Hey Guys I Was In The Middle Of Writing A Namjoon Fic But I Will Be Spending The Night In Jail So Updates

hey guys i was in the middle of writing a namjoon fic but i will be spending the night in jail so updates will NOT be cutesy nor demure until i get this sorted love yall

roses (장미) — jeon jungkook (전정국)

✧.* WC: 11.9K

✧.* SYN: polar opposites were said to attract, but nobody specified when. no matter how beautiful, no matter how enchanting—sometimes, they were just made to repel.

✧.* 16+

roses were meant to be the symbol of love—romance captured in its purest form. their petals, silken and fragile, were light against the fingertips, and their colors, from the softest blush to the deepest crimson, seemed to glow with a kind of inner fire. roses were everything beautiful, everything tender. but to you, they were a lie.

for every rose, no matter how lovely, was laced with thorns. they were subtle, hiding just beneath the surface, waiting for a careless touch to remind you of their presence. they never scarred your fingers on purpose—how could they? the flowers themselves had no say in the sharpness of their defenses. and yet, they always found a way to mar your skin, leaving behind thin lines of pain, tiny rivers of blood mingling with the red of the petals. it was as if the rose took your blood as payment for its beauty, demanding a piece of you in exchange for the admiration it commanded. you couldn't see them as others did. where others saw a token of love, you saw a warning—a reminder that beauty often came with a cost, and that love, no matter how sweet, could hurt just as deeply.

you hated roses. not because they weren't beautiful, but because their beauty was tainted by the inevitability of pain. they were a paradox, a contradiction you could never reconcile. to love them was to accept the wounds they left behind, and you had no desire to be wounded. jungkook, with his warm eyes and gentle smile, knew this about you. he knew it better than anyone.

when you first started dating, he surprised you with a bouquet of red roses, each bloom more perfect than the last. they were vibrant, luxurious, their scent intoxicating in its richness. you smiled when you saw them, because how could you not? they were beautiful, after all, and he had chosen them with you in mind. but beneath your smile, a familiar unease churned. nothing that truly loved you, no matter how beautiful, would never hurt you. you didn't want to hurt his feelings, didn't want to dampen the joy in his eyes, so you accepted them with as much grace as you could muster. you held them close, careful not to let your fingers brush too harshly against the thorns. you placed them in water, tended to them, watched as their petals unfurled further, revealing their full splendor. yet, no matter how much care you gave them, they remained a symbol of everything you couldn't bring yourself to love.

the roses, with their beauty and their thorns, became a silent metaphor for your fears. they were a constant reminder that love—true, deep love—wasn't without its dangers. that even the most beautiful things could hurt you if you weren't careful. and so, while you couldn't see the beauty in the roses, you saw it in jungkook. you saw it in the way he beamed when he handed them to you, in the tenderness of his voice when he asked if you liked them. you saw the care he took in choosing them, the thoughtfulness behind his actions, and you loved him all the more for it. but the roses themselves? they remained, as ever, a source of quiet torment.

it wasn't until after a few dates that you finally confessed the truth. you remember the moment vividly—the way the words tumbled out of your mouth, hesitant yet firm, as you told him you didn't like roses. you hadn't intended to hurt him, and you could see the brief flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, the way his shoulders tensed slightly. “why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, his voice tinged with regret. his fingers traced the edge of your hand, a silent apology in his touch.

you sighed, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “i didn’t want to disappoint you. you were so thoughtful, i just didn’t have the heart to say it.”

“i’m sorry,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he’d wronged you in some unforgivable way. “i didn’t know.”

“it’s okay,” you assured him gently, lifting his chin so that his eyes met yours. “i kept every single one.” his eyes softened at your words, and a small, sheepish smile curved his lips. “really?”

