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nice guys finish last | m

synopsis. you thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

◟alternatively, “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just… keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

pairings. husband!ceo!namjoon x doctor!reader x ex-fiance!producer!yoongi

genre. arraged marriage au. angst. fluff. smut.

word. 16.2k

content: age gap factor (namjoon is 5 years older than oc and yoongi is 7 years older than oc). pining. teasing. hoseok cockblocking.

warning(s): heavy adult content. mentions of cheating. hospital scenes.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

x

“i don’t want to marry you at all. the person i love is someone else.” there are tears brimming in your eyes but if there’s anything the years of etiquette class namjoon’s parents forced on him taught him - he’d say he turned out okay - it’s to not mention to the crying lady that she’s crying. but he can’t help stare a little longer. admire a little too much.

the rays flooding through the window paired with the prettiest ivory dress he’s seen you in gives you an iridescent halo. you look like an angel descended from the top most heavens.

but not for him.

“i know,” he lets out a drawn out sigh, hand on his neck. he’s always been the awkward one between the two. if it was him - if it was his brother, he would say it without any ounce of self-reproach. but then again what does namjoon have to be sorry for? for being born? for being the second choice son to step into his brother’s shoes when the aforementioned man threatened to disown the family name if their parents refused to let him marry a girl of his choice who, according to the workers’ gossip, ‘he suddenly woke up one day and decided he was in love with’? 

“it’s yoongi, isn’t it? you love yoongi.”

Keep reading

Hiraeth

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Summary: You had always been his, and no one could take you away from him. Idol!AU

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Slight age gap, Murder intention, Mention of death, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: I’m in my Jin-I-miss-you era and I’m taking u all with me. Idk yet if this will be two-shot. Do tell me your thoughts 💜

“I’m going to marry you.”

The nine-year old Seokjin lost his concentration upon hearing your declaration. He blinked, and all of a sudden, the game signaled that he lost. His hold on the game controller slackened. It gently hit the carpeted floor. He hated losing. It was game over all because of you.

“I’m never gonna marry you,” he said so meanly that he was sure you would finally stop following him around. But the five year-old you merely grinned, several teeth missing and announced that he would marry you. You were sure of it.

“Will you stop following me?!” Jin seethed, glaring at your small form as you didn’t mind his anger and continued walking behind him eagerly. Jin was at the stage where all he wanted was to move, to burn the excess energy. He was into sports lately. And because he was fond of it, you were, too. Wherever he went, you’d follow. It was like he had another shadow besides his own.

It was annoying.

But it was also comforting.

On times when he’d fall, knees and hands bruised or bloodied, there you were, quietly telling him it was going to be fine, gently washing the blood off of him. You were always there to help him stand up again. You always carried around cute bandaids. He liked to think that you carried it for him.

He was twelve now, and you still followed him around. He even told his mother about you, but she merely giggled and told him that you were the cutest little girl she had ever seen. He should have known she wouldn’t side with him. After all, your father was his father’s best friend. This was why you were always around…and he was used to your presence that when you couldn’t attend some of his family’s event, he would sulked. But the young Seokjin couldn’t wrap his head around the reason why he hated when you were gone.

Yet, he was irritated by your presence.

He saw you as a nuisance, but you saw him as someone who was larger than life. In your young mind, he was the epitome of perfect. He looked like a prince, and his family treated him as such. You wanted nothing but to be his princess. And so, you spent your younger days following him around. You saw him through all the stages in his life, until he became that lanky, yet sporty teenager.

He was fifteen and you were eleven. You knew he was even more irritated with you than glad that you were with his family during their vacations. His mom treated you like her own daughter, saying that you were the daughter she never had, and you were only too glad to have a mother figure. On some vacations, Jin would be kind and played with you with the sand. On some vacations, he would watch out for you whenever you strayed too far on the sea.

On some days though, he scoffed at your presence.

Like right now.

You looked at the entrance of your school with mild confusion, your strides faltering as you realized it was Jin who was waiting for you outside the school premises. He was cooly leaning against their car, their driver sitting on the car, waving at you with a smile on his face. But Jin looked angry.

“Who’s that?” Your close friend and classmate, Chan, asked you. “Why does he look mad?”

Yes. Why was Jin mad?

Perhaps, Jin was too impatient to wait for you because not a moment later, his legs that you noticed were becoming longer as the years passed by brought him faster to you. He stood in front of you, towering over you and Chan. And was he glaring at him?

“Jin!” You gushed in excitement, your adoration to him apparent that you were sure your eyes were gleaming with unrestrained happiness. “Why are you here?”

He turned to you after scaring the poor boy, “Your father asked me to pick you up from school. Our families are going to have dinner together,” he replied in a tense voice. He didn’t even let you speak when he grabbed the backpack that you were wearing, and dragged it to the waiting car.

You didn’t get the chance to say your goodbye to your friend.

Inside the car, his eyes were trained on the window, watching the passing cars. He was pouting, his lips protruding adorably. And there you were, sitting beside him as you nonchalantly ate your candy whilst talking animatedly to their driver.

“Does your father know you have a boyfriend?”

You blinked owlishly, confused with what he suddenly said. The driver only shook his head lightly and smiled. He was watching the young sir sulked until Jin couldn’t keep his silence anymore.

“W-what boyfriend?”

“That boy you were walking with.”

“He’s a friend!”

Jin turned his head to look at you, his eyes appeared darker as he took you in. You were ridiculous in his eyes.

“Sure he is. I’m going to tell your father about this,” he promised in a monotonous voice. His jaw was clenched as he remembered clear as day how the two of you walked so near each other. He knew how other boys thought, especially on that age with their silly crushes.

But if he thought you would be mad, he could not be anymore mistaken. You instantaneously slid across the sit, almost plastering your side to his as you looked up at his eyes.

“Oppa, are you jealous?” You asked with a wide grin on your face, your lips the color of the sweet candy you were eating.

He blinked repeatedly. He could not believe he came across as that! He was just…looking for you. Right?! He was just somehow protective of you.

As gently as he could, he pushed you away. “Don’t be delusional! I’m just worried for uncle! He works so hard only for you to be with boys when you’re so young!” he explained in an annoyed voice, the volume of his voice rising like the way his ears reddened.

“So I should not be with another boy?”

“Yes.”

“So if I stay away from them, will you marry me when we grow up?”

“No.”

You only rolled your eyes at him, unbelieving that the two of you would not end up getting married. Your young self was sure that you would end up with him. A year later, your father transferred you to an all-girl’s school. You didn’t have to know that it was him who influenced your father to do so. At such a young age, Jin was starting to become darker, perhaps a little bit more manipulative. He had done it so underhanded by using his charms and well-placed words that no one would think of him as anything but a sweet, young man.

You were thirteen when girls started being mean to you. Why did kids have to be so mean? Why did kids have to find someone else’s weak spot and attacked it?

You were walking to an alley, a shortcut to your home, minding your own business when the mean girls from school saw you. You learned hate because of them. Your steps faltered when one of the mean girls noticed you.

“Look who’s here,” she sneered, looking at you up and down. Her other two friends paused their chats to look and you and laughed.

“What’s with your messy hair?” One of them asked in disbelief, circling you as she lifted some strands of your hair. You would admit you were bad at combing your hair. You were used to being one of the boys that you didn’t put special care to your appearance. “Do you look like that because you have no mother?”

“You looked like a rat that came from the sewage,” she mocked you. And then the three of them laughed in that annoying way of theirs.

It was not even funny.

You shook your head before attempting to walk past them. But apparently, they weren’t done with you. A scream erupted from your mouth when someone grabbed your hair, tugging it with enough force to bend your neck.

“Where are you going? You think we’re done with you?”

“Yes, freak. We’re done when we say we’re done!”

Even though you fought with all your might, you stood no chance. Three outnumbered one.

Until he came, like a hero you always thought he was.

Jin was in your house, his parents eating dinner with your father. He repeatedly looked at the clock, wondering where could you be. You should be home by now. His knee wouldn’t stop moving as he watched the clock. His parents were laughing with your father when he asked them where you were.

“Oh, she’s on her way home. She’s probably around the alley. You know that girl, she has no patience walking around the block.”

And that was when he left. He politely excused himself, telling them that he would just buy something from the convenience store. Yet, he found himself walking to the mentioned alley.

And he was glad he did.

You were so close to crying, something you didn’t like doing because it always took you forever to stop when someone roughly and carelessly pushed the mean girl away from you. She landed on the ground harshly and you heard her pained whimper. The other two went to their friend, pulling her away from the angry boy. You felt a gentle hand pulling you to stand. You felt Jin brushing the disheveled hair from your face. And then he flashed you a reassuring smile, yet his eyes remained angry.

You were limping as he walked with you. Up until now, he didn’t say anything. And you were all too glad he didn’t. That day, he pulled you to a convenience store, brought medical supplies, and cleaned your wounds quietly. He was bent down as he placed the final bandaid on your knee.

“What are their names?” He asked with an air of nonchalance, but what you didn’t know was his mind was brewing something unpleasant. He was going to unleash hell on those girls.

Without any thought, you told him.

And come morning, you never saw those girls again. Apparently, they were reported to the school and had to transfer.

He was seventeen when he saved you.

You were fourteen and he was eighteen. You were waiting for him outside the university he wanted to enter, in your hand was the placard you spent the whole night making. You were waiting to congratulate him on his entrance exam. There was a crowd outside the school, waiting for their sons or daughters to finish the exam. You were so sure that he was going to pass. Your Jin was the smartest man you knew.

You were grinning and waving wildly when you finally saw him. The years had only made him taller and more handsome. You sighed as his perfect face became more apparent as he neared you. You were so entranced by him that you didn’t notice his other friends and some girls trailing behind him. And they only teased him further when they saw your placard, snickering about how some young girl was pining over Jin.

As if he would be with you.

As if the Jin they knew would be with someone lower than him.

He was so embarrassed that he told you to go home.

“B-but-“

“Go home, Y/N.”

But you meant to ride home with him…

That day, it rained so hard and you were only too pitiful as you walked to the bus stop. You were shivering as you arrived home. And it didn’t come as a surprise that you caught a fever that night. For the first time, you ignored his text asking you if you arrived home safely. You had barely woken up when you noticed his form sitting beside your bed. Your father trusted him so much that he let him in your bedroom. He was silently watching you. On the bedside table was a basin of water and a cloth he used on your forehead. Jin might have appeared stoic in front of you, but inside he was dying from worry when he didn’t hear from you last night.

In fact, he was so worried that he came to your house, knocking on the door sheepishly when he woke up your father and asked if you were home.

He had been here for hours now.

“Are you mad at me?”

You smiled at him weakly. “Never, oppa,” you whispered.

“I’m sorry for leaving you. You should have not came alone, princess,” he lectured gently, still worried that you went on your own for more than an hour travel to cheer for him.

“I wanted to support you,” you pouting defended yourself.

“I know. But next time, don’t. I know you support me even without you going there.”

“W-were you worried for me?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” you said, sitting up slowly before flashing him your cheeky smile. “Will you marry me?”

Seokjin only shook his head.

He was eighteen when he didn’t outrightly said no. He was eighteen when he realized you meant the world to him.

Yet, he was nineteen when he hurt you the most.

It was Christmas. It was the first year he went to college, while you were still in high school. It was the first Christmas he looked forward to because your family and his were spending it together on a cabin near a frozen lake. He was the last one to arrive at the cabin, and he didn’t anticipate the traffic rush from people scrambling to enjoy their holidays that he arrived at a much later night. He didn’t know why, but he spent his first year away from home messaging you daily. He even went as far as demanded you to tell him when you would get home, or when you would go out with your friends, or when you needed someone to pick you up because he would. He would go to you regardless of how far he was. He would drive for hours for you.

Jin parked his car and entered the cabin. He knew you were probably sleeping already, but when he passed the dining room, he could hear conversations that turned something in his brain, something so horrible.

It planted something vile and poisonous in his twisted mind.

“Are you sure about this?” He heard his father’s voice resounding over the quietness of the night. He didn’t know why, but he stayed silent. He was always the polite one, always the one to greet his elders. But right now, he opted to forget his manners.

He opted to eavesdrop.

Your father sighed before putting the glass of whiskey on the table. “I am sure about this. I think it will be good for Y/N and I to move to America. I think it’s an offer I cannot refuse.”

Jin felt a stabbing pain in his heart. No. You would leave him. Your father would take you from him. He didn’t want you gone. He couldn’t have you gone. He would lose it if you weren’t around.

“When will you leave?” His mother asked gently. And Jin dreaded the answer.

“Next week.”

Not if Jin had anything to do with it. No one would take you from him.

“Oppa!”

He snapped out of his dark thoughts when he heard your angelic voice calling to him. You were running full speed to him, and before he knew it you were jumping in his arms. The blunt force of your body slamming to his brought him back to life, to his sanity that was slipping from his grasp.

“You’re here!” You grinned at him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He was silent. He probably hated your embrace. He probably found you annoying, still.

You were about to step back when he wrapped his muscular arms around you.

“Y/N! Let Jin go. He’s tired from driving all night,” your father nudged you gently, his smile comforting as he greeted Jin. But to Jin, your father lost all his charm the moment he decided to take you away from him.

The lake was frozen.

It was the perfect time to skate. You were giddy as you and your father skated in the early morning of the Christmas eve. It had always been the two of you since you could remember. Your mother died when you were barely walking. To you, your father was your whole world. Your laughters resounded over the whole cabin, and Jin’s parents’ were happy just listening to you. Jin’s mother was preparing hot chocolate, and his father was putting gifts under the tree.

It smelled like Christmas.

“Jin! My boy, come join us!” Your father called when he noticed from a distance Jin who was standing statue like near the lake. His black coat was in perfect contrast of the whiteness of the snow. His cheeks and lips were almost red from the cold temperature.

You thought he looked like a prince.

You waved at him before twirling around the ice. You landed perfectly on your feet. Your father beckoned you to him, and you were only too eager to skate to him when you heard a cracking sound.

You threaded on the thin ice.

