with my writing voice. why am i telling you this? because therapy is expensive and because even though i struggled, i did manage to push through it and that makes me feel really hopeful about a light at the end of the tunnel where this writing block is concerned. i'd love to hear from you if you like this and thank you guys always for hanging with me 💕

i borrowed these people's beautiful eyeballs and brains on this fic and i owe them all a debt of gratitude: @hobi-gif @thatlongspringnight @illneverrecover @miscelunaaa thank you all for being rad people and writers.

You hear music the moment you step off the elevator.

The sound drifts down the long stretch of hallway before you, echoing off the walls and then diffusing into the soft carpet beneath your feet. It gets louder with each step you take towards the apartment, swelling higher as you near the heavy steel door.

The sound makes you frown.

It’s dark and melancholic. The cadence is sloppy and the notes bleed into one another like muddled watercolor paints. There is no real melody to speak of, no cohesive thought binding the chords together. They hang in the air overhead like a line of mismatched laundry.

It doesn’t sound anything like the beautiful music Yoongi makes when he sits down at his piano. The lovely, lilting melodies he pulls from the instrument after you’ve both slept in and made love on Sunday afternoons.

That observation alone is enough to give you pause about what awaits you on the other side of that steel door. Never mind that it’s three o’clock in the fucking morning.

You take a deep breath and slide your key into the lock.

Behind the heavy door, your apartment is shrouded in blackness.

In the dark, the couches and lamps and artwork are reduced to rudimentary shapes and outlines. You drop your bag and coat on the table in the foyer, peering into nothingness until your eyes slowly adjust.

Until the man you love finally takes shape.

Yoongi is hunched over his piano, dark hair falling into his face as one hand pounds carelessly away at the keys. The instrument produces a series of sounds so mournful they make goosebumps bloom up the line of your back. Slivers of moonlight slip between the gaps in the curtains, casting shadows across his silhouette.

You take a few cautious steps closer and the finer details start to come into focus.

The rocks glass gripped tight in his free hand. The papers strewn haphazardly across the piano’s lid. All around him the air seems unsettled, crackling with a dangerous energy that makes the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

Then music comes to an abrupt stop.

“I waited up for you.”

He speaks without so much as a glance in your direction, the sound of his voice strangely foreign. There’s a hollow quality to it you haven’t heard before, some peculiar disconnect between the words and the man speaking them.

“I see that,” you say slowly, stepping closer. “Did you want the neighbors to wait up for me, too?”

Yoongi doesn’t laugh at your jab. Doesn’t do or say anything at all, just continues staring down at the keys.

Your heart starts to pound a bit faster.

You close the distance that remains and slide into the empty space beside him, close enough now to breathe him in. Close enough to make out the scent of his damp hair, the spice of the aftershave clinging to his skin. Close enough to smell the whiskey he exhales with every heavy breath.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Guess I’m a little fucked up.”

Guess so. You could count the number of times you’ve seen Yoongi drunk on one hand and you’ve never seen him drunk like this. Like he’s trying to drink himself numb. Like he’s trying to drink himself to blackout.

“It’s okay,” you lie, as if anything about this scene you’ve walked into is okay. “Happens to the best of us sometimes.” You reach a hand out to brush the hair away from his eyes, breath catching in your throat when he turns to face you.

He looks like he’s been to hell and back tonight.

Eyes haunted and skin pallid but for the ruddy whiskey flush across his nose and cheeks. He holds your gaze for only a few heartbeats before looking away. Like he’s embarrassed to be in this state. Like he’s embarrassed for you to see him this way.

Worry immediately climbs up your throat and threatens to claw its way out of your mouth, but you take a deep breath and force it back down. You stroke your fingers across Yoongi’s brow, sweep them over the curve of his jaw. He leans into the touch and catches your hand with his, turning his face to press a soft kiss to your fingertips.

“Yoongi, did – did something happen to you tonight?”

Your stomach twists at the pained expression that comes over him, at the way his eyes fall shut like he’s trying to push away a terrible thought. His grip on your hand tightens and so does your chest.

“Yoongi?”

“Listen, Doc,” he breathes, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

That awful twisting in your stomach sharpens. If you hadn’t known something was wrong – horribly wrong – before this very moment, you certainly know it now. You watch with your heart in your throat as Yoongi sets his whiskey down to reach for the papers strewn across the top of the piano. He presses them into your hands and you stare down at them, afraid to look too closely at the fine print.