“really,” you confirmed, squeezing his hand. “i may not love roses, but i love the thought behind them.”

the roses stopped after that day. in their place came something simpler, something that held a different kind of beauty. jungkook began to bring you dandelions, plucked from wherever he could find them, their bright yellow heads bobbing on slender green stems. they were humble, unpretentious, the kind of flower people often overlooked or dismissed as weeds. but to you, they were perfect.

you loved the way they scattered in the wind, carrying with them the weight of a thousand wishes. every time you held one in your hand, you couldn't resist closing your eyes, drawing in a breath, and blowing gently, sending the delicate seeds spiraling into the air. with each breath, you made a wish—small, secret hopes you whispered to the universe, trusting that somehow, some way, they would be heard. jungkook always watched you with a soft smile as you did this, his eyes never leaving your face. “what did you wish for?” he would ask, his voice warm and curious.

but you never told him. you always shook your head, a playful smile on your lips as you teased him with your silence. “i can’t tell you,” you’d say, “or it won’t come true.”

he would laugh, a rich, melodic sound that made your heart feel lighter than air. “one day, you’ll have to tell me,” he’d insist, though there was no urgency in his words—just the quiet patience of someone willing to wait as long as it took.

and maybe, one day, you would tell him. But for now, you kept your wishes close, letting them flutter away with the dandelion seeds, drifting on the breeze like tiny prayers. in truth, you always wished for the same thing—that you could hold on to this moment, to this feeling, forever. that the love you shared with jungkook, so pure and gentle, would last as long as there were dandelions to carry your wishes. you found comfort in the simplicity of the dandelions. there were no thorns, no hidden dangers. they were honest in their imperfection, and in that honesty, you found a kind of beauty that roses could never offer. the dandelions became a symbol of your love—humble, enduring, and free from the pain that had always accompanied the roses.

and every time jungkook brought you one, it felt like a promise—a promise that he understood, that he knew what you needed even before you did. it was a promise that he would never bring you pain, that he would love you in all the ways you needed to be loved, without the thorns, without the scars. you held on to that promise, just as you held on to each dandelion he gave you, treasuring it for what it was—a gift, not just of love, but of understanding. and as the seeds danced away on the wind, you knew that your wishes were safe, carried on the breath of a love that was as gentle and enduring as the flowers themselves.

“here’s your shirt,” you murmured, handing him the neatly folded fabric that felt heavier in your hands than it should have. the weight of finality clung to it, as if the fibers themselves had absorbed the tension between you, the countless unspoken words and unresolved feelings woven into the threads. you had gathered the last of jungkook's things, the remnants of a love that had once filled your home with warmth and light but now seemed to haunt it, like echoes of laughter long gone.

he took the shirt from you without looking up, his fingers brushing yours in a way that used to send a shiver of excitement through you. now, it only brought a dull ache, a reminder of what was slipping away. he had changed so much over the past year. the bright-eyed boy who once looked at you as if you hung the stars had morphed into someone distant, cold. his eyes, once filled with a warmth that made you feel seen, had grown dim, as though the light within him had burned out, leaving nothing but the shadows behind.

jungkook had quickly become the tear in your eye and the tear in your heart, a source of pain that gnawed at you from the inside out. he was no longer the man you fell in love with, but a stranger wearing his skin. you had watched the change happen slowly at first, like a creeping frost on a windowpane, but then it had sped up, and before you knew it, the warmth between you had been replaced by an icy silence. it was a silence that had once been comfortable, a shared space where words weren't needed because the understanding between you was so deep. now, it was a chasm, wide and unbridgeable, filled with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

the end had come faster than you had anticipated, but perhaps that was how these things always happened. you tried to brace yourself, to prepare for the inevitable, telling yourself over and over that not everything was forever. it was a mantra you repeated to numb the pain, to convince yourself that you could accept it. but how were you supposed to accept losing him when every part of you still clung to the hope that things could be different? that somehow, the man you loved was still in there, buried beneath the layers of hurt and distance?

you watched as he turned away from you, his manner dismissive in that distinctly masculine, emotionally restrained way that cut you deeper than any harsh word ever could. It was as if he had already moved on, as if this—your heartbreak—was nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. you knew he felt the weight of it too, that he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted you to believe, but his silence was a wall, thick and impenetrable, that you couldn’t break through no matter how hard you tried.