And before you knew it, you were falling in the deep, cold water. The unforgiving temperature of the water swallowed your screams. It swallowed your resistance. You managed to get your head above water only to see you own father fell down, the very ground he was skating on cracked under his weight.

It was merely a second but you saw the horror that flashed in his eyes, the despair of his situation, and the anxiety that he would not get to you on time.

The second time you managed to get your head above the freezing water, you saw Jin running to you, shedding his black coat on the ground.

“My father! Save him!” You screamed, even as your voice shook.

But Jin still ran to you. Without any thought for his own safety, he dove down to the harsh water. He dove down like an angel you thought he was as you sank further down, only the light from the cracked lake shone through. He thought he wouldn’t get to you, but by his strong, sheer will, he managed to grab your wrist.

Pulling you up was harder. But Jin was a determined man.

He swam up with one hand, while the other was secured around your body. He managed to drag you up, noticing how blue your lips were. His parents were screaming as they ran to the lake.

“Stay there!” He shouted, knowing how unstable the ice were.

“M-my father. S-save h-him,” you pleaded your hero, gripping his sleeve with weak hand as he wrapped his coat around your shivering body. It was a though he didn’t hear you, only focused on your well-being.

He could save him.

He still had the energy, the adrenaline rush still strong in his veins.

He could technically save him.

But your father was going to take you away from him.

“Jin, p-please save him,” you whispered frantically, looking up to his dark eyes with your pleading ones.

And so, Jin stood up slower, ran slower, and dove a little slower to save your father. No one would technically call him on his bullshit. After all, his parents saw him dove after their friend. You saw him with his own eyes how he dragged your unconscious, pale father from the pits of the cold lake.

You saw him.

“She’s so young to be an orphan. What a tragedy,” you heard them say as you stood stoically on the side. You had not said a word since your father was pronounced dead. They said you were in shocked. They said you were still processing what happened. They said you would be better in time.

But how would they know that?

You were grateful for the Kim family for taking care of everything; from the funeral to the papers, to taking you in. Even Seokjin filed a leave from the university to stay with you.

And he did stay with you. Right now, he was standing beside you, accepting condolences in behalf of you. He was a rock, just a rock that you didn’t want right now. A rock that you somehow selfishly associated with your father’s death.

He stayed with you even when you didn’t want him to.

You had not even looked at him since that tragedy. You knew it was wrong, you knew it was unfair for you to blame him. But were you wrong to blame him when you felt him hesitate? Had he moved a second sooner, would your father still be here? Would he be lying on the hospital bed instead of his coffin?

It was a month later and you still hadn’t said a word despite you going to therapy. It was a month of silence and of you acting like he wasn’t there, like he wasn’t waiting for you to look at him.

“Dear,” his mother called you one night, sitting you down on their living room. “We were thinking…we want to adopt you.”

If you were shocked, Jin was even more surprised. He didn’t know about this. How could his parents decided to do this? To do this to him?!

Your widened eyes looked up from your hands to them. Did they really mean that? Did that mean you weren’t going to be alone anymore? Were you going to have a family again?

“But only if you want to. There’s no rush, dear. Either way,” Mrs. Kim said gently, clasping your hands in hers, tears brimming in her eyes as she took in the pitiful you. “Either way, you’re already a daughter to me.”

“Thank you.” That was the first thing you said in a month. You were so happy. You were so thankful. You were about to hug her when Jin slammed his hand on the table.

“No!”

“Jin! Watch your tone-“

“No, father. I don’t want to be her brother! I don’t want her to be my sister!” He shouted, his voice extremely loud. And for the first time in a month, you looked at his eyes with your hurt ones. He couldn’t even bring himself to regret this. You didn’t know this now, you probably didn’t realize this right now but he was fighting for the future of the two of you. Why would you say thank you to his mother?! Weren’t you the one who kept on bugging him to marry him? Did you now change your mind? No. No, he wouldn’t let you. He didn’t do all of those things for you to change your mind now.

“I’ll never treat you like a sister, Y/N.”

You were turning sixteen when he let you go.

It was already way past your curfew when you arrived at Kim’s home. You were silently walking in the darkened room, certain that no one would catch you creeping in when all of a sudden, light from a lampshade flooded the room.

And there he was, sitting with his legs crossed, his face void of any emotion as he watched you.

“Princess,” he called you in a slurred voice. It was his voice that finally made you looked at him, to look at the boy you used to adore. It was apparent that he was drunk. His cheeks were tinted with redness, and his eyes were somehow unfocused.

You blinked as you took him in. “You’re drunk.”

“And you hate me. And it’s killing me,” he replied back softly, tears were quickly filling his eyes. He could not go on like this. You were killing him. He could not live another day with you being so close yet so far. At that point, he would do anything to get back the young girl who used to adore and support him. Jin stood up, shadows following his form as he neared you.

Had you not let him touched you that night, he would not agree with you leaving him.

But you did not step back when he caressed your face. You did not step back when he hugged you, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

“How can I make you love me again?”

“Let me go to America,” you replied calmly. You did want to go abroad, to leave all this mess behind. Had you father not died horribly, the two of you would have lived there by now. But Jin was preventing you from leaving with all his might. The influence he had in his parents was powerful, something that you did not consider. In your young mind, you knew leaving was the best course of action for you. South Korea was killing you. Living with him was killing you. Remembering that he saved you instead of your father despite your endless begging was killing you.

And you hating him because of that was killing him.

Jin towered over you as he leaned back to look at you, his eyes tired and sad. “And if I let you leave me, will you love me again?”

Your heart was beating fast. At that point, you would say anything to get away from him and the memories he represented.

“If I let you leave, my princess,” he whispered as he looked down at your lips. “If I let you leave me, do you promise to marry me when you get back?”

“Yes. I promise, Jin.”

It was your lie that cemented your future.

You were now twenty-five. Years passed by so fast. It was true was they said, time could heal wounds. The promise you made before was long gone from your mind. Your then young mind rationalized that Jin only acted that way because of guilt, that he only asked you to love him again because he was so used to you loving him that once you stopped, you shifted the orbit of his world. You hadn’t personally heard from him in almost nine years. As soon as you turned eighteen and no longer needed the Kim family as guardians, you cut off all communications from him. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to distance yourself from Mrs. Kim. She was the mother you never had. But every time you called, Jin would even be more desperate for you. Even his mother was worried for her son, claiming that ever since you stopped communicating with the young man, he started becoming closed off. Every time you called his mother, Jin would snatch the phone away from her, yearning to just hear your voice so badly.

Seokjin was miserable. But his misery was not without anger. He resented the fact that he let you go, that he believed you when you said you would come back to him…that you would marry him.

He regretted letting you leave him. He swore that once he got you back, he would tie you to him so fast you wouldn’t be able to leave him again.

It had been almost a decade.

You weren’t living under the rock, no. To him, it was as though you disappeared from the face of the earth. It was difficult to find you in a foreign country even with his wealth and power. He didn’t know how you were right now. He didn’t know what you look like. He missed the years he could have spent with you. He missed you.

To you though, you could not escape him. His face was everywhere you looked, his life out there for everyone to see. It didn’t come as a surprise to you that he made something more out of himself. After all, ever since you were younger you thought he was larger than life. You were scared to see him in person, though.

You thought seeing him would bring back the pain you so desperately wanted to forget. Your therapist encouraged you to face your fears slowly, saying that you could see him without him seeing you.

You saw him once during their concert in America. Seokjin looked like a prince when you were a child. But now, he was like a king. His persona screamed elegance. He looked happier too as he danced and sang with his bandmates. It was apparent that life had been kind to him. You thought you could finish the whole concert without panicking, but Jin looked a little too long at your direction. And that was when you ran away.

“Do I really have to?” You asked you boss sheepishly, borderline on begging him not to send you back to that place.

He looked at you with an exasperated face, “Do you want to keep your job or not?”

“Right now…” you trailed off, your utter aversion of going back to South Korea was somehow outweighing your desire to eat and afford a roof on your head. “I’m not sure I want to.”

You sighed as you stepped out of the airport. Your company prepared ahead of time, arranging hotel for the whole month you would be staying in this country. You crafted a well-planned schedule which would take you around the pertinent parts of South Korea. You promised yourselves that you would be smart with your time so you could leave as soon as possible with the finished project your company sent you for.

You were expecting a calm and quiet first day.

You really were.

You were praying for that, in fact.

“I apologize, but our system cannot find your name.”

You flashed the hotel receptionist a tight smile, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm yourself. “Can you try one last time?”

She nodded reluctantly, but the result was the same. No room was booked under your name. You thanked her for her time before you attempted to call your boss to no avail. You knew it was probably due to timezone difference, but you couldn’t help but curse him in your head. You would so demand a raise once you get back. You tried booking at another hotel but weirdly enough, all of the rooms were already booked. You even tried booking for an airbnb but the ending was the same.

It was eventually seven in the evening when you swallowed your pride and called her. Mrs. Kim was elated that you were finally back, her motherly warmth could be felt despite her being out of the country at the moment for their anniversary. She did instruct you to go to a house that was an hour away from Seoul. She gave you the passcode and said she would see you as soon as she arrived back to South Korea. By the time you arrived at the white, modern house, it was already almost midnight. The jet lag and the timezone difference were starting to get to you that you decided to shower then sleep rather than touring the house. You would do that tomorrow.

But tomorrow was different.

For the first time in years, you slept so deeply. You had never felt rested since the day of the accident. But today, you felt so serene, so rested. It must have been the wondrous bed that lured you to sleep, or it must have been the extreme weariness from your travel. And probably, it must have been the warmth beside you, your cheek resting on a beating heart.

Wait.

What?

You opened your eyes in sudden alertness, all traces of sleep now gone from your body. The first thing you saw was a plain, white shirt and a pair of black shorts of whomever you were sleeping on top of. The shirt stretched out over a muscular chest and your mind was hopelessly telling you that he smelled familiar…

Slowly, as to not alert whoever this strange man was, you pushed your body away from the man you unknowingly made your bed. You felt his hand resting on the small of your back fell on the bed. With wide eyes and shallow breaths, you looked up at the face of the man you never thought you’d see again- only to find him already looking at you with hooded eyes.

Seokjin gazed at you with warmth, his plump lips lifting on the sides.

“Miss me, princess?”

My Tiny Secret | Index

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut, mistress au

𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒓: This story will contain mature content and toxic relationship. If you’re not comfortable with those topics, please don’t read this.

↳ＤＲＡＢＢＬＥＳ

⏤> 01 | Shame

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⏤> 02 | Secret

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⏤> 03 | Audacity

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⏤> 04 | No Name

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⏤> 05 | Name

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⏤> 06 | First Meet

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⏤> 07| Choice

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⏤> 08 | Home

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⏤> 09 | New Place

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⏤> 10 | Weirdness

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⏤> 11 | Unexpected Visit

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⏤> 12 | Protego

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⏤> 13 | Not Welcomed

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⏤> 14 | Secret’s Out

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⏤> 15 | The Night We Met

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⏤> 16 | We Meet Again

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⏤> 17 | Wine & Pride

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⏤> 18 | Worth It

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⏤> 19 | The Resemblance

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⏤> 20 | First Steps

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⏤> 21 | His Decision

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⏤> 22 | Look At Us Now (FINAL)

● 

⏤> Christmas Special

Without You [Yoongi x Reader, Hobi x Reader] — IN PROGRESS

A clean break.

That’s all y/n wants for her messy, complicated, and seemingly endless friends with benefits arrangement with Min Yoongi. But that seems to be the last thing he’s willing to give her.

When she moves halfway around the world, forcing the end of their arrangement, she discovers he’s left her with a gift that will alter the course of her life forever.

Will she go back to Yoongi or will a rekindled relationship with the estranged Jung Hoseok come between them?

Genre: Pregnancy!AU, Idol!AU, Love Triangle, FWB2L, F2L

Warnings: 🔞, profanity, suggestive language, mentions of sex, angst, excessive use of exclamation points, etc. 

Schedule: Thursdays @ 11 PM CST

Taglist OPEN! (Send an ask or leave a reply to be added to the taglist)

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all this stigma, pt. 1 | kth [M]

part one | two (finale) | epilogue 

❝ one mistake can change everything…❞

➝ summary: your relationship with taehyung was supposed to stay strictly casual. yet, when you find yourself pregnant with his child, the walls you built up come crashing down around you. kim taehyung’s affluent family are strict and traditional, willing to do anything to cover up the indiscretions of their son, even if it means forcing him into marriage…

➝ pairing: heir taehyung x female reader

➝ genre: heavy angst, arranged marriage au

➝ word count: 7.5k

➝ warnings: light smut; profanity; lots of talk about losing virginity; unplanned pregnancy; taehyung and y/n are friends with benefits for a spell; y/n’s family is very religious; brief discussion of abortion; mentions of divorce

➝ author’s note: well… i guess i just like writing things that upset me :’’’) i actually struggled with writing this, since some parts were so heavy - they were difficult to get through. i hope i was able to convey the emotions well. please check the warnings before reading, as this is probably one of the most mature pieces i’ve written to date.

i set the present day sections in italics, while the flashbacks are not in italics. i hope it’s not too confusing.

[Present]

You sit on the floor, cross-legged. Your photo album sits spread out in front of you, haunting memories glaring at you from the pages. You stare back, with stinging eyes.

You know that you should get rid of the memories. You need to be free of the burden that these photos carry. Yet, a part of you wants to go through the album’s contents one last time. The images contained in those pages will haunt you if you don’t. You consider this a cleansing act – an exorcism of sorts.

Heaving a deep breath to steady yourself, you open to the first page. The photos of your first year at university grin at you. Your past self has been caught blurred, in the middle of a laugh, arms slung around two friends at a party. In the corner, squished up beside your old friend Anise, is Taehyung, grinning his signature smile, a bottle of beer raised. You haven’t seen that smile in a while.

You were so carefree back then.

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Desolation Masterlist

Title- Desolation

Prompt- He thinks he found someone better than her, but is that the case really?