“Look at me,” he commands quietly, and you immediately snap your eyes up to meet his. “This is important. This is everything. My accounts, the investments. This apartment and two properties in Daegu. It’s all here.”

The room goes quiet as Yoongi gives you a moment to absorb his words. As the meaning in them slowly begins to crystallize inside your brain. He watches the realization wash over you with a troubling calm, completely composed as you begin to stare back at him in wide-eyed horror.

“If anything happens to me, you take this money and you get the hell out of Seoul,” he continues evenly, as though the two of you are discussing dinner plans or something equally as innocuous. “You buy a house on Jeju and you spend the rest of your life working on your tan. Do whatever you want with it. But it’s all yours.”

Now you think you might be sick.

“Tell me what is going on.” Your voice comes out brittle as spun sugar, barely audible over the heartbeat now pounding violently in your ears. “You can’t just come home and say – ”

“The first thing you do is go to Namjoon. He can walk you through everything. He has copies of –”

“Yoongi, please –”

“Hoseok has copies, too. Just as a backup,” he keeps talking like he can’t hear you at all, undeterred by your rising panic. “They can have cash to you that same day if you’re strapped. Plus the rentals in Daegu have –”

“Yoongi, listen to me – ”

“So it’s not like it’s a finite amount of money. There will be more coming in every –”

“Stop!” You’re shouting now, barely able to think around the noise in your head. “What – what the hell is wrong with you?”

You stare at him in utter disbelief at how easily these words seem to come to him. By how unaffected he seems to be while speaking your worst fears out loud. It has to be the whiskey that’s making him like this. It has to be the reason he can sit here and calmly lay out a blueprint for his death while you’re falling apart in slow-motion.

But he’s not calm anymore, is he? Not now. Not if the spark of anger that lights behind his eyes is any indication. Your outburst seems to have jarred Yoongi out of whatever bizarre state you found him in. Now the set of his jaw is hard. Now his dark eyes bore into yours, the intensity in them unnerving.

“Let’s just talk about this in the morning.” You swallow thickly and add,“You’re drunk and I’m exhausted and – ”

“We’re going to talk about this now,” Yoongi interrupts, in a tone so cold and flat it makes you shiver. “We’re done tiptoeing around the shit that makes us uncomfortable, Doc. We’re not doing that anymore.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m done letting you pretend that this situation is normal. Because it isn’t. You need to get it through your head that every single time I walk out that door there’s a good chance I might not come back.”

He could have slapped you and it would hurt less.

It doesn’t matter that he’s right – about the way you lie to yourself about the risks he’s taking. About the way you don’t allow your mind to dwell on what he’s doing when you wake up and he’s not there. It doesn’t matter that he’s right about the hundreds of ways you’ve come up with to avoid the uncomfortable truth. It still hurts like hell to hear him spell it out so plainly.

“This money – ” Yoongi pauses to drag a hand over his face, “ – This money is the one fucking thing I can do for you if I’m not here, Doc.”

You let your eyes fall to the papers in your hands, the fine print you’d barely been able to see just a few minutes before now painfully clear. Line after line after line of numbers – numbers so long you’re afraid to acknowledge where they begin and where they end. Numbers so long they seem ludicrous. You don’t even know where to begin wrapping your mind around this kind of wealth.

And it means nothing to you. Not without him.

Tears start to fall against your will. Angry tears you try to hide but Yoongi sees them anyway. He reaches for you, tipping your chin up with his fingers and swiping at your cheeks with one calloused thumb.

You sit there with watery eyes and a battered heart and watch as the change comes over him. As the fire in him dies out and the frustration slowly drains from his features. He strokes your face until the storm behind his eyes ebbs away completely, leaving only remorse. Regret.

“God, I’m sorry, Doc,” he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’m so, so sorry.” He presses kisses to the bridge of your nose, your wet lashes, your hair. “I’m such an asshole, God, I’m so sorry.”

You don’t say anything. Not until you’re sure you’re not crying anymore, not trembling anymore. You wait until you feel strong enough to use your voice without falling apart all over again and then pull away to look him in the eye.

“Why are you so angry, Yoongi?” You dab at your damp cheeks with one sleeve and straighten your spine, lift your chin. “Why are you so angry with me?”

Yoongi exhales deeply as he takes the papers out of your hands and wraps his arms around you. He pulls you in close, close enough to feel the way his heart is hammering inside his chest. Close enough to feel the way his throat works as he swallows over and over and over again before he speaks.