he was about to walk out of your life for the last time, and you couldn't let him go without trying, just one more time, to reach him. to make him understand what this meant to you. the words were heavy on your tongue, almost too painful to speak, but you forced them out, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. “i wished,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. the words caught in your throat, and you had to swallow hard to keep going. “i wished for us to be forever.”

the simplicity of the statement hung in the air between you, raw and vulnerable. it was the truth, stripped of all pretense, the most honest thing you had said in a long time. it was the wish you had made countless times, with dandelion seeds drifting on the wind, with every shooting star that crossed the night sky, with every single breath you had taken while lying beside him in the quiet of the night. it was the wish you had carried in your heart since the beginning, even as things began to unravel, even as the distance between you grew.

you saw the slight falter in his step as the words reached him. he stopped in his tracks, his back still turned to you, and for a moment, you thought he might say something. you held your breath, waiting for the sound of his voice, for anything that would tell you he still cared, that he still felt something. but the silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, and you realized with a sinking heart that there was nothing left to say. he let the silence fill the space between you, allowing it to drown out your words, as if by not responding, he could erase them from existence.

the seconds dragged on like hours, the silence suffocating you as you stood there, waiting for a response that would never come. jungkook knew you were behind him, could probably feel the weight of your gaze on his back, but he didn't turn around. he didn't offer you the comfort of his eyes, the soft reassurance of his voice. Instead, he walked back inside, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed through the empty spaces of your heart.

you stared at the closed door, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to cry. not there, not now. you had given him everything—your love, your trust, your dreams of a future together. and now, you had nothing left to give. the door had closed, not just on this chapter of your life, but on the possibility of ever finding solace in his arms again. the silence that followed was no longer comforting. it was deafening, a void that pressed in on you from all sides, reminding you of what you had lost. and in that silence, you knew the truth—you were no longer there. not in his heart, not in his mind. the person you had been, the person who had loved him with every fiber of her being, was gone, leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell of who you once were.

you forced yourself to leave, to walk away from the door that had once opened so easily for you. each step felt like a struggle, as if the weight of your heartbreak was pulling you down, making it hard to move forward. but you kept going, because you had no other choice. you couldn't stay in that place any longer, surrounded by memories that would only serve to haunt you. as you stepped out into the cool evening air, the world felt different—dimmer, less vibrant. It was as if the color had been drained from everything, leaving behind only shades of gray. the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of roses from a nearby garden. you inhaled sharply, the scent stinging your senses like the thorns that had once pierced your skin. and just like those thorns, the memories of your time with jungkook would leave scars—scars that would take time to heal, if they ever did at all.

you walked away, leaving behind the man who had once been your everything, and with each step, you felt the weight of the past slowly lifting from your shoulders. but the pain remained, sharp and aching, a reminder that some wounds run too deep to ever fully heal. and as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in darkness, you couldn't help but wonder if the wish you had once held so close to your heart had been nothing more than a foolish dream, carried away on the wind like dandelion seeds, never to come true.

when you returned home, the silence greeted you like an unwelcome guest, settling into every corner of the house, amplifying the emptiness that seemed to have grown overnight. the house felt colder, emptier than it ever had before, as though the very walls had absorbed the sorrow that weighed so heavily on your heart. and yet, nothing had changed. the furniture was still in its place, the same pictures hung on the walls, the same sunlight filtered through the windows, casting the same patterns on the floor. everything was as it had been, and yet, it all felt different—foreign, somehow, like you were a stranger in your own home.

you didn’t know why you had expected it to be any different. why had you thought, even for a moment, that the world would stop spinning on its axis just because your heart had been shattered? the absurdity of the thought struck you as both laughable and tragic. your heart was broken, yet the world found a way to keep spinning, indifferent to your pain. the birds still sang outside, the traffic still moved along the streets, and somewhere, people were still laughing, still loving, still living their lives as if nothing had happened. the world carried on, and you were left to pick up the pieces of a life that had been torn apart.