Pairing- IdolYoongi X Reader

Genre- Angst (So much of it), Fluff

Type of AU- MarriageAU, DivorceAU, InfidelityAU

Total Word Count- ¿

PG-13

Status- Ongoing

(New chapters will be posted every week)

Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

—

Stalemate (Mini-series) | MYG

Stalemate (Mini-series)

Definition:  (1) Chess. a position of the pieces in which a player cannot move any piece except the king and cannot move the king without putting it in check. (2) any position or situation in which no action can be taken or progress made; deadlock

Pairing: Woodworker!Yoongi x Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: breakup!AU; toxic relationships; angst; fluff; smut; heavy drama

Total word count: 16,983 words

Status: Completed ✅

Warnings (more written in individual chapters): problematic exes; relationship insecurities; alcohol consumption; cussing; miscommunication; past infidelity (reader had an affair with a married man but not detailed); protected sex; oral sex (F-receiving); heavy drama; verbal arguments and confrontation

Summary: "The truth is, I'm not afraid to take that gamble anymore...in the off-chance that I get lucky again and feel the way I felt when I was with you. I'd happily make that bet over and over."

❗️PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE DIVING IN: This series is a 2-parter and is a nonlinear narrative. I go back and forth on the timeline of this story--which hopefully, I've clearly marked with the "Now" and "Then" headers.

This story is also a rendition of a Filipino movie called, "Exes Baggage." If you know it, I hope I've done the story some justice 🤗

This is also part of The Heartbroken Society Collab hosted by @playmetheclassics , @jeoniius , and myself! Please support these lovely authors when their fics become available. 💔❤️‍🩹

On that note, comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩–Don’t be shy!

❗️Please DNI if you’re a minor.

Part 1 | Part 2 (conclusion)

Cut Me Open (ft. Yoongi) Part 01 [M]

→ marriedcouple!au, surgeon!au spin-off from CardioPalps → 15k words, rated for sex, possible triggers (talk of divorce/miscarriage/family issues), and medical jargon that took me 5ever to research 

→ part 1 | part 2 coming soon

A/N: So the second part is definitely on its way. It just ended up being way too long together to make it a full fic. But please, don’t think that this is how it ends! Stay tuned for the second part! 

Love. 

Neuroscience and Biology like to tell us that it’s a side-effect of a release of a hormone called Dopamine and oxytocin, the same two hormones released when the guy living under the bridge snorts up another line of coke, and when the horribly suffering and screaming woman holds the human she just pushed out of her vagina for the first time in her arms. 

Doctors like to ignore it, ignore the religious and hippie suggestions that “love can conquer anything,” because we, like many other medical professions, believe in science. 

We don’t believe those superstitions that if a man is diagnosed with a tumor but learns to love his life and fights for it, he is magically healed of his fatal diagnosis. No, we smile and nod at the patient and his family, congratulate him, and then turn around and walk away because we know that it was the chemo therapy and the gamma rays we shined into his thoracic cavity that destroyed all the stomach cancer cells along with his hair follicles. But what the patients don’t know won’t kill them. 

But, aside from love, a reason why the medical field has the third highest divorce rates in the world, is because we doctors are professional line-drawers. 

We draw lines for a living. Not the plastic surgeon, sharpie-a-line-over-your-boob kind of line, but a physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental line. Theres always the line, the one that lies between a living patient and a dead patient. There’s always the line that you mustn’t cross with the people on your surgical table, the difference between a bleeding aorta nicked by the slip of the hand weilding the scalpel and a healthy one. There’s the lines you must draw with your co-workers, the ones who you don’t dare call your friends because then everyone would know that you too don’t have friends outside the workplace. 

And then, there’s the line you draw with those who you love. Whether or not they’re sitting on your table, brain flap open for you to probe, you must draw lines. You can’t operate on someone who’s close or related to you. You can’t offer to waive fees for someone who you once respected back in high school. You can’t be in relationships with your patients, friendly or sexual. 

And you definitely shouldn’t be married to your partner, and co-leader of your department, who currently despises your guts as much as you hate performing rectal exams this far into your career. 

You wished you knew that when you agreed to this job five years ago. 

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what do you look like when you lie? | myg

↳ read on ao3 • feedback

        ❝ i grew a flower that can’t be bloomed            in a dream that can’t come true. ❞

» pairing: idol!yoongi x reader » genre: secret relationship/breakup!au, angst, very minor smut » rating: nc-17/explicit; minors dni » wordcount: 7.7k » warnings: this is pure angst and i am so sorry. infidelity, swearing, smut (nothing super explicit, but: oral sex [m. receiving], another bad handjob, very brief mentions of other sexual activities). heartbreak and the general demise of a relationship. unrequited love but not really? a canon dating scandal but make it angsty. » a/n: i’ve never written pure angst/an unhappy ending but my brain went haha wouldn’t it be so funny if we took yoongi’s dating scandal with suran and added a secret relationship and a whole lot of pain? and wouldn’t let it go so here we are. if you read this and want to yell at me my inbox is always open. thank you in advance and i’m sorry?

[now]

See, the thing is, it’s not really in your nature to nag.

Shit happens. Plans change, have always existed in this fluid state where sometimes there’s a rigid, unpermissive schedule and sometimes there’s spontaneity and flexibility and sometimes there’s nothing at all. You learned a long time ago to never really get your hopes up. Not in this business, anyway, and certainly not with Yoongi.

You’ve spent a lot of time convincing yourself that’s fine, that you’d rather have a Yoongi that broke plans and sometimes went days without responding to texts than no Yoongi at all.

It’s fine. You’ve always known exactly what you signed up for.

Keep reading

by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

ESCAPE (Teaser)

March 21st 2021 02:27AM

“Y/N, today was just not your day…” you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes to relieve the sting caused by a severe lack of sleep, your shoulders gradually sinking further down as you sigh deeply…

You slowly open your eyes, not really focusing on anything in particular, only faintly aware of the sounds of the inky waves gently crashing onto the shore line at this ungodly hour. The beach used to be your happy place. No matter what was happening in your life, be it good or bad, just sitting on the shore line and looking out at the ocean has always calmed your soul. The back and forth motions of the waters, the sound of the waves overlapping onto the sand, the slightly salty smell that lingers in the quiet breeze… It was your own little piece of heaven.

Also, it was free.

Having the beach nearby is just about the only good thing about this crappy little town.

Being born into a family that was just above the poverty line, you had to learn quickly that you were not afforded the same opportunities as others, that nothing in life came easy and that you had to fight to survive and earn your place in this world.

That’s exactly what you were trying to do, earn your little place in this world, before your entire life got turned upside down.

When you got off the bus with your suitcase and duffel bag 2 weeks ago, you knew that this was going to be difficult. After everything that you did to leave this town behind you, you were somehow back to square one.

“Finish high school, find a job, work hard, make some money and get the hell outta this place!!!” That’s what you told yourself daily, like a mantra, from the age of about 10 right up until you left this town the year you turned 18 and graduated, 7 years ago… You thought that once you left here, you’d never return… There was nothing for you in this town, so why did you choose to come back here, of all places?

Another sad sigh escapes your lips as your hands which are buried in the pocket of your hoodie instinctively spreads over your swollen belly…

“Because…” you say softly into the night breeze as the tears that you’ve been holding in for the last 6 months finally roll down your face, “this is the one place that he will never come looking for us…”

I want to post a teaser for a for an angsty Yoongi story that I am working on but I fear that nobody will read it lol...

When you found out they cheated on you

Pairing: Maknae line x Reader

Warnings: Soft Yandere, Cheating, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: see, no one asked for this. I did this out of my own volition 😂 but this had been living in my mind rent free. I hope you enjoy!

Jimin

You angrily wiped your tears, shoving your things in your bag thoughtlessly. You didn’t care about the things you were leaving, didn’t care about the way you probably looked like an insane person, you didn’t care about anything but getting out of here as soon as possible.

Your movements were quick, going from one room to another in your haste to collect most of your things. You were about to go to the bathroom when the front door opened with a slam.

“Y/N! Baby!” Jimin’s voice was frantic as he called out for you, his legs carrying him to your shared room. The one you thought was filled with love and honesty, only for the memories to be sullied by him cheating on you.

You thought you were being irrational when you started suspecting that something was wrong, but you should have known that a woman’s intuition was almost never wrong. And God did you wish it was wrong because when you followed him from two cars behind and saw with your own eyes that he went to a exclusive hotel, only for him to come out hours later with a woman beside him, it broke you.

And when he kissed her, it destroyed you.

But nothing could have hurt more than the look in his eyes when he saw you from your car, his face telling you all you needed to know. And so you drove as fast as you could away from him and his lies.

But you guessed you could only run for so long before he caught up.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t even spare him a glance when he was desperately looking at you, his hand gripping your bag, attempting to stop you from packing your things.

“Baby, please. Please. Please talk to me, please,” he pleaded, tears falling from his eyes. He was out of his mind from the time he saw you looking at him from the parking lot as though you were disgusted by him. No. Not as though. You were disgusted.

You wrenched your bag away from his hold to no avail. And to your anger, you shoved your bag at him. If he wanted it so much, then you were going to leave it to him.

Fuck all your things.

Fuck him for breaking your heart.

He paled from your actions. You were always calm, always so gentle when it came to him that your sudden forceful actions displaced him. You were almost to the front door when he snapped out of his stupor, catching up to you. He caged you in his arms, pulling you so tight to him. Jimin was afraid that if he let you go, you’d leave and never come back.

“Let. Go.”

“No,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by him shoving his face on your hair, inhaling your scent in an attempt to calm the raging demons in him. “No. I’m sorry. I know I was wrong,” he said in a small voice that you almost jumped from how he screamed his confession next. “Something’s wrong with me! But please don’t leave me! I’ll fix it! I’ll fix us just please! Don’t leave.”

You didn’t know how, but you were able to wretched yourself away from him. You pushed him away, and in his emotional state, he fell to the floor.

Jimin looked pitiful. But you felt nothing but disgust when he touched you when before, you craved his touch.

Now you just felt dirty because of his touch.

“No. You disgust me,” you sobbed before leaving his house, and in turn, his life.

Taehyung

“Tae Tae! I’m home!” You sang as you entered your shared house. You came home early because you wanted to surprise him. You knew how much he hated being away from you, and he barely let you leave the house last week even though this was for your work. Your Taehyung pouted all the way to the airport, and even demanded cutely that you kissed him for five minutes before he even let you out of the car.

You frowned when you saw two, opened food container when you passed the kitchen. You thought innocently that he must have been hungry. And with a smile, you entered your bedroom, only to see your boyfriend sleeping. He looked peaceful and hot as he slumbered off, his shirt nowhere to be found and his hair tousled. He must not have shaved since you left, and you’d admit you loved seeing him like this.

With light steps, you sat on the bed beside him, brushing his midnight hair away from his handsome and princely face, before planting a kiss on his cheek.

He opened his eyes, anger swirling on them before he smiled at you. He looked like a child on a Christmas eve when he saw you. He sat up immediately and embraced you, smiling from ear to ear as he finally had you again in his arms.

“Taehyung! You’re squeezing me,” you complained in his ear, and yet despite that you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend. He was warm, so pleasant to touch that you couldn’t help but rub his bareback, loving the way his muscles rippled.

“I miss you, princess,” his voice deeper from his sleep. “You’re not allowed to leave me again. I forbid it.”

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s silliness. You knew Taehyung was a bit clingy and possessive, but it never bothered you because at the end of the day, you knew his love for you was unparalleled.

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious.”

“Fine, my prince. I’m not going to leave you that long again,” you said to appease him. You planted a kiss on his shoulder when you caught a reddish mark on his otherwise perfect skin. Did he scratch it? Was his allergy acting up?

“Promise me,” he demanded in a hard voice.

“I promi-“

The sound of something inside the bedroom’s bathroom suddenly made you look at that direction, your brows furrowed as you pushed him away gently. If you were confused that he gripped your wrist, you didn’t comment. But still, you smiled at him and walked closer to the bathroom. You wished you didn’t open it because what was inside destroyed how you looked at him, how you looked at the one you loved the most.

The woman in front of you looked down, shame creeping on her face. Her hair was wet, undeniable that she showered in your shower. Her arms were wrapped around her as though to protect herself. But you wouldn’t hurt her.

She wasn’t the one who made a commitment to you.

The man behind you did.

Slowly, you looked at Taehyung, his lips quivering in panic.

“So…” you started in a cold voice, one that could be mistaken for calm if not for the storm that was in your eyes. “You missed me that much that you fucked another girl?”

He flinched, your words bullet to his heart. “This was a mistake, princess-“

You scoffed when you heard him called you that.

“It was a mistake! One that should have never seen the light of the day if only you left!” He screamed at the woman behind you, vein popping out of his neck from anger. He stalked to her, shouting at the now terrified woman. “I told you to leave! Why did you stay!! Why are you here?!”

You couldn’t recognize the man beside you. He never once shouted at you, and now seeing him angry at someone he fucked was unbelievable. How could he blame her when it took two to tango?

You pushed him away from the cowering woman. If you were not a kind person, you wouldn’t do this. But you couldn’t just stand there and let him verbally attack someone when he was an accomplice too.

“Why are you still here?! I told you to leave! Leave!”

You looked behind you. And despite the hurt and hatred in your heart, this was something between the two of you. You quietly told the girl to leave because if she wouldn’t, Taehyung wouldn’t stop screaming.

And when she left, you felt his hand touch your cheek sweetly. “She’s gone now, my princess,” he whispered, hope in his eyes as he gazed at you. “She’s never coming back.”

You slapped his hand away from your face. “How many times did you cheat on me?”

Taehyung ran his hand through his hair, his breathing shallow and rapid. “I-It was only once. It didn’t mean anything. You weren’t supposed to find out-“

“I don’t mean anything to you,” you whispered in realization. You flinched when he reached for you.