“I’m not angry, Doc,” he says after a while, voice thick with emotion. “I’m afraid.”

He’s passed out by the time you get out of the shower, face pressed deep into his pillow.

You dig in his drawer until you find his oldest, softest t-shirt – the one with the hole in the neck – and then you slip it on. You slide beneath the covers and press yourself to him; bury your face into his back. He doesn’t stir.

I’m afraid.

Yoongi’s words echo in your mind as you lie there in the dark praying for sleep to take you. You think about all of the horrible shit he’s confessed to you after a hard night, all the truly terrifying shit you’d only gotten wind of after a night of beers with one of the loose-lipped maknaes. Not once has Yoongi ever uttered those words to you.

Not once has he ever admitted to being afraid.

You lie there in the dark and try not to think about what that means. Try not to run down the list of terrible possibilities, one by one. You lie there for what feels like forever, certain that sleep will never come.

But eventually, it does.

You wake to the sound of the shower running.

A quick pass of your palm over the sheets beside you finds them still warm, so you slide over a bit – burrowing into that part of the bed that still smells like him. You lie there and listen to the water fall until you can finally summon the will to move.

Your hair is wild this morning on account of sleeping on it wet. It mocks you from the mirror as you brush your teeth, as you comb through it with your fingers, trying to tame the flyaway strands. Yoongi’s worn t-shirt skims the tops of your legs, the soft, tattered edges brushing against your thighs.

This is how he finds you when he opens the bathroom door – dressed in his ragged hand-me-downs, hair chaotic, a mouthful of fluoride foam. He stops to lean in the threshold and your eyes rake over the beads of water still clinging to his skin, the towel slung perilously low on his lean hips.

“Hey.”

Steam billows out from the open bathroom door and Yoongi shoves a hand into his wet hair, brushing back the curtain of dark strands that fall into his eyes. They tumble right back into place, disobedient. You spit and rinse.

“Hey yourself,” you reply slowly, unsure of where he’s landed this morning after all the emotion of last night. Probably a bit unsure of where you’ve landed, too. “How are you feeling?”

“Not as bad as I probably should,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck.

He steps closer and you force yourself not to look down, not to be distracted in any way by the dusting of hair that starts low on his abdomen and disappears beneath the terry cloth knot. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, but fight the instinct to curl into it.

“I’m sorry about last night, Doc,” he says quietly. His eyes are clearer this morning, but the sadness still lingers. “I was way out of line.”

You shrug, toeing at a non-existent spot on the gleaming marble. “Yeah.”

“I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a long time and – I think I just kind of lost my shit. I should have done better.”

He cups your face in his hand and tilts your chin up, compelling you to look him in the eye.You find his gaze turbulent – some strange mix of contrition, arousal. Fear.

“Last night – ” he stops to blow out a heavy breath, “ – Was a shitshow, Doc. Hoseok was two steps away from taking a slug straight to the head. Everyone was shooting. It was fucking chaos.”

Suddenly it feels as though you’ve swallowed a spoonful of sand.

“But he’s, okay? Right? He’s not – ”

“No, he’s not,” Yoongi breaks in, saving you from having to voice the rest of that thought out loud. He drags the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “He’s okay.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re okay, too.”

“What about you?”

Yoongi’s entire body tenses at that question. His hand drops away from your face and the muscles in his shoulders and arms stiffen as he takes a half-step back. He sucks in a breath so sharp you nearly hold your own in response.

“I’m not going to push you,” you explain, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, you’re not ready. But if you tell me you’re afraid, then I’m going to ask you why, Yoongi. You have to know that.”

Yoongi drags a hand down his face, the tips of his ears pinking as a flush branches across his chest, his neck. You can’t help but feel like you’ve embarrassed him and the guilt is instantaneous, sinking in your stomach like a stone.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Really. We don’t have to do this right now. I can give you some space.”

You turn to make good on your promise, but you don’t get far. Yoongi catches your wrist with one hand, pulling you back to him with a firm grasp. “Don’t go,” he insists, dark eyes pleading.

“Then I won’t,” you promise. “Tell me what you need and I will do it, Yoongi. I swear it.”

He nods slowly, chest rising and falling with the series of steadying breaths he takes before he speaks.