as you moved through the house, your gaze fell on the roses he had given you, still thriving in the crystal vases where you had carefully placed them. they stood proudly, their petals full and vibrant, a stark contrast to the withered dandelions that lay beside them. you had been diligent in changing the water, making sure the roses had everything they needed to flourish. and flourish they did, their beauty almost mocking in its perfection, as if to remind you of the love that had once been so full of promise.

but the dandelions—oh, the dandelions—they had not fared as well. you had taken extra care of them, watering them more frequently than you ever had with any other flowers, desperately trying to keep them alive. they were delicate, fragile things, just like the wishes you had whispered into the wind, and you had wanted them to last, to hold on to their golden beauty for just a little longer. but no matter how much care you gave them, they still found a way to wilt, their once bright yellow heads now drooping, petals shriveled and brown. they had died on you, leaving you with nothing but the memory of the hopes they had carried.

it was a bitter realization—one that struck deep, piercing through the numbness that had settled in your chest. you needed to stop watering dead flowers. the thought echoed in your mind, a painful truth you had been avoiding for far too long. the dandelions were gone, just like the love you had once shared with jungkook, and no amount of water or care could bring them back. it was over, and you had to let go. but letting go felt like an impossibility, like trying to breathe under water—each attempt only filled your lungs with more pain.

your eyes returned to the roses, and you realized just how little had changed. their beauty did not bring you any comfort. instead, it filled you with a deep, aching sense of emptiness. their perfection was a lie, a facade that hid the thorns lying just beneath the surface. thorns that had always been there, even when you hadn’t seen them, ready to pierce through the skin at the slightest touch. they were beautiful, yes, but their beauty came at a cost—one that you had paid dearly.

your heart sank as you reached out for the roses, your hand trembling slightly as you wrapped your fingers around the stems. you felt every prick, the way the thorns dug into the tender flesh of your palm, piercing through the surface with sharp, unyielding precision. the pain should have made you flinch, should have forced you to pull back, but instead, you tightened your grip, welcoming the sensation. it was almost a relief to feel something other than the hollow numbness that had been consuming you.

you watched, detached, as your blood began to seep from the wounds, mingling with the bright red petals, the crimson droplets staining the clear water. it was a sight both grotesque and mesmerizing—your life force mingling with the very thing that had symbolized your love, now tainted and corrupted. and yet, for the first time, it didn’t hurt. the pain was there, yes, but it was distant, as though it belonged to someone else, a stranger who had nothing to do with you.

you loosened your grip, letting the stems slip from your fingers and fall back into the vase. the blood on your hand began to dry, a faint stinging sensation left behind as a reminder of the thorns' touch. but the pain no longer mattered. it was just another sensation in a world that had become a blur of emotions too complex to untangle. you turned away from the flowers, leaving them behind as you walked further into the house, each step echoing in the silence that had settled around you. the rooms felt colder, the air thicker, as if the very atmosphere had shifted, mourning the loss that had taken place within those walls. but there was nothing left to mourn.

you slept. it was easier that way, easier to slip into the quiet oblivion of dreams where reality couldn’t reach you, where the sharp edges of your pain were softened, blurred by the fog of sleep. you slept because every time you woke up, the world was colder, more hostile, and you were too weak to face it. the bed, once shared, now felt like a vast, empty expanse, a void that swallowed you whole. the sheets still carried his scent, faint but there, a cruel reminder of what was lost. so, you buried yourself beneath them, cocooning yourself in a fragile barrier against the world.

every time you woke up, you were confronted with the same brutal truth: he was gone. the realization came slowly, like a wave that started far off in the distance, gaining strength as it approached until it crashed over you, relentless and unforgiving. it would hit you as you blinked yourself awake, in that brief, disorienting moment where you didn’t quite remember where you were. you reached out instinctively, your hand searching the space beside you, but it met only the cool emptiness of the sheets. the ache in your chest deepened, a hollow, gnawing pain that seemed to settle into your very bones.

you felt the urge to call him, to reach out to him, to hear his voice on the other end of the line—steady, warm, reassuring. your fingers would hover over your phone, trembling with the need to dial his number, to send a message, anything to break the silence that pressed down on you. but what was there to say? what could you possibly tell him that hadn’t already been left unspoken? the words died in your throat, choked by the knowledge that it wouldn’t change anything. he was no longer there, and no amount of pleading or wishing would bring him back.