“You do! You mean the world to me!” He swore, visibly panicking when you wouldn’t let him touch you, when you kept on backing away from him as if he was dirty. “I-I was gonna propose. See?!” He hastily opened the drawer and retrieved a velvet box, in it was a ring he commissioned for you, something that was one of a kind. “We’re going to get married and all this will just be history.”

You were shaking your head before he could even finished. How did he think that you were still going to marry him after this?

Taehyung was certifiably insane.

“I’m never going to marry a cheater, Taehyung.”

And you ran to your car parked in his massive garage, eager to escape the man you thought loved you with all his heart. From the rearview mirror, you saw him running after your quickening car, never stopping until you passed the gate to his house.

You heard him screaming for your name.

Jungkook

“No! No no no no no! Fuck, love please!” He begged as he attempted to catch up to you.

You didn’t think that your innocent surprise to your boyfriend of four years would end in this: you running from him. You finished your work early that day, and he had been begging you to let him see you tonight that you finally decided to surprise him in his work this time.

But you were the one surprised.

You should have taken noticed of the way the staff looked at you when you asked them where he was. They all looked at you with pity and fright. They were terrified of what would happen to you and how the golden maknae would react. You were so naive that you were smiling as you opened the door to the studio, only to find him sitting, his legs spread wide as a girl you recognized was one of the dancers bobbed her head up and down on his length. His eyes were closed, his hands on her head as he used her. You didn’t know how long you stood there, why you were frozen, why you couldn’t react. Was it because you thought he loved you with all his heart? That you thought he was the person you could trust the most in this world? That he would never do this to you? That your four-year relationship meant something?

Was that why your heart felt like it was going to break into tiny, million pieces?

“Y/N! You’re here,” You suddenly heard a deep voice from behind you which awoken Jungkook from his lust. The one who called you was Namjoon who was smiling at you, until he saw what you were seeing.

“L-love,” he stuttered, his eyes widening. He pushed the woman away from him, tucking his length inside him but before he could even do that, you were running away from him. Your tears were falling freely from embarrassment and pain. Did anyone know this? Were you made a fool?

“Y/N! My love! Wait please!” He yelled at the top of his lungs as you ran to the elevator, pushing the buttons repeatedly, willing for it to go faster because if it didn’t, you’d end up facing something you couldn’t even begin to process. Jin and Suga walked out of Suga’s studio with confused look on their faces when they heard the clamor of their golden maknae screaming his lungs out. Jin looked at Namjoon for explanation, and when the leader quietly explained it to his hyung, Suga’s eyes went cold.

Heavens must have taken pity on you that the door opened just when he was about to reach you. But you should know, Jungkook was fast. He shoved his hand on the elevator, effectively stopping it from closing. His doe eyes looked lost and afraid when you slapped his hand away from you.

“How could you do this to me,” you said with venom in your voice. Even in your sadness, you were conscious of the eyes on you, specifically Namjoon, Jin, and Suga. “How could you do this to us?”

He shook his head, his lips quivering as you pushed him out of the elevator. “I-I’ll fix this for us. I’ll be better. I’m sorry-“

“No. You’re sorry because I caught you, Jungkook.”

And when he didn’t say anything, only looking at you with tears falling in his eyes, you knew what to do. With resolution in your heart, you slipped off the ring he gave you just last week when he asked you to be his wife.

Last week, he loved you.

And now, he cheated on you.

“I’m so glad we’re not married yet. Thank you for cheating on me this early,” you mumbled as you walked near him, holding his hand so you could drop the ring he gave you. You could almost laugh in pain when you remembered him being so shy and scared as he knelt down and asked for your hand. And now you saw him with a girl kneeling for him.

The irony, you thought.

Jungkook shook his head when you tried to give him the ring, and when he didn’t accept it back, you dropped it to his feet.

“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you said in a cold voice. You were going to enter the elevator again when you felt his tight grip on your arm.

“NO! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LEAVE ME OVER SOMETHING AS STUPID AS THIS! WE’RE GONNA GET THROUGH THI-“

“You’re hurting me!”

“No! You promised me you’re going to be mine. You said you loved me! Do you not love me despite of my mistake! You can’t leave-“

A sudden hand shoved him away from you. You gasped as you looked up at your unlikely savior, Yoongi.

“You okay?” He whispered as he looked at your tear-filled eyes. Your hesitance to nod was clear to him. He offered you a small, reassuring smile. “Go inside. I’ll take care of him.”

Jungkook attempted to step closer to you but Yoongi’s hand was steady on the maknae’s chest. “Yoongi hyung! What are you doing! I need her-“

“Stop it, Jungkook.”

“No! I’ll die if she leaves me!” You could hear his screams, terror in your eyes as he trashed against Yoongi that Namjoon and Jin had to help the rapper contain the strong man. The elevator door seemed to take forever to close. The way he looked at you with desperation in his eyes, the way he trashed and struggled against his hyungs who could barely restrain the distressed man was etched in your mind forever.

And even as the door closed, you could hear him scream for you.

“I’ll find you, love. And we’re going to get pass this. You’re going to love me again!”

Baby Fever

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Summary: You were more than just a secretary to him.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Breeding kink, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: hiiii! I haven’t felt as inspired as I did while writing this for a while 🥹 I hope you enjoy this!

“I want a baby.”

You sputtered out the coffee you were drinking. Your eyes watered as you coughed. You tried to get your breathing under control as you looked at the imposing man sitting in front of you with his legs spread apart. He had not lifted his eyes from the laptop presented in front of him. He was idly looking at photos of paintings from the various exhibits you attended while he was busy with his group’s schedule. As an idol, and on top of that the leader of the biggest group today, Kim Namjoon was an extremely busy person. You were his secretary for almost four years now. You took care of his personal life, while his personal assistant took care of his work life. You were there for him whenever he was done with his work schedule. You were there to make sure that he remembered to call his family during their birthdays, special occasions, and holidays. In fact, you were the first person he was keen on seeing once he landed from whatever country they were in for work. His members, specially Taehyung and Seokjin, let you know time and time again how much you were appreciated. If you weren’t there, they thought that Namjoon would not be as put up as he was right now. You thought that Namjoon would survived without you.

You coughed twice before finally feeling like you could live. “What?” You asked him in confusion before wiping your self with the handkerchief he had somehow laid out in front of you.

Namjoon eventually looked up to you once he marked the photos of paintings he wanted to purchase. He leaned in, resting his elbow on his muscular thigh before plopping his chin on his hand. “I said, I want a baby.”

You squinted your eyes confusingly, “As in…baby as in baby? Or baby as in I don’t know? Not an actual baby?” You knew even as you asked what he meant. Namjoon was the most intelligent man you knew, and he did not make mistakes when conversing. In fact, he was such a great conversationalist that the media loved to invite him on their shows.

So…what brought this on?

“A child of my own, Y/N.”

That was not the first time he mentioned that. If you could remember clearly, he answered in some interviews that he really wanted to become a father. He even bought that cute little shoes when he was abroad just because. In your mind, you knew he would be the best father if how he took care of his members was any indicator. It broke your heart, though, to see him still alone after all this time.

“I mean…are you seeing someone that I’m not aware of?”

He blinked at you, absorbing what you were asking. How could he had another woman when he spent almost all his free time with you? “No.”

“T-then how?” You asked in puzzlement. You could see from his expression that he was serious about this. He rarely said anything without thinking it thoroughly in the complex and brilliant mind of his. This meant that he really did want to have a child of his own now.

You were finding it difficult to process this. Couldn’t he just want another painting?

Namjoon merely shrugged his broad shoulders and went back to looking over the paintings.

You thought that was the end of it. But no. The second time he mentioned this was at Jin’s house.

You two were about to call it a day after running errands for him. To be honest, you were quite excited for tonight. You were set to meet with your college friends, including someone you always looked up to back in your college years because of his superior intellect. He was also always so kind to you, even walked you home to your dorm every night. But you were too immense in your studies back then that you had no time for relationship. But maybe, now?

You made sure to take more time to dress yourself up this morning. You even chose to swap your usual lipstick to a different shade that made you feel more alluring and beautiful. Your fingers touched the beautiful necklace Namjoon gave you on your birthday last year. You thought that the accessory was perfect with the dress you were wearing.

This would be an easy day for you, you thought to yourself seeing that RM’s schedule was just until the afternoon. You smiled at your reflection in the mirror, satisfied with your appearance before leaving the house. When you showed up at the company to pick him up, the staff politely informed you that the leader was still in the studio with Yoongi and that he told them to ask you to go directly there. You were walking to the floor where the studio was when you passed the three maknaes: Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

“Oh, noona!” Jungkook called you, his voice in pleasant surprised as he looked at your face. His doe eyes took in your clothes with wonder before meeting your eyes again. “Noona! You look so pretty!”

Taehyung smiled at you and nodded his head. “Our noona looks so fashionable,” he commented as he checked out your get up today. You beamed at his compliment, happy that the fashionable Taehyung approved of you.

Jimin sauntered up to you, teasingly wrapping his arm around your shoulders before smirking at you. “Our noona has a date,” he speculated on a sing-song voice that made the other two chuckled.

“So where is hyung taking you?” Jungkook pondered, excitement apparent in his eyes.

“Don’t tell me he’s taking you to another exhibit? Aish, he’s so unromantic,” Taehyung lamented, shaking his head at the thought of his hyung and the disastrous date that was about to happen.

“Hyung is not unromantic! As if you know anything about romance,” Jungkook pouted, fully on defending mode for his Namjoon hyung. His lips were in an adorable pout as he chastised Taehyung.

“I know how to be romantic!”

“As if! Until when are you going to keep giving tickets to her until she shows up in our concerts, Taehyung?”

“She will! I can still see her commenting in the weverse!”

“So? Her bias is J-hope, not you!”

You chuckled at the three’s cuteness. Taehyung was now the one pouting while Jungkook looked like he was enjoying tormenting his hyung. You watched them for a moment before finally correcting them. “He’s my boss. We’re not going on a date.”

The three maknaes looked at you with confusion in their eyes. “B-but, why are you so beautiful today?”

You squinted your eyes at Jimin, “So I’m not beautiful everyday?”

“N-No! That’s not what we meant-“Jungkook denied quickly, his eyes widening even further. He was afraid of offending his noona because then, his hyung would looked at him with disappointment in his eyes.

You chuckled lightly, deciding on ending their distress by telling them that you were going to meet with your college friends tonight, in which they were silent. They looked at each other for a moment, as though speaking in telepathy before the oldest maknae spoke up.

“So noona, is that an all-girls event, or no?”

“There’s going to be boys. Why do you ask?”

He smiled at you cheekily, but this time the smile did not reach his eyes. “Nothing.”

The three maknaes watched you walked away from them, your eyes focused on the tablet in front of you. They sighed in disappointment and worry.

“Namjoon hyung is going to lose his mind,” Taehyung finally broke the silence.

“I don’t want to be here when he finds out noona is going to meet boys from her college,” Jungkook fretted, holding both Tae’s and Jimin’s arms.

“RM is going to be unbearable after this, isn’t he?” Jimin stated with a smile that looked more like a wince. The few times you went out on a date, Namjoon was insufferable. He was quiet, too quiet that the maknaes were scared to make a mistake or speak too loudly. “Shall we move to the mountains for a while?”

Yoongi opened the door, smiling politely at you before letting you in the studio. RM’s back faced you as he hunched over the workspace. He was deciding on what beat sounded best when you arrived.

“You’re here, Y/N? I’m almost done-“ he trailed off once he turned his chair to look at you. His eyes widened before he managed to erase the awestruck expression in his face. But Yoongi saw. He smirked before sitting down on his workstation, looking up at the pair in front of him. The other one was an idiot despite being the most intelligent man in almost any room, and the other was a naive one. He hid his smile on the cup of coffee he was slowly sipping.

“No worries, Namjoon. Take your time,” you smiled at him before sitting on the sofa. He was still not able to take his eyes off of you. And you, the ever naive one, only flashed him your professional smile.

And Yoongi was enjoying it all.

“You looked different today, Y/N,” Yoongi commented tonelessly, egging the leader beside him. “Right, Namjoon?”

You blushed as you could feel your boss’ heavy eyes on you. You flashed Yoongi a shy smile before turning to look at Namjoon. It was a moment, a heartbeat too long before he replied with seriousness in his voice, “She always looks beautiful, Yoongi.”

He wanted to add that you looked like a masterpiece, one that had different meanings whenever he looked at it during different times in his life. You were timeless, his heart wanted to add. However, his brain was deaf in his heart’s true desires.

You blinked at his sudden praise on you. “T-thank you, Namjoon.”

“Is there an occasion?” Yoongi asked innocently after reading the message sent by the maknaes about you and your supposedly college reunion. He almost chuckled when he read that the three were planning on staying as far from the company as possible. But not him. This was fun to him. In his opinion, the two of you should have been in a relationship for a long time now. He thought Namjoon needed the push, or a shove if Suga was being honest. And he was willing to be the one to do that. He was a kind friend like that.

“Oh, I have a reunion with my college friends tonight,” you shared as you fixed the papers that Namjoon needed to look at. You wanted to be efficient today so Namjoon could use the rest of the day to finally relax. You thought his eyes looked a little tired lately.

“You didn’t tell me that,” Namjoon noted lightly, fixing you with his hard stare. “What time are you going to meet them? Where are you going to meet? Will you be out late?”

Yoongi was smiling as he watched RM threw question after question at you. Yet, he failed to ask one thing that should be asked.

“Are there gonna be boys, Y/N?” Yoongi asked innocently, blinking owlishly at you before leaning back and watching it all unfold.

Your affirmative answer made RM’s mood turned sour.

You were on edged as you drove the car expertly from the last location of the schedule today. Even at his age, people around Namjoon still adamantly refused to let him drive. The members thought that he would be a danger to people around him, and to himself as well. Namjoon was uncharacteristically silent as you drove. He was either staring at you or outside. Ever since you picked him up from the company, you could feel that something was off. You just could not pinpoint at it. On the other hand, Namjoon was contemplating…or more appropriately scheming as to how he could keep you with him today.

“Let’s go to Jin’s,” he finally broke the silence, flashing you his normal, dimpled smile.