“I went a really long time without anything to lose,” he starts. “It never mattered if I was out in the streets taking stupid risks every night because the only person who ever counted on me is me. Now all I can think about is you. What’s going to happen to you if I fuck up out there and get myself killed.”

“Then don’t get yourself killed.”

The words come out strained, despite your best attempt to make them sound lighthearted.

“It’s more than just that, Doc,” he persists, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. “Sometimes I worry that there will come a day when you wake up and decide this is too much for you. That it’s not what you signed up for.”

Your heart seizes painfully inside your chest. “No.” You shake your head vehemently, rejecting the notion with your entire body. “I won’t. I couldn’t.”

“The truth is that I can’t remember how I used to process all this bullshit before you. Now I think I have no idea how to do it without you. And that’s – ” He trails off, letting the thought hang in the air.

“Scary,” you murmur.

“Terrifying,” he corrects.

“Look at me, Yoongi,” you insist, stopping to swallow past the tightness in your throat. “I know what I signed up for. I know who you are. And I don’t want anyone or anything else. I’m not going anywhere.”

He takes you off balance with his kiss. It’s frantic, frenzied – tongue in your mouth, lips at your ear, teeth at your pulse point. You gasp when he crushes his towel-clad hips to yours, the swollen outline of his cock already growing against your belly.

“I love you so fucking much, Doc.”

Yoongi growls the words into your mouth, blunt fingertips digging into the rounded curves of your ass. You free your hands long enough to tug at the towel around his hips until it falls away, snaking your fingers between your bodies to seek him out. Yoongi hisses when you wrap your warm palm around his cock, grip tight as you stroke him from base to tip.

“I need you, Yoongi. Right now.” You whisper the admission against the corner of his mouth, one hand guiding his cock to the juncture of your thighs. He shudders when he realizes you’re bare beneath his old, thin t-shirt, as you slide the length of him against the slippery heat that’s already pooling between your legs.

“So fucking wet already,” he gasps, the muscles of his stomach straining when you rock against him, slicking him with the moisture between your thighs. He shoves impatiently at the hem of your t-shirt, swearing under his breath as he tears it over your head without a single care for its fragile state. Then he tongues at both your nipples, gets them messy and wet before taking one of them between his teeth.

You whine at the drag of his tongue, at the rough way he toys with it until the peak is stiff and throbbing in his mouth. His hips rock faster against yours, cock now gliding easily through your wetness. Your inner thighs are slick with it and when Yoongi takes your other nipple into his mouth you can feel yourself grow even wetter.

You dig your hands into his damp hair.

“Yoongi, oh god, yes – ” you gasp, when he adjusts the angle of his slide so that he’s stroking against your clit. He likes the praise, he always has – and he drives closer, harder, just to hear you gasp again.

“I gotta get inside of you,” he mutters, cock twitching when your hands find and squeeze the muscles of his lean ass. “Right now, before I come like this.”

You release him from the vice grip of your thighs and turn around for him, pressing your palms flat to the counter. In the mirror, you watch as he runs one appreciative hand down the slope of your back. His fingers linger on the curve of your ass for a moment before he slides them lower, slipping two fingers inside of you.

Your hips jolt at the friction and Yoongi swears under his breath again.

In front of you, Yoongi’s reflection looks serious, brows knit in concentration as he slowly fucks you with his fingers. A flush spreads across his chest and up his neck as he works you, one hand pressed into the small of your back while his other hand stays buried inside your cunt.

“Yoongi,” you beg, arching your back to push harder against the heel of his hand, “Please just fuck me already.”

He chuckles darkly, slipping his fingers out of you. Then the slick sounds begin. You watch him in the mirror as he strokes his cock, jerking roughly at the blunt head before he’s pressing it to your entrance.

Then he’s pushing forward, sinking that first thick inch and your body gives way with little resistance. You’re so wet he buries himself to the hilt with one fluid thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, pulling out all the way to the tip and burying himself again. “Shit, that’s so fucking good.”

He experiments with that same stroke a few times, reveling in the way your whimper each time he bottoms out. But he needs more, you need more, and after a while he abandons the slow, torturous pace and sets to fucking you with determination.

Your fingertips go as white as the bathroom counter.

He knows your body well by now, can bring you to the brink and back with just a few expert touches. The force of his thrusts makes you fold over and he uses the angle to his advantage, one hand gripping your ass tight as he fucks you and the other reaching for your clit. The combination of both touches has your legs shaking, the sound of his ragged panting sending a sharp spike of arousal directly to your core.