and so, you turned away from the phone, sinking back into the bed, pulling the covers over your head as though you could block out the world itself. sleep became your refuge, your escape from the brutal clarity of consciousness. in sleep, you could forget, if only for a little while. in sleep, the weight of reality lifted, and you drifted into a world where things were as they should be, where he was still there, still yours.

but every time you woke up, the reality would crash back down on you, harder and more unbearable than before. the bed felt colder, the room emptier, and the silence heavier. it was as if the universe itself was conspiring to remind you of what you had lost, what had slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, impossible to grasp and hold on to. the disbelief settled into your chest like a stone, heavy and cold. it was easier to cling to that disbelief than to accept the truth, easier to let yourself be carried away by the numbness than to face the searing pain that lay just beneath the surface. you couldn’t believe it had happened, refused to let yourself truly accept that he was gone. had it happened? had you really lost him? the questions circled in your mind, relentless, unanswered, each one twisting the knife a little deeper into your heart.

you were confused, disoriented, lost in a labyrinth of grief that you didn’t know how to navigate. the world outside seemed distant, almost unreal, as though you were floating through it without truly being a part of it. the memories of him lingered like ghosts, haunting every corner of your mind, and you couldn’t tell where the past ended and the present began. everything was a blur, a swirl of emotions too tangled to unravel.

and so, you went back to sleep, because in sleep, the lines between reality and dreams were blurred, and you could still see him, still feel him. in your dreams, he was there, whole and real, his smile warm and bright, his touch gentle. in your dreams, he hadn’t left you, hadn’t walked away, and the world was still as it should be. you clung to those moments, those fleeting glimpses of a world that no longer existed, because they were all you had left. in sleep, the disbelief settled into temporary joy, a fragile, fleeting happiness that only existed in the depths of your mind. you knew it wasn’t real, knew that it would shatter the moment you woke up, but you held on to it anyway, desperate for any scrap of comfort. you would see him in your dreams, and for those precious moments, everything would be okay. you would laugh with him, talk with him, hold him, and it was as if nothing had changed.

but then you would wake up, and the illusion would fade, leaving you more broken than before. the bed would feel colder, the room quieter, the silence more suffocating. and you would lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself to get up, to face the day, but the weight of your denial would pull you back under. so you would close your eyes again, praying for sleep to take you, to pull you back into that world where he still existed, where you could pretend, if only for a little while, that everything was still the same. and so, you slept. and slept. and slept. because it was easier than facing the reality of a world without him.

jungkook shut down. it wasn’t something he consciously decided to do, but rather an instinctual retreat into himself, like a wounded animal seeking shelter in the darkest corner of the forest. his emotions were a storm that threatened to tear him apart, so he did the only thing he knew how—he numbed himself. he buried the pain deep, far beneath the surface, where he hoped it would never see the light of day.

his days became a monotonous blur of routine. he went through the motions, each one devoid of the color and warmth that had once defined his life. there was a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away, a constant reminder of the emptiness that had taken root in his heart. he woke up, dressed himself, and headed to the gym, as if the physical exertion could somehow drown out the chaos in his mind.

the gym became a sanctuary, the one place where he could lose himself in the rhythmic clanging of weights and the steady thump of his heartbeat in his ears. he lifted, the strain on his muscles a welcome distraction from the thoughts that threatened to consume him. he ran, his feet pounding against the treadmill in a desperate attempt to outrun the memories of you. but no matter how fast or how far he ran, they always threatened to catch up with him, lingering at the edges of his consciousness like a persistent shadow.

he pushed himself harder, ran until his lungs burned and his legs felt like they would give out beneath him. he jogged, then walked, then jogged again, anything to keep his body moving, to keep his mind from spiraling into the dark places he feared. the pain in his muscles was a dull, constant ache, but it was nothing compared to the void inside him, the hollow ache that seemed to have settled in his chest.