“What?” This was not in the schedule today. You purposely scheduled light meetings today so that he could go home and you would have more than an ample time to drive to the reunion.

“It’s still early. I promise we’re only going to be an hour.”

Lie.

“Ahhhh actual people!” Jin greeted when he opened the door and saw you and Namjoon. He was carrying the box of baby books he insisted would be helpful to the brain development of Jin’s son.

“Hyung, your son is an actual person,” Namjoon said in a light tone as he took in Jin’s state. Despite the bags under his eyes, he was still so handsome that fans would still call him the worldwide handsome. He looked tired, but his eyes held so much happiness that RM could not helped but be happy for his hyung. At the same time, he wanted, no, he craved the domesticity that Jin was now experiencing.

The men were talking and laughing about work as Jin’s wife lead you to her son. You cooed at the child and thought that he would break a lot of hearts in the future. He was a carbon copy of Jin. He was laughing at you when you made funny faces at him, the melodious laughter reached the men’s ears.

“He likes you,” Jin commented, fondly watching his handsome son babbled and laughed. “Do you want to hold him?” His lovely wife asked.

“Really? Can I?” You asked in wonder. She smiled at you before gently laying the happy child safely in your arms.

Your heart melted as you held Jin’s little bundle of joy. The little weight you were holding was someone else’s whole world. He was barely six months old and yet he had so much personality like his father.

“You’re so beautiful, little one,” you whispered to the baby looking up at you as if he understood every word you said.

Namjoon could not even begin to decipher what it was he was feeling when he saw you holding the little Jin in your arms. He just felt this warm feeling in his heart, as if the image of you holding a baby in your arms was from a dream come true. The image was forever imprinted in his mind, he was sure. Something about you felt right. Something about you felt like the missing piece in his life. You had always been there for him. He was not ignorant to think that he could survive without you in his hectic life.

He thought that you were meant to stay in his life.

You were so focused that you almost missed the heat from Namjoon’s body when he leaned in and looked at the baby from your shoulder. You could feel his breath this close that it made you heart beat louder. Was it from shocked? Was it from shyness? Or was it from something else that you had spent years denying?

“So precious,” Namjoon whispered softly. You jumped from the deepness of his voice. You shivered from the body contact you were not used to. You cleared your throat before turning to him.

“Do you wanna hold him?”

And once he had the tiny human in his muscular arms, Namjoon smiled tenderly at Jin’s son. He brushed the sparse of hair he had on his head gently.

For the second time, he said, “I want a baby of my own.”

You were surprised that he once again brought it up. This time it was not only to you but to his hyung. Jin blinked as if he was startled by RM’s admission. He looked at you before looking at his friend.

“I’m sure you’ll be a great father, Namjoon,” Jin said in all seriousness. He knew he would. He was sure of it.

“When will you start making a baby of your own, Namjoon?” His wife asked him teasingly, leaning against Jin as they looked at the man observingly.

RM glanced at you, “Soon.”

You were already an hour too late to be considered fashionably late that RM insisted that he’d have his driver dropped you off to your reunion. You wanted to say no, yet you knew it would be impossible to resist Namjoon whenever he was in that mood. He always knew how to get his way, you thought. His intelligent mind knew just what to do, just what to say in order to get what he wanted.

And that night, he did.

Your college friends looked at you happily when you stepped out of the car. They walked closer to you, welcoming you to the party. And there you saw him, the man you hadn’t been able to forget. He was still as handsome as ever. You couldn’t help but smile when he was approaching when you felt a presence behind you.

“Hi. I just dropped off Y/N. I’m sorry she’s late,” RM greeted the group charmingly before nonchalantly placing his large hand on your waist. You jumped from the contact. He never did that. What would your friends think? Your head was in overdrive that you didn’t notice your friends fawning over the Kim Namjoon. He was treating them kindly, allowing them to take pictures with him before he turned to you.

“Enjoy your night, Y/N,” he murmured before placing a kiss on your cheek.

Well, there went your chance with your college crush.

You didn’t know what to make of his actions that when you went to his house the following week for information pertaining to the property he was looking at, you were on edged. You didn’t have to knock because he told you before to just enter his penthouse. You were given access to his home. You took a deep breath before walking inside his house, not knowing what to anticipate with him, with his touch…and that kiss that should not have happened.

“Oh, Y/N! You’re here! Come sit!” Namjoon’s mom called from his dining table, smiling pleasantly at you that you froze. You didn’t expect her here but at least there was a buffer between the two of you now, right?

“It’s been so long! You’re so thin! Is my son too hard on you?” She asked as she pulled you to sit beside her, in front of RM who only looked intently at you. You couldn’t read his expression. He was wearing a simple black shirt that fit a little too snugly on his chest. You hated how you were noticing yet again his physical qualities like you did when you were merely starting. His mom was still reprimanding his son as she put plate in front of you despite you offering to help. She merely shrugged you off, happy that you were there to take care of her son. Who knew what would happen to him if you weren’t here, she thought. RM was silently eating, enjoying the way his mom was mothering you when she turned her attention to him once again.

“When will you give me a grandchild? With the way you are working, you have no time for family! All my friends and neighbors have at least one grandchild. Son, just give me one, okay? Just one,” She pleaded as she placed more food on his plate.

“Okay, omma,” Namjoon consented. He was serious, yet his mother groaned as if he was just placating her.

“You,” she turned to you, placing more food on your plate as well. “Don’t be like my son. Go make your own babies! I’ll just borrow your child every once in a while, okay?” She told you humorously as she laughed and told you that you needed to eat more.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, the man’s face darkened with the mere thought of you carrying someone else’s child. He hated the thought of you not being his. He had the whole weekend to think intensely, and all the answers pointed to you.

You didn’t have time to discuss with him what had transpired. The following weeks, he was busy with work, yet this time he had always quietly ordered that you’d be with him. Before, you only had to meet with him thrice a week. But now, you were with him almost everyday. You were working in his office when Hoseok and Yoongi entered the room.

“Oh! Y/N, you’re here!” Hoseok exclaimed before walking to you with the brightest smile you had ever seen. Yoongi only smiled at you in acknowledgement before approaching RM and showing him his laptop. They were deep in conversation when Hoseok asked you if you knew where the list for the event was. You nodded before standing up. It was in the overhead cabinet. You reached for it in difficulty for a moment when you felt a hand on your waist, and RM’s muscular arm stretched beside you as he grabbed with such ease what you were trying to reach. He was as near as that night. “Here you go, Y/N,” he whispered…and heavens did it feel sensual in your ear. His hot breath tickled your neck. You could feel your cheeks heat up from his proximity.

You were starting to notice that RM was becoming…touchy lately. It didn’t feel disrespectful to you, it just felt like something changed with the way he was acting, with the way he was looking at you, with the way he was demanding your attention.

J-hope looked at Suga in astonishment. Were these two finally a thing?

One night, you were walking to your humble apartment with Namjoon beside you. His hands were in his pockets as he walked you to your door despite you telling him that you were fine. But you should know, he was a stubborn one. It was late, and the only light were from the hallway of your apartment. It was almost midnight when the two of you arrived at your apartment after checking out the house Namjoon wanted to buy. He asked you what you thought of it, and you said it was beautiful. The yard was spacious with swimming pool. The house itself had numerous bedrooms that you didn’t know who would stay there. In your mind, you rationalized that it must be his members if ever they wanted to stay. In Namjoon’s mind, it was for his family. He listened intently to what you had to say, and only when he saw how your face lightened up when you saw the whole house did he decide to buy it.

“Here I am, boss Namjoon,” you announced jokingly before straining to look up at your tall employer.

You blinked when he only stared at you, “Namjoon?”

“Good night, my princess,” he murmured with his deep voice.

Did he just…call you his princess?

You were too shocked to notice him leaning down. And once he did, you felt his lips kissed your forehead softly, his large hand on the back of your head. You were frozen when he stepped back.

And then he left.

Namjoon thought you needed time to process everything. He knew you were an over-thinker, that you were a flight risk. He just didn’t know you would be like this with mere kisses on your cheek and forehead. You hadn’t been picking up your phone since that day, and he had half a mind to go to your apartment. But he had to keep in mind that there were less conspicuous method to use.

You read the message from Namjoon this afternoon. Apparently, he forgot to pick up the gift he had for his father’s birthday and he was now in his hometown. He was half-pleading and half-apologizing for his clumsiness that you felt bad to just leave him on read. And so you replied that you’d bring it to him.

Your mind was blank as you drove for hours to him. Ever since that night, the feelings you had tried so hard to bury and successfully did, were resurfacing. It was unfair, you thought. You didn’t have the emotional capacity to fall for him. You knew how this would end. When you started to work for him, you thought he was everything. You looked up to him because he was so kind, so intelligent, and so masculine. He was gentle with you even when you made a mistake. He helped you find an apartment that was safe after he saw how you were living before. He paid for the deposit and for the rent during the first year despite your adamant refusal. He even paid for your grandmother’s hospital bills, the only family you had. She had lived longer than what the doctor said. She died without experiencing difficulty eventually, all thanks to RM’s connections to the best hospitals. You wanted to pay him. You even refused to accept your salary, with no success. Namjoon just merely shrugged and said he wouldn’t let anything happen to you as long as he was around. And you believed him.

And so, you did your best to take care of him day and night. Even going beyond your job description. You became his secretary, but what was more, you became his friend, an ear to vent on, even a shoulder to lay his head to rest.

One night, RM had too much to drink. He was feeling suffocated from the pressure of the world. You found him staring on an empty bottle of whiskey when you arrived in his penthouse. That night, you sat with him, listened to his worries, rubbed his back with comforting hands. You assured him that he was not the version he thought of himself. He was better. He was the best man you ever knew. You told him how much you appreciated him, and that he was doing his best.

That night, he asked you what he would do without you.

That night, you told him he’d never have to find out.

That night, he kissed you.

And come morning, he forgot about it.

But you didn’t. And that was the first time he hurt you.

Your memory trail stopped when you saw him standing in front of their house, waiting for you.

His father, just like his mother, was able to convince you to stay the night. He said you were family, and that it would be his birthday wish to spend it with the woman who managed to keep his son alive. He even joked that without you, RM would probably forget to pay his bills, to keep his fish alive, or even to eat. You laughed and said RM was becoming more mature lately and that he could survive without you. RM disagreed.

“You know what, you could do so much than be with my brother,” RM’s younger sister said teasingly as all of you were eating dinner. She stuck her tongue out to her brother who just rolled his eyes at her.

“Oh,” you chuckled shyly before looking at the tall man sitting beside you. “We’re not together!”

“Why not? I was just kidding. I think you’re perfect for him,” she admitted before smiling at the two of you. She was just voicing out what her family had been thinking for years. By now, you were a permanent fixture in their lives that if and not when the day comes that RM introduced someone else to them, they would find it hard to accept her.

You chuckled before telling her that your relationship with her brother was strictly professional.

“He’s working you too hard, isn’t he?” His father asked you as he shook his head at his innocent son. “Listen to me, life is too short to work all day. Go out and have a beautiful life! Or else you’ll find yourself old and alone one day without a family of your own.”

Once the intimate party died down, you found yourself talking with RM in the living room with alcohol in front of you. The two of you were seated on the floor side by side with the sofa behind you. His parents had called it a night after drinking with them, while his sister tapped out as well. Alcohol and the existence of other people helped to die down the awkwardness you felt. You were laughing at RM’s anecdote about the thing that happened during their dance practice. He watched you with contentment in his face. Seeing you happy was making him feel like he did something right, like he won one of those awards. He didn’t know when it started, but he just knew the desire to make you laugh would never go away. He was sure of it.

“I’m sorry about my family. They’re just used to teasing me.”

You waved him off before pouring his empty glass, before pouring yours. “It’s nothing, really. I had fun. I’m glad I came.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” he admitted, his look at you was as intense as that night that your heart started to beat harder, as if it wanted to escape the cage it was in. You blinked and decided to look away. You fanned yourself, “It’s quite warm in here, right?”

Namjoon smirked before drinking, his eyes never wavering from your face. “You’re beautiful, princess,” he commented, his voice deep as he waited for you to look at him again. He was near, so near that his thighs were touching yours. So near that whenever he moved, his muscular arm brushed against yours.

“God, you’re so drunk,” you muttered before looking up at him.

“I may be. But come morning and ask me again, and I’d still tell you you’re the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me.”

You gulped, his voice deepened even further. “You’re the most important person in my life,” he admitted with intensity in his voice, with promise in his eyes. “I know I love you.”

Your eyes widened before attempting to move away from him when you felt his massive hand on your back, preventing you from moving away from him, effectively stopping you from running away from the truth that he never tried to fight.

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered, your hand now on his chest as you tried to stop him from coming any closer. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he’d feel how hard your heart was beating just for him. Or how terrified you were of falling, only to have him forget about it again. To forget you again.

“I do. I mean it,” he whispered leaning in slowly at you. “I love you.” And then he kissed you. And you were all too powerless to stop him. He pulled away after a moment. You were breathing hard, your eyes trained on his lips before meeting his eyes. And then this time, you kissed him.

You didn’t know how, but the two of you found yourselves in his bedroom. His hand was entangled with your hair, your hands caressing his broad back as he walked you to his bed. You were drunk from the alcohol and his kisses, his heavenly kisses. He pushed you gently to the bed, and not a second was wasted before he joined you. You pulled off his shirt, your eyes in awe at his form. His muscles were definitely more defined now than when you last saw it accidentally back when you were just beginning to work for him. His chest looked definitely stronger. You were aware of this from seeing him wearing tight shirts, but this? This was something else.

You moaned lightly as Namjoon trailed kisses on your neck, peppering it with subtle marks of his own. He thought that you were his, and that your neck should be adorned with his marks. “Keep it down, princess,” he teased you as he got impatient with the endless buttons of your blouse that he resorted to ripping it off of you. He couldn’t be gentle. Not when the woman of his dreams was finally on his bed. “Or do you want me to cover your mouth?”