“Come for me,” he says from between clenched teeth. “You’re right there. I can feel it.”

He bends down to scrape his teeth against the back of your neck, his strokes becoming more erratic with each thrust. And you arch harder into the press of his fingers. Then you are coming, so damn hard your arms give out and you collapse against the counter, body pliant and weak.

Yoongi rides out his own release only a heartbeat later. Between his heavy breaths, you hear him say your name.

Your real name.

The human body is a remarkable thing.

It’s incredibly resilient; capable of withstanding terrible trauma. Designed to mend muscle, seal skin and fuse bone.

The scar that sits just below Yoongi’s clavicle is well-healed by now, barely visible at a distance. But you can feel it – what little evidence remains of both crisis and cure. You run a fingertip over the raised skin and marvel at the tiny dips and dents that live just above and just below the surface. Perfect in its imperfection.

Yoongi cracks one eye open to steal a look at you, quiet as he watches you absentmindedly map the faint line of his scar. The shower steam has evaporated now, leaving a chill lingering in the air. He draws the sheets draped around you both a bit tighter.

“This give you any trouble lately?” you ask.

“Nah. I noticed it a bit last week when it rained, but it hasn’t bothered me much since then.”

That’s another thing about the body. It forgives, but it doesn’t always forget. Pain can simmer just beneath the surface for a lifetime following an injury and some people even feel pain in limbs they no longer have. All it takes is the right trigger and all that hurt can feel fresh again.

Perhaps that’s true for more than just the body.

“You were right last night,” you admit, burying your face into the crook of his arm. “Sometimes it scares me so much to think about what you’re up against out there that it’s just easier to pretend it’s not real.”

Yoongi pulls you a bit tighter into his side, turns his head to press a kiss to the wild mass of your hair.

“Right or not, it was still a pretty fucked up way to go about talking to you about it,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you walking around every day waiting to get a call. That’s no way to live.”

Sometimes you don’t know how he does it. How he can leave this bubble of contentment the two of you have created together to go out there and walk a thin line between life and death. Sometimes you don’t know how he manages to keep one foot in that world and one foot in yours without fracturing in two.

The comfortable space you’ve settled into against him shifts as he takes a deep breath.

“You’re not going to fight me on this thing with the money, right?”

“No,” you sigh. “I’m not going to fight you about the money. I know why you did what you did.”

“Good.”

“But if I’d known you were sitting on that much money, we would have had that argument on a yacht instead of in this apartment.”

Your smart mouth earns you a pinch to the side and you yelp, pinned in place by Yoongi’s iron grip.

“That hurt.”

“It was supposed to hurt.”

Yoongi’s mouth curves into a lazy grin as you glare at him.

“Funny. Anyway if I were you, I’d be sleeping with one eye open, Min. I might off you myself and get a beach house and a pool boy.”

“I would haunt that motherfucker.”

The two of you share a laugh at that – a good one, the kind of laugh you feel from your scalp all the way to the tips of your toes. But after a while the laughter subsides. The humor slowly seeps out of Yoongi’s face. His dark eyes go serious.

“Hey,” he whispers, cupping your face in one hand. He looks down at you with such sincerity that your heart trips inside your chest. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that right?”

It’s not a lie. Not really. He means it when he says it, though both of you know it’s a promise he’s not in any position to make. But you’ll believe it, for him. For you, too.

You close your eyes and press your cheek to his chest; allow yourself to savor the feel of his solid warmth.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I know.”

hi i actually wrote something and i'm feeling very happy about this. thank you for reading i hope you find an extra $20 in your pocket 💕

when it gets dark | myg

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         ❝ such simple miracles have happened             since your steady hands have come             and stopped my unraveling. ❞

» pairing: yoongi x f!reader » genre: established relationship!au; smut » rating: nc-17/explicit; minors please dni » wordcount: 2k » warnings: author abuses the concepts of darkness and light as a metaphor for mental health, yoongi uses body worship as a coping mechanism, there are a lot of feelings, smut in the form of fingering and oral sex (f. receiving), bad language, brief mention of body image issues, yoongi is very in love and very whipped. » a/n: i’m finally posting something! this came to me in the middle of the night so i wanted to bang it out while the idea was fresh, even if it’s much shorter than my usual work. i’m also not a strong smut writer, so it’s secondary to the feelings and i hope you all enjoy it nonetheless. feedback is always welcome!

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