when he left the gym, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, he found himself wandering aimlessly, as if searching for something—anything—that could fill the emptiness. he went to the market, seeking the comfort of familiarity in the mundane task of picking out fresh fruit. but even there, you haunted him. he would see the watermelons stacked neatly on the shelves, their bright, green rinds a stark contrast to the dullness of his mood, and he would be reminded of how much you loved them. he could almost hear your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about how sweet and refreshing they were on a hot summer day. the memory would twist the knife in his chest, and he would force himself to look away, to walk away, leaving the market with nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth.

nights were the worst. the silence of his apartment was suffocating, the loneliness almost unbearable. he started going to bars with his friends, seeking solace in the mind-numbing effects of alcohol. it was easier that way—easier to drown his sorrows in liquor, to forget, even if it was just for a little while. he would order round after round, paying for everyone, desperate to keep the drinks flowing, to keep the laughter and noise around him as a buffer against the silence that awaited him at home.

his friends would cheer, their voices loud and boisterous, their smiles wide and carefree. he would force himself to smile along with them, to laugh at their jokes, even as he felt the icy tendrils of grief winding tighter around his heart. the alcohol would dull the edges of his pain, make the world seem softer, more bearable, and for a few fleeting hours, he could almost forget. but he knew it wouldn’t last. it never did. he clung to those moments of reprieve, no matter how brief, no matter how hollow they left him feeling afterward. because as long as he could keep the pain at bay, as long as he could pretend, just for a little while, that he wasn’t completely shattered inside, he could survive. he needed those moments to last, needed them to stretch out into the dark hours of the night, to carry him through until the morning light.

but even as he forced himself to keep moving, to keep pushing forward, there was a part of him that knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. the weight of his grief was a constant, oppressive presence, and no amount of physical exertion or alcohol could truly erase it. he was running on borrowed time, and deep down, he feared the day when the numbness would wear off, and he would be left to face the full force of his emotions. so he shut down, closed himself off, and went through the motions, day after day, night after night. because it was easier than feeling, easier than confronting the reality of what he had lost. he couldn’t afford to break down, couldn’t afford to let himself fall apart, because he didn’t know if he would ever be able to put himself back together again.

you couldn’t cling to the false reality you had carefully constructed any longer. the threads holding it together unraveled, leaving you exposed to the raw truth you had desperately tried to ignore. the more you tried to force yourself back into the numb comfort of denial, the more reality clawed its way into your consciousness, demanding to be acknowledged. “why me?” the question echoed in your mind, relentless and unforgiving. you couldn’t understand how this had happened to you, how your life had spiraled into a pit of despair so deep you couldn’t see the bottom. what had you done to deserve this? what crime had you committed that was so terrible, so unforgivable, that you were now being punished in such a cruel and merciless way?

your thoughts were a chaotic swirl of anger and confusion, a storm that raged within you with no outlet, no direction. the more you tried to reason with yourself, the more frustrated you became. who could you blame for this? was it your fault? his? the universe’s? the questions tormented you, gnawing at your sanity, and with every passing minute, the fury inside you grew stronger, more uncontrollable.

there was nobody to lash out at, nobody to direct your anger toward. you were alone, left to wrestle with the seething emotions that had taken up residence in your heart. and every time your gaze fell upon the roses, still standing tall in their vase, they seemed to mock you, their vibrant beauty a contrast to the darkness that had settled over your life. they thrived, even as everything else around you withered away. their presence was a constant reminder of the love that had once been and the pain that remained. you had every right to hate them.

your hands trembled as you reached for the television remote, the plastic cool and unyielding against your skin. without thinking, you hurled it across the room, your vision blurring with the force of your anger. the vase shattered into a thousand tiny shards of glass, scattering across the floor in a sparkling array of destruction. but the roses—those damned roses—remained intact, their petals untouched, as if the chaos around them couldn’t reach their perfection.