You didn’t know that he had it in him to be a dirty talker. You were feeling the heat when he smirked at you before you felt his lips on your chest, down to your stomach, and finally to your core. You closed your legs, shyness finally coming back to you as you sobered from his sinful kisses. He was kneeling, his legs were on either side of you as he leaned closer to you once again. “Be a good girl and open your legs, princess,” he ordered, his hand caressing your soft thigh.

His commanding voice was like a hypnotic spell that you found yourself opening your legs slowly for him. And as a reward, he made your legs shook. You were still catching your breath that you didn’t notice he placed a pillow under you, lifting your core. He kissed you once again on your lips so tenderly, so lovingly that for a moment you believed he loved you.

“You are made for me, princess,” he whispered before looking at you with darkness in his eyes, “You’re made for daddy. Say it.”

You keened when you felt his hardness slide at your core teasingly, punishingly as you waited a little too long to repeat what he wanted you to.

“Say it, princess. Don’t make daddy mad,” his hot breaths were tickling your ear as he pinched your sore nipple that you yelped.

“I-I’m made- ugh- I’m made for daddy,” you finally said as you felt his thick head slowly entered your drenched core.

“And who’s your daddy?”

“You are.”

That night, he told you repeatedly how you were his and his only. He made you promised that you would never leave him, and that you would never ignore him once again. He made you come so much that you lost track of the time. His large hand was on your mouth, preventing you from waking the whole house up as he rutted against you with so much stamina and passion. He made you so mindless that you didn’t realize he was finishing inside you each time. He made sure to not let a single drop leave your core.

The third time he didn’t have to mention about wanting a baby of his own, he just did.

Hello how are you?

I'm not sure if I've already sent this to you so... If your requests are open I want to request a fic with yoongi (or a member that suits you better) where they are in a relationship and the reader feels neglected, yoongi is too involved with the next album to give us attention so the reader tries to break up but how are we talking from a Yandere... I think you know where I'm going lol

Sorry if it's too confusing, I really like your writing so I wanted to read this from your perspective (with a lot of angst pls🛐

You’re not leaving me

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You were done waiting for him, done being alone in this relationship. But it turns out Min Yoongi is someone who won’t let go. Idol!AU

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Dubcon, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Here you go because you asked so nicely 💜3,333 words!

“He’s not coming, is he?”

You flinched from your friend’s sharp words. You turned around to meet her eyes, having to step out of your own party to ask where your boyfriend was, where Min Yoongi was.

“Something came up,” you replied, your voice small as you forced yourself to smile at her reassuringly. She eyed your phone, shaking her head as she lamented how this wasn’t even the first time your so-called boyfriend bailed out on you. She said and you quoted, ‘What’s the use of having a boyfriend when he can’t even make an effort to show up?’

You hated to agree, but for the life of you you could no longer defend him.

The truth was, he couldn’t even be bothered to pick up his phone tonight.

The truth was, this wasn’t the first time he did this to you.

The truth was, every time he told you he was sorry, you believed him a little less.

“You deserve so much better, Y/N,” your friend said as she wrapped her arms around you. For fuck’s sake, it was his and your anniversary. And the person you wanted to show up couldn’t even be bothered to show up, she thought.

That night, you didn’t go back to his home. You decided to instead go to your own apartment, the one you didn’t let go of once he asked you to move in. It turned out it was the smartest thing you had ever done. You woke up that morning with a single message.

‘Sorry I wasn’t able to pick up the phone. How’s my kitten?’

You scoffed, throwing your phone somewhere on your bed without replying. You had not gone home the whole night and yet, he didn’t ask you where you were. You were almost certain that Yoongi himself didn’t even come home last night. You didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that he didn’t know you didn’t come home, or that he didn’t even bother to tell you he wasn’t coming home.

Or that he didn’t even remember it was your anniversary yesterday.

You felt hot tears falling freely on your face with the realization that you and him were nearing the end of your relationship.

Was this even how relationship should be?

Were you just wasting time on something that you thought was more?

Did he really love you?

Did he still love you?

The door opened before you could even enter the code. His eyes went wide when he saw you, relief apparent in his face and the way his shoulders loosened. You hadn’t even reacted yet when he pulled you inside his expensive apartment, his arms tight around you as he buried his face on your neck.

If he noticed that you didn’t welcome his embrace, he didn’t comment, too lost on his own misery when he found you gone.

“I thought something bad happened to you, kitten,” he began, his voice shaky. His embrace became even tighter and it started to hurt. But nothing could hurt more than your heart right now. “You didn’t answer my message. I was worried!”

He stepped back, finally noticing that you were still wearing your clothes yesterday.

“Where did you stay, kitten?” He asked, his tone holding something unfamiliar, something dark. His large and veiny hand, the one that you always admired, tilted your chin up. His eyes were serious. Yoongi was always serious but you felt like this was different. “You must have been too drunk to come back home, right, kitten? You should have called me. I would have picked you up, you know that,” his tone was sweet, yet his words felt like they were a warning, as if you displeased him.

“You won’t make me worry again, right? You won’t disappear without a word again, right kitten?”

And only when you nodded did he let you go. He smiled so sweetly at you, before telling you what he planned for the two of you today.

See, everytime Yoongi messed up, he overcompensated. He became more romantic, bought you expensive things you didn’t ask for, took you to places you had never been. He held onto you a little bit tighter. And that night, he touched you a little bit harder, thrusting just a little bit deeper into you as if he was claiming you.

Times like these were the reason why you thought he loved you. But then the vicious cycle continued. He would become busier, so immersed with his work that he forgot to love you. You were understanding, beyond understanding. But just because you understood didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.

It did.

And you could no longer live like this.

You didn’t know how to react when you saw on the internet that the group was seen at the airport today as they are bound to Japan- yet another thing he failed to mention to you. You were currently with your friend, hanging out after work when you saw the news. The look on your face must have been obvious that she snatched your phone away to read.

“You know what you have to do, Y/N. He treats you like you don’t even matter! How hard can messaging you be? It’s like he just wants you around without putting in effort in your relationship. Leave him, girl!”

You couldn’t even defend him because she was right.

The next night, he video called you. You must have been a masochist because you accepted.

“Hi kitten! Jimin’s asking which kimono you want,” he said in his deep voice, the camera showing you Jimin as he held up two Kimonos with different colors. His smile was a welcome reprieved from your dreary days. “Hi my favorite noona! Which do you want more?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at him calling you his favorite. “Why are you buying me Kimono, Jiminnie?”

“It’s a bribe so you won’t ever leave my hyung here,” he joked, unknowingly hitting you where it hurt. He was laughing at Yoongi as he said it. “He was more unbearable when he hadn’t found you yet.”

You lost your smile for a moment before acting as though you were happy. But Yoongi saw you faltered for a second. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t unfeeling. He could sensed that something changed, and to be honest it terrified him.

It terrified him what he would do if he lost you…if you ever leave him.

Once you decided what color you wanted, Yoongi came back on the screen. His handsome face never managed to not make your heart skip a beat.

“How’s my kitten? Did you have dinner already?” He asked in his sweet, deep voice.

“You’re in Japan,” you stated the obvious, your voice toneless as you looked at his confused and apologetic expression.

“Yes…I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you beforehand. Schedule’s a bit tight this week. I can’t wait to come home to you though, my kitten. I miss you. I love you deeply.”

That night, you didn’t say you loved him back.

You were done with the disrespect, with the disregard, with being an afterthought for him that you decided it would be best to leave while he was abroad. It would be easier for you to not have him around as you packed your things, as you packed the life you thought you would have with him.

With one sorrowful look at the bedroom you shared with him, you wheeled out your luggage out of the room only to found him sitting on the sofa quietly, swirling a glass of whiskey. The living room was dark, saved for the light provided by the lampshade, casting shadow on his face. He was staring at nothing, his form that of a statute from sitting so still. Slowly, so slowly he lifted his eyes to you.

“Going somewhere, kitten?” He asked in his deep voice, his eyes shifting to your luggage before idly returning to you.

“Y-Yoongi, why are you here?” You asked, your voice shaking with shocked and fright.

The side of his lips tilted up, his eyes observing your rigid form before sipping from his drink. He put it on the table with a thud, “I live here. So do you. So I’ll ask again. Where are you going?”

You were stunned by his replies. He shouldn’t be here. This was supposed to be easy. What was he doing here?

“B-but you’re supposed to be in Japan.”

Yoongi stood up, casually walking to you like a hunter would. It would be fitting because you felt like you were a prey as you backed away from him. He smirked, keeping his eyes on you even when you put the kitchen counter in between the two of you.

“I returned because I missed you, honey. Aren’t you happy I’m here now?” The look on his face terrified you, the look on his eyes was dark as though he was both hurt and angered by something, as though he was barely hanging on a thread. “Ahhh,” he pondered in realization. “You’re not happy to see me because you were fucking leaving me.”

“Y-Yoongi, you’re scaring me,” you all but whimpered as you backed away from him further when he came too close, his hand almost grabbing you. He tilted his head when you evaded his touch.

“Why are you running away from me?” He mocked you as he watched you ran back to the living room, putting so much space between the two of you.

He hated it.

Yoongi looked down at the expanse of the floor between him and you with so much disdain, his long black hair covering his face.

“Yoongi, let’s talk when you’re calm, okay?” You whispered in a soothing voice, not wanting to set him off. Yoongi had always been the calm one. He was even mistaken for an emotionless man. But you, of all people, knew that he only expressed his emotions with people he trusted, with people he loved. And you experienced how expressive he was when he was happy, when he was tired, when he was loving. But you were not familiar with how he was when he was angry.

You were terrified as you realized that now might be the time you saw his angry side.

“Why?” He droned, his eyes now focused on your luggage, glaring at it so hard as if he wanted it it disappear. As though he didn’t want to see the obvious evidence of you leaving him.

How could you leave him?

“Why do you want to talk now when you were going to fucking leave me without talking to me?!” He hissed, the veins in his neck protruding as he swiped off your luggage to the side in his haste to get to you.

And this time, you weren’t fast enough.

He had you trapped on the wall, his arms caging you as he looked down at you with sadness and fury in his eyes. “You’re really thinking of leaving me,” he whispered as tears formed in his eyes.

You attempted to push him away, your hands on his chest but he was as still as a stone. Why were you pushing him away, kitten? Didn’t you love him anymore? Wasn’t he attractive anymore?

Were you tired of me?

Was there someone else?

Was that why you were leaving him? You found someone better?

“Yoongi,” you breathed, trying to calm your nerves. You could feel how hard his heart was beating, could feel the emotions rolling off of him. He was shaking, his tears falling from his face as the handsome man looked at you with nothing short of broken. In an attempt to calm him, you slowly, so slowly caressed his face. Tears drenched your hand as he leaned on it, placing kisses on your palm. “Yoongi,” you called him again, wanting his eyes on you so he could understand why you had to do this.

“Yes, my kitten?”

“You don’t love me anymore. Or at least, you don’t love me like before,” you explained further and as kindly as you could.

He looked confused as he looked at your eyes intensely.

“You can’t seriously be surprised, Yoongi…I had to learn you were in Japan through the internet when you were the one I’m in a relationship with.”

“Are.”

What?

“You are in relationship with me. This is not ending. We are never ending.”

“Yoongi, I’m breaking up with you,” you quietly declared, and now that it was out there, you felt light. You felt…like this was right. Which was obviously opposite to what the man was feeling. Yoongi’s face glowered, his eyes burned with determination. His hold on your hand tightened when you attempted to withdraw from him.

How could he let you leave when you were the only sun in his world? When you made him feel?

“No. You’re not breaking up with me. You’re not leaving me. You’re staying with me until the end of time.”

“This is not working! You don’t give me time, you don’t tell me where you are, you don’t even show up-“

“So that’s the problem? That I’m not present? So you just want to be with me, right, kitten? I’m sorry I’ve been distant…” he whispered, his face nuzzling your neck despite your adamant refusal. “From now on, you’ll never be far from me.”

He promised himself you would never leave his sight until you took back the fucking thought that you would break up with him. If you thought breaking up with him was easy, you were in for a treat. If you thought he’d let you go that easily, then you didn’t know him at all.

“You don’t understand!” You yelled at him, feeling frustrated with how he was selectively hearing what you had to say. Your emotions were swelling up that you were able to muster the strength to push him away. You quickly put a lot of distance between the two of you, only able to manage it because he was in a daze.

“Yoongi, you only look for me when you remember me. That’s not love! I love you, but I love myself, too. I’m leaving you.”

His brows furrowed, why were you still insisting you were leaving him? He stared down at you with exasperation in his face, his nostrils flaring. Yoongi’s jaw clenched when he heard you said that you were leaving him.

And then he sprang into action.

You ran to the bedroom which was the closest room to you as you recognized you were in danger. You were about to slam the door to his face when he inserted his booted foot, effectively stopping it from closing. He barged into the room, flicking the lock himself before facing you with his dark face.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re not leaving me, kitten,” he declared, his voice hard before pushing you on the bed. He wasted no time, crawling to you and shoving your thighs apart. He settled in between your legs, avoiding you from closing them as he leaned closer to you.

In this position, you could not be more vulnerable as you were.

Yoongi was mad, yet his touches were soft. His hand caressed your face before kissing you. His kisses were different from before. He was kissing you as though he was starved, as though he was tired of holding back from you. His other hand was lifting your leg, rubbing his engorged erection on your core.

You wished you could say you were unaffected, but you weren’t.

He always knew which button to push, which spot to kiss to make you mindless. And Min Yoongi was using it to his advantage.

His tongue thrusted in your mouth, stroking against your tongue as though he was tasting you. The way he kissed you was unlike the ways you had been kissed before. This time, it felt a lot like claiming you. He was expert in this, you knew this from the start. His sexy, deep moans weakened your refusal that you found yourself pulling him close, your hand on his nape. His whole body was covering yours, his weight completely on top of you as his kisses dragged down to your neck.

He was marking you, latching on the thin skin and suckling like he wanted the whole world to know you were his woman. The way he suckled on your sensitive nipples made you whimpered, your hands on his silky, black hair. But when he went down to your core, breathing hotly on it, suddenly you remembered what you were supposed to do.

With renewed strength, you pulled his hair, stopping him from getting closer to your core. But you should know, you were no matched to a man who almost lost the only woman he ever loved. Yoongi growled, grabbing your wrists away from his hair.

“This is a mistake,” you moaned when he started lapping your core, his sinful tongue pushing past your lips with vigor. Your essence tasted heaven to him. How could you take this away from him, he thought. He could never go without this.

“No,” he growled, the vibration from his voice elating a moan from you. “This is fucking right.”

You tried twisting from him, a sad attempt at standing your ground. “I’m leaving you. Let me go!”

He chuckled, fucking chuckled as if it was hilarious to him. “Why would I let you go, kitten? You’re the one for me. We’re going to get through this.”

In your shocked at his adamant refusal to let you go, you didn’t notice that he stripped of his pants, his cock now bared to you. You always had trouble fitting him in you. He was thick, veins apparent on his cock. Every time you were done making love, you would always have difficulties walking. He fucked you that good.

His cock bobbed up and down as he crawled to you, his lips turning into a smirk as he watched you watched his hardness. His hot breath tickled your neck as he leaned in, his lips on your ear.

“You know why I’m not always with you?”

“Because you’re busy with work-“

He chuckled darkly, his hand completely encasing both your wrist while the other was playing with your clit, encircling it erotically.

“Wrong, kitten. I had to tear myself away from you because if I didn’t, you’d figure out how obsessed I am to you, how needy I am. If you knew, you would run to the hills. But I see now that was a mistake…you almost left me because of that.”

Your heart beat louder when he confessed. You tried twisting your wrists to make him let go of you to no avail. “Why are you telling me this now?”

With an indulgent smile, he placed a soft kiss on your lips. He pushed your knees to your chest, completely baring you to him. “Because you deserve to know how much you are loved by me.” And how he would never let you go.

He grabbed his cock, sliding it between your wet pussy before guiding it to your entrance. You moaned from his ministration, his seduction working. Your body started to betray you, lust attacking your senses.

“You want me, right?”

You moaned when he pinched your nipple, his hard cock teasing your entrance.

“You love me, right? You’re never going to leave me…right?”

And when you moaned yes, he suddenly pushed his cock inside you.

By the end of that night, he made you screamed how much you loved him. And come morning, Yoongi looked at you with adoration, tracing the marks he left on your skin. The heat of your skin calmed him.

It scared him that he was willing to do anything for you.

And now, you would discover who he really was. You would discover a love that was too much, that was suffocating… a love that was his.

fuck being friends

– pairing: yoongi x reader

– word count: 12k

– genre: friends to lovers / college!au

– summary: as if watching the guy you were hopelessly in love with hook up with another girl each weekend wasn’t enough, he also happened to be your best friend, making things extra complicated. and it only gets worse and worse once he finds you crying in the bathroom at a party one night.

– warnings: some angst, some fluff, a lot of alcohol, jealousy, yoongi being a bit of a fuckboy, crying, reader being in an emotional rollercoaster during the whole fic. not proof-read because i am that lazy, i’m sorry. 

How the hell did you always end up in the same situation?

It was a reoccurring event by now: You on the dancefloor of some stranger’s living room, a drink in your hand and your friends by your side. That itself didn’t sound too bad, if it wasn’t for the knot you felt in your stomach. 

By now it was almost a familiar feeling; the pain and uncertainty have been ruining your last few Saturday nights out.

“What’s the problem?” you almost couldn’t hear Hoseok yell over the loud music but his facial expressions gave away that he seemed worried about you.

“I’m fine,” you promised and gave him a bright smile before raising your cup for him to toast with you – both of you knew you weren’t fine at all but after being your friend for years Hoseok knew better than to harass you into telling what was occupying your mind. 

You appreciated your friend very much for that, happy that he would never pressure you into saying out loud what almost everyone assumed anyways.

Though no one knew for sure what the reason for your mood swings was – it was okay for them to assume it, but you would never admit it. If any of your friends found out you knew they’d try to get involved and only would make things more awkward than they already were for you.

Keep reading

glimpse of us.

pairing: husband!yoongi x female reader genre: ANGST, divorce, arranged marriage (but not really), age gap kinda (5 years), unrequited love, pining (reader) wc: 4,028 type: short song fic (main - glimpse of us by joji ; also - tolerate it by taylor swift, song request - lee sora ft. suga) warnings: unedited literally just wrote this from 3am to 5am i'm sorry i'm lazy, uhm angst, red flag yoongi, they’re both kinda stupid, written in lower caps summary: he's the perfect husband and it's a perfect marriage. but why can't you shake the feeling that something's wrong?

PART 2

“i’ll be home late tonight. don’t wait up.” your husband pecked your cheek after he put his dishes in the sink and washed his hands. as he leaned in, the masculine fragrance of invictus by paco rabanne hits your nose. it’s his favorite perfume and eventually, it became your favorite on him too.

you’ve come to associate yoongi with the fresh citrus fragrance. the first time you met him, he passed by you in the lobby of a five-star hotel. it was hard not to be caught with his appearance when you turned your head to see where the pleasant smell was coming from. he was wearing a white shirt and black suit, an outfit just enough to not be out of place in a fancy restaurant. unlike the well groomed men you know, his hair was longer but not so much to be unkept. in other words, he was effortlessly beautiful. you don’t say it was love at first sight but it was definitely something close to that. he caught your eye. so imagine your shock when it turned out he was the only son of the min family you were having a meeting with your parents with.

“oh. okay.” you replied with a smile. he gives you a smile back and head outs the door.

when the door shuts close, you stood up from your dining table and look out the window. you sigh and watch as he gets in his mercedes benz and drives away.

it was fun at first. unlike what you were expecting when your parents suggested you marry at the age of twenty four, you didn’t expect to actually like the guy they were going to suggest. you had just been working for a year after getting your masters degree at a young age. you had so much to do with your life and getting tied down at that age didn’t appeal to you. yet when the day arrived, you left the hotel’s restaurant with a massive crush on yoongi. you liked him so much that you agreed to having dates with him after having met him and his family.

your family was significantly wealthier than the mins. although yoongi willingly consented to dating you, you knew that his parents had influence with his decisions. you didn’t mind. it was just how it goes with people like you. the six of you in that room knew what the meeting was about. it was no secret. you thought that it might work out. you know a lot of marriages that worked out after a set up. but you also know a lot of marriage that didn’t work out, no matter what the reason is of their marriage. and like an idiot, you chose to ignore that. how could you not? when you were blinded at that idea of having the man you liked.

before yoongi, you were a woman who didn’t stop after getting what you want. annoyingly persistent is what your best friend jungkook calls you. it was how you got your masters at such a young age. you proved your worth in the family’s company at the first six months you have been working there. you shut down the doubt and sexist remarks of men of all ages and the jealous eyes and whispers of women that went your way. you used to be untouchable. but you were also a woman who knew when to give up a lost fight.

you sigh and turned around to do the dishes. your appetite was lost to even finish your meal.

when you finished doing the dishes, your housemaid came just in time. “hey, maria.” you greet her as she comes in the kitchen. “good morning, ma’am. didn’t i tell you to leave the dishes in the morning?” you chuckle as you wipe your hand dry with a towel. “it’s okay. i have time. i won’t come in to work today.”

maria was the almost the same age as your mother. she’s only younger by a few years. she had been working for you and yoongi the moment you moved here in the penthouse your parents have gifted to you. you’re not the type to get a big house but you do plan to get one someday in the future. it’s just that you prefer to buy that property on your own. yoongi agreed to someday live in a house permanently. it seemed that he liked the idea. he didn’t want to live in a place he didn’t contribute to anyway. but out of respect to your parents, he agreed to stay in the penthouse for a while. despite living in a space not as big as your parents’ mansion, with the two of you working, there are parts of the place neither you or yoongi can maintain. that was how maria was hired. and that was how maria became not only your housemaid, but also the person who knows how your relationship with yoongi truly is.

“oh, are you not feeling well?” she asked and you shake your head. “no, i just have some things to take care of. i’ll be in my room, maria. you don’t have to clean there today.” you answer and she gives you a nod, dropping her bag on the counter. “go and rest now, missy.” she scolds you teasingly and you laugh before walking out of the kitchen.

the second you enter the room you and yoongi share, his perfume’s smell hits you again. you sigh.

god, you will miss that smell.

you enter the walk-in-closet connected to the room. just beneath your rack of hanged coats and dresses, you find your box container. with a grunt, you pull the heavy thing out of its place and unto the floor. you sat beside it with crossed legs.

you open it and found the photo album containing yours and yoongi’s memories. when you met, you were twenty four and yoongi was twenty nine. on your fifth date, you asked yoongi if you could make a photo album like a scrapbook. phone and digital cameras were all over, but you said it’d be fun to have a photo album you can hold and look back to rather than just scrolling through facebook and instragram posts. yoongi agreed but it was all you who took the pictures. sure, he held the camera when you tell him his height could hold a better angle. but it was always you who initiates taking pictures.

one might say it’s a petty reason to be upset about. they’re only pictures. some people just really aren’t one to take pictures. that’s what you used to say before too.

you didn’t want to marry because of your crush on him. you loved him as you get to know him. somehow and someway, you convince yourself he was falling in love too. he laughed at your jokes. he took care of you when you were sick. he fetched you when you were going home from work late. he took you out on dates. he asked you to marry him.

the picture was there in the album. he was kneeling down in a dark grey suit, black hair parted in the middle and smiling widely. you were standing in your beige dress, in tears of happiness. you said yes to yoongi at the age of twenty five.

it wasn’t hard to love yoongi. he was a kind and gentle person. he never got mad. he never let the argument pass a night. he touches you like he loves you. everybody loves him and everybody knows that he might not say it through words often, he loves them too. you know yoongi loves you too. he shows that everyday.

you flip through your memories, not realizing the tears falling down your face until it hits one of the pages. you quickly wipe it from the page, afraid to soil the paper. you have to protect it. you plan to keep it with you for a long time after when all is done and over.

yoongi would be home late, just as you expected at a monday. he was the ceo of his father’s company. he’s doing a great job but it takes too much of him that you barely get to see him. but still, he makes time for you even when you don’t ask for it.

when you finish going through the pictures, you set it down on your side and look over the manila envelope inside the box that used to be under the photo album. you’ve just hidden it there a week ago. yoongi doesn’t look through your things, anyway. you think it’s out of respect but in all honesty, he may not just care about it.

so far, you’ve been saying that yoongi has treated you like how a wife should be treated. you have a husband who loves you. so what made you prepare those papers in that envelope?

yoongi does love you. but you’re in love with him. he’s not. it’s different: to love and to be in love.

and you came to know why yoongi shall never be in love with you.

you’re not her.

yoongi was a man who got out of a seven year relationship two years ago when you met him. no one knows the true reason why they broke up. it was supposed to be a love like no other. unfortunately, maybe relationships that started at a young age do rarely work out. some say he cheated. some say she cheated. some say they couldn’t conceive. some say they left each other over careers. it was all over the place, those baseless rumors. still, he was the only woman he was–no, is in love with. you thought you could change that. you tried. you really tried.

it’s hard to replace a woman he loved all his life, you knew that. you didn’t try to replace her in his life. you just wanted to be someone new to him. you thought that was what you were to him.

“of course, i’ve moved on.” he says, reddened cheeks from the amount of alcohol he had taken. he was talking to his best friend, seokjin. you had just come home late from work and they didn’t notice you yet. you were hiding by the door’s hallway. it wasn’t visible to either of them in the living room. “are you sure?” you hear seokjin ask, making your heart sink in your chest. you instantly know what–or rather, who they were talking about. “i love y/n, jin.” he answers, words pressing tightly. he says every word with conviction but somehow you weren’t convinced. it seemed that seokjin wasn’t convinced as well because his next words say so. “where did that love come from, then?” your grip on your bag tightens and you press your back to the wall. you need an outlet for whatever comes next out of his mouth. “what do you mean?” yoongi asks him, voice dragging the words lazily from his mouth. “you mean well, yoongi. it just seems to me you don’t realize you’re using the love you had for yuna and putting it on y/n instead.” you feel the tears well up in your eyes, your vision blurring as you look down on the floor. seokjin explains further. “because you still don’t know where to put the love all you had for her when she left.” in his silence, your heart breaks altogether. yoongi and yuna were lovers from college and best friends since high school. you stalked seokjin’s facebook page to know that. yoongi didn’t have active social media accounts. he deactivated them all when he started his career and just made new ones for formality. the ones he had were mostly left to rot in his phone. you don’t even want to ask him about her. you did once and he answered shortly then changed the topic.

in the college pictures, you noticed yoongi had a digital camera he always brings. it had a strap that hangs around his neck for most of the time. you realize he used to love taking pictures. but that changed when they broke up.

he was also a shooting guard for the basketball team in school. both in high school and college. yuna was there for every game in the pictures. you didn’t even know your husband liked basketball, much less a player.

his hair color used to change so much. your favorite had to be the mint one. it looked so good on him and it was so different from the long black haired yoongi you knew. it complemented his gummy smile in the pictures. his youthful and bright gummy smile you rarely get to see.

it was something you know you have to accept. you weren’t dumb. you knew what you were getting yourself into when you married yoongi. you don’t get to date the person he was before he lost everything. you only hope that he loves you back in his own way.

and that’s what you did. you gave him all of you. but you don’t understand how it is that she had put him in so much misery but still be the one in his heart.

were you just a placeholder until she comes back and takes all the love he had let you borrow?

you don’t think you could stay and wait until the day comes.

you’ve heard of the news. she was coming back from the states six years after her divorce with yoongi. in the two years you’ve been married, you know him well enough to know that he has been of edge lately. he was coming home later than before and drinking with his friends more.

still, he took you out on dates and made love to you occasionally. despite his efforts, you both knew that there has been a shift that none of you can explain if it’s caused by you or him. mostly, you think it’s yours.