you stared at the mess you had made, your chest heaving with ragged breaths, but there were no tears left to shed. the sadness that had once consumed you had been swallowed up by a burning rage, a fire that seemed to scorch everything in its path. how could he do this to you? how could he walk away, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a life that no longer made sense? the injustice of it all fueled the inferno in your heart, and you found yourself consumed by a single, overpowering desire: revenge. you wanted him to suffer, to feel the guilt that you believed should be eating away at him every second of every day. you wanted him to see you, to be reminded of everything he had thrown away, and you wanted him to beg for your forgiveness. if you couldn’t have peace, then you would have the satisfaction of knowing that he didn’t either.

with newfound resolve, you began to ready yourself. you meticulously prepared, every brush of makeup, every stroke of mascara, a declaration of war against the version of yourself that had crumbled in the wake of heartbreak. you refused to be the victim any longer. you would go out, find the pieces of yourself that still remained, and piece them together into something new—something that would draw his eyes back to you and make him realize what he had lost. you chose the bar carefully, the one where you knew he was a regular, where the chances of seeing him were high. as you slipped into a dress that clung to your figure, accentuating every curve, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. but the woman who looked back at you was a stranger—her eyes were sharp, glittering with the fury that had replaced every other emotion. the void was gone, buried beneath layers of anger and the determination to make him pay for the pain he had caused.

your heart hammered in your chest, a drumbeat of anticipation, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when you saw him. would he recognize you? would he see the fire in your eyes and understand that it was his doing? or would he turn away, indifferent to the transformation you had undergone? as you made your way to the door, your heels clicking against the floor, you clung to the hope that he would be there, that he would see you and fall to his knees in regret. but even as you tried to convince yourself that this was the outcome you wanted, a small, uncertain voice whispered in the back of your mind, asking if this was truly who you had become—someone who thrived on anger and revenge, who found solace in the idea of another’s suffering.

but you pushed that voice aside, determined to see this through. the fury in your veins was the only thing that felt real anymore, the only thing that kept you going. and so, you walked out the door, ready to confront the man who had once been your everything, even if it meant losing the last remnants of yourself in the process.

jungkook’s world had narrowed to a single point of focus—the relentless, unyielding ache inside him that refused to be named or tamed. it simmered beneath his skin, a beast with no outlet, coiled and ready to strike. the gym had become his sanctuary, a place where he could pound his fists into the heavy bag until his knuckles were raw and bleeding, until the sharp pain in his hands was all that existed in his mind. but even that wasn’t enough.

he hit the bag harder, his bare fists connecting with brutal force, over and over again. the sting of torn skin, the dull throb in his bones—none of it registered. all he knew was the rhythmic, punishing impact of his fists against the leather, the way his breath came in ragged gasps, the way his blood seemed to boil beneath the surface. he didn’t care that his knuckles were split, didn’t notice the way his sweat dripped off him in steady streams, matting his hair to his forehead and soaking through his clothes. he was beyond caring, beyond feeling anything other than the rage that consumed him.

he didn’t realize how loud the sound of his fists smashing into the bag had become, didn’t notice the way other gym-goers had started to watch, their eyes widening at the intensity of his aggression. they stared, some concerned, others keeping their distance, wary of the energy radiating off him in waves. but jungkook was oblivious, his focus entirely on the bag in front of him, as if it held all the answers to the chaos in his mind.

his thoughts were a tangled mess, a storm that raged without end. why was this happening to him? what had he done to deserve this? he needed answers, needed someone to blame, but the more he searched for a reason, the more elusive it became. the frustration gnawed at him, clawing at the inside of his chest until he felt like he might explode. he couldn’t make sense of the turmoil inside him, couldn’t find a way to quiet the incessant pounding of his heart or the restless tapping of his feet as he stood there, trying to regain control.

jungkook’s fingers twitched, playing with the edges of his gym towel, twisting it into knots as if the physical action could somehow unravel the knots inside his own head. his heart raced, a frantic beat that seemed to echo in the silence of his mind, a silence that only made him angrier. he hated the quiet, hated the way it left him alone with his thoughts, with the voices that whispered all sorts of things to him, things he didn’t want to hear, things that only made the fury inside him burn hotter.

he needed an escape, a way to release the tension that coiled inside him like a spring wound too tight. but nothing worked—nothing took the edge off