“are you in love me?” you asked yoongi one night, naked under the sheets. “why are you asking me that all of a sudden?” yoongi asks with a lazy chuckle, tired and sleepy from the activities. you bite your lip and lean to him closer, placing a loose fist on his bare chest. “nothing.” he sighs and places a hand over yours. “i love you.” and you try to believe him. but why is it you can’t shake the feeling of not being convinced? slowly, you started to let the marriage take a toll on you. you keep hearing that you and yoongi were perfect. everyone was asking when you plan on bearing a child. yet, all you could think about was if yoongi truly loved you. and just like that, you started losing yourself. even if everyone was telling you how perfect you were, the ones who truly loved the both of you are the only ones seeing the truth.

“what do you mean you’ll let me handle the deal with the sponsors?” jungkook barged into your office like he always does, using the best friend privilege. “that means you’re now the team leader in this project, kook.” you answer him, eyes not straying away from the laptop. you were busy scrolling on a vacation booking site. you hear the aggressive tapping of foot on the floor, and you could definitely see the crossed arms of your best friend in front of you without even looking up. “yoongi’s having time off work again. how fucking great. where are you to going now? the bahamas? amsterdam? malta? bora bora?” “woah, woah. what’s with the attitude?” you finally take a look at your best friend’s angry face. “and i haven’t decided yet.” the doe-eyed man raises a brow and sits on the chair in front of your desk with a huff. “it’s just weird to me. you being married.” “i’ve been married for a year, kook.” you answer him nonchalantly. on the website, a deal catches your eye. “oh! this one’s good.” “i’m just— you’re just— no. nevermind.” jungkook shakes his head and loses his crossed arms, now sitting on the chair like a slumped sack. you take off your attention from your laptop and look at your best friend, slapping his muscular arm. “just fucking tell me!” you groan. he sits up straight this time, looking at you dead in the eye. the shift in the atmosphere makes you a bit uncomfortable. “why are you so serious all of a sudden?” you ask, chuckling nervously. “i knew that when u your priorities were going to change. but you’re literally throwing out your own efforts out of the window the moment you know you can spend time with him. does he do the same y/n?” “of course he does, jungkook!” you raise your voice, letting your emotions control you. you snap back out of it when you see the furrowed brows of your friend. he runs his hand over his hair, messing it up, a mannerism he does when he’s frustrated. “no. you ask him to. you suggest and he goes out of his way to please you.” jungkook’s voice remained modulated unlike yours. he pressed on every word for you to truly understand what he was talking about. “i’m not saying this is a bad marriage, y/n. i just need you to assess if you’re doing things right before you lose yourself." that was the first time you realize that yoongi tolerates you. the rose color glasses you’ve put on really made you believe that he was a good husband. yes, he’s a good husband in the books. he always made time when you ask him to. when he senses you’re down, he’s the one who plans trips and takes you out on dates.

it took a scolding from your best friend to realize that he does not do it because he loves you. the easiest comparison to your marriage would be a business deal. your marriage is a business deal he doesn’t want to lose. and he loved the business. he loved being your husband. it was hard to say he does not love you when you came with the deal.

“why are you late? what’s this?” you peck his lips when he comes in the door, taking the paper bag from his hand. you take a peek inside and found your favorite new york cheesecake inside, making the corners of your lips turn upward in a cheeky grin. “this store is one hour away from your office!” you gasp and he leans by the wall with crossed arms, looking so beautifully unreal. his long black hair was coolly unkept. the way a few strands of hair falls over his forehead complements his face. he was the effortlessly cool min yoongi. and he was your husband. “and we are about to leave for hawaii tomorrow. i should get my wife something to celebrate being alone with my wife.” you set down the paper bag on the floor and clasped your hands on his cold cheeks. he came to know you absolutely love holding cold cheeks but hate yours being touched by what you say dirty hands, afraid it would ruin your skin care. “i love you.” he leans in and wraps his hands around your waist. “i love you too.” and he presses his lips unto yours.

is it an illusion? were you seeing things that weren’t there? why is everyone around you noticing that there was something wrong with the marriage? from seokjin’s doubt of yoongi’s love and jungkook’s concern about you, why can’t you see it? and the most important of it all, if you don’t see it, then what’s stopping you from being truly happy with yoongi?

yoongi is a perfect husband. you are the perfect wife. it should be a happy marriage. but it’s not. you’re not happy because you don’t think yoongi would ever be happy.

“can we be honest tonight?” you were both staying in the room of the resort. you downed too much wine to think straight and it was bound to come out of your deepest thoughts anyway. yoongi only stares at you with an equally drunk state. you grip on the soft robe of the resort you had on. the same one yoongi wears. “why do we never fight?” you ask him anyway. it was true. you don’t think there had been an argument that lasted an hour. he was the one who always gives way. he never gets angry. he talks to you about it calmly. “why don’t you get angry at me?” “i’m not sure why you’re asking me this.” he says with puffed cheeks, now looking at his glass of wine. “what happened with yuna?” you ask this time. yoongi doesn’t look at you and continues to stare at the blood red drink as if he’s willing it to disappear with his mind. “yoongi, what happened with yuna?” you repeat the question, shifting to lean closer to him. he still doesn’t answer so you sigh. you feel the warm trickling on your nose and the tears that rise to your eyes. you stop them with closed eyes. “forget it. i’m going to sleep.” you say and set your glass down on the side table of the bed. you faced the other way when you lie down. the alcohol has been in your system enough to make you feel a bit dizzy, but your consciousness is rarely affected by it. you try your best try to fall asleep in the first few minutes but it was hard when you can feel your heart breaking over the silence of the room. eventually, you feel a shift on the bed beside you. “she found someone else.” he says it so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. “and we don’t fight because i’m afraid that if i don’t do things right, you will leave me too.” you don’t think he realizes you were still awake. not when you hear the sniffs of cries coming from him. “you’re so much like her, y/n. i don’t ever want to lose you.” and that was when you decided to do it.

you took the manila envelope inside the box and took out the four papers inside. you placed them on top of the drawers of wrist watches and jewelry in the middle of the room. with tears in your eyes, you grab the pen from your pocket.

and you sign the papers.

your phone dings two times after you’ve dropped the pen beside it. one text from your secretary and the other from your husband.

mrs. min, your apartment in myeongdong has been set up. i’ve checked it myself and it’s clear to stay in now. i arrived safely. love you. you carried the box out of your room and into your living room coffee table. maria was already waiting on the couch. it seemed that you took too long in reminiscing that she was already done doing the chores.

“oh, y/n.” her voice is full of pity that you can’t help but break down in front of her. you sob like a child that was robbed of a candy she liked. maria wraps her arms around you and pats your back.

when you’ve calmed yourself down and maria showed herself out of the penthouse in respect of your alone time, you place the manila envelope on the table. above it, a folded paper of a written letter to yoongi.

you glance back at the empty apartment, seeing the happy memories you and your husband share. it used to be so bright and shiny. now it just seems like it’s rusting. so you turn off the lights and head out.

as you were driving out of the neighborhood, you passed by a children’s park. like fate was laughing at you, you see a family of three playing. they can’t be much older than you or yoongi.

maybe one day, when he sees a family like this, he could see a glimpse of what you two could have been instead.

© wolfvmin. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. thank you.

four seven eight

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 12k

glimpse: you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.

alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

[ part one + intermission + part two + intermission 02 + finale ]

[ major angst (pls take a break when necessary!!), no cheating happens here btw, some rlly cute moments i swear, jk’s a cold lover, emotional constipation + breakdowns, allusions to anxiety + anxiety attacks, self-deprication n loathing, miscommunication, based on the moral dilemma of whether or not it’s okay to be friends with ur ex, eventual redemption in the next parts :) ]

notes: it’s finally out and i can’t wait for you to read!! this piece is my baby, the rightful successor to heartburn <3 i’m aware that the last time i wrote a mini-series it was rlly heavy, but please trust me when i say that this would be lighter <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :) | series masterlist

Keep reading

Only You | [pjm]

→𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; you’ve been always there for your best friend, even when he became a single dad 

→𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: jimin x reader

→𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: single dad jimin, best friends to lovers au, smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst

→𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: slight nipple play, oral (female receiving), protected sex, strong language, penetrative sex

→𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 11.4k

 𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⏤ 𝒌𝒐-𝒇𝒊

© 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 (𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅)

The slightly cold breeze comes from the opened window, comfortable enough to balance the hotness in Jimin’s bedroom. His cheek is pressed against his pillow while his plump lips are puckered. His light blond hair is falling to his face, covering mostly his eyes but he doesn’t mind – not when he is deeply asleep, a soft puffs of breath leaves his mouth. His whole body aches with tiredness and strong need of sleep, which he welcomed with opened arms. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and his body is wrapped around the thin sheet, which he managed to kick off while sleeping, due to hotness in the room. He is about to mindlessly turn around, to change his position since his neck starts to hurt from the twisted position, just to be woken up by soft cries from the other room. He probably should snap his eyes open, but he can’t, instead he slowly opens them with his head aching. He checks the time on his phone, the bright screen blinding him for a second before his eyes adjust to the brightness. 2:04am. He slept for two hours, his body and mind still tired. With a deep sigh, ignoring the headache, he forces his body from the comfort of his double bed. 

His bare feet slowly pad against the wooden floor to the door from his bedroom, which he opens just to be met with faint lighting coming from the lamp in the living room. He sees the grey blanket slouched on his couch and a cup of something on the coffee table. The cries are slowing down but can be still heard, so Jimin picks up his pace and enters the smaller room right beside his. The sight he sees warms and shakes his heart at the same time.

There is you. The night lamp illuminates your figure, enough for him to see you. You’re standing in front of the crib with his baby wrapped in your arms, as you slowly hum into his daughter’s ear. You slightly rock her, cuddling yourself to her, the familiar scent of baby welcomes you. You love that smell. 

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prohibido. | 01 [knj]

⏤𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜; Namjoon is an art himself. Shame that he’s forbidden - he’s your brother’s best friend. And your colleague.

⏤𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: strong language

⏤𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: namjoon x reader

⏤𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: fluff, angst, smut

⏤𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 5.9k

⏤𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07

A/N: Please let me know what you think so far. Things will get heated up soon, I promise!

He’s beautiful. The way he’s holding a pen, his eyes focused on the paper scanning his handwriting over and over again. His plump juicy lips are mouthing the words he’s written as his brows furrow from time to time, almost as if not satisfied with his writing. And probably, he isn’t since he’s perfectionist.

“Quit staring, he’ll notice.” Your colleague, Kim Taehyung, says snapping you out of your thoughts. Your cheeks flush from embarrassment you’re trying to hide with a glare sent his way.

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Away From You | index

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; Trying to divorce Yoongi might be harder than you thought it’d be. Especially when you’re having a two year old toddler.

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: yoongi x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, smut, divorce!au

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: listed in each chapter m.list | ☕️

chapter I [8.5k+]

chapter II [7.5k+]

chapter III [7.7k+]

chapter IV [9.3k+]

chapter V [7.2k+]

chapter VI [4.9k+]

chapter VII  [4.8k+]

chapter VIII [5.3k+]

chapter IX [6.9k+]

chapter X [6.4k+]

chapter XI [6.4k+]

chapter XII [11.4k+]

chapter XIII [6k+]

chapter XIV [6.9k+]

chapter XV [10.3k+]

chapter XVI [13.6k+]

Stay High | myg

⏤synopsis; You’ve to stay high to keep your ex out off your mind when he comes back into your life.

⏤warnings: drug using, mentions of drugs, strong language, oral sex [female & male receiving], unprotected sex, accidental creampie, degradation kink, choking, penetrative sex, spanking, cum eating, rough sex, switch!yoongi, denied orgasm, multiple orgasms

⏤genre: fluff, angst, smut

words count: 16.5k

A story inspired by song ‘Habits’ by Tove Lo

The loud music blasts in your ears, your ass hurting from the bar stool you’ve been sitting on for twenty minutes already. There are too many people in the house but of course, that’s how Seokjin’s parties are. You’re still wondering how he lets bunch of strangers come in his house, actually — his parents’ house. They’re rummaging through the whole house, some of them making their way upstairs — probably to have sex in one of the bedrooms. 

Cloud of smoke comes your way and it doesn’t take too long for you to smell it. It’s not a simple cigarette attacking your nose. It’s weed. 

“You want some?” Hoseok asks you as he holds it for you. You eye his hands for a few seconds before shaking your hand. “You’re no fun.” he pouts before cheeky grin appears on his lips. You don’t need any sharp lighting to see his reddened eyes revealing he’s definitely high.

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Still Want You [Jin x Reader] - COMPLETE

y/n and Tae have been best friends ever since they challenged each other to a race on the monkey bars in grade school and y/n fell and broke her arm instead. Since then, they’ve been inseparable and, along with the rest of their band of chaos — Jimin and Tae, they do everything together and more importantly, they tell each other everything too.

That is, of course, until Tae’s older brother, Jin, comes home from college…

When their worlds collide unexpectedly, Jin is surprised to find that the little nuisance who used to haunt his house is all grown up. What’s more, he thinks he might be falling for her.

She might be falling for him too.

But as their circles clash, will those budding feelings be enough to last?

schedule: every other day 1 AM CST

warnings ⛔️ : 18+ only please! There aren’t any explicit scenes but there’s suggestive language so please read at your own discretion! Other trigger warnings include: death of a parent, abuse, underage drinking, alcohol use in general, cursing, suggestive language (subject to be added to.)

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All I Need Is Me [Namjoon x Reader] - COMPLETE

A bad breakup. A new company in need of start up funds. A competition in Vegas. Two strangers desperately in need of a new start. What could possibly go wrong?

Genre: Strangers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers (in no particular order 😂); rapper!Namjoon x producer!Reader

Warnings: 🔞seriously, 18+ only, minors DNI, alcohol consumption (legal age), mentions of sex, cursing, lots of angst, subject to be added to.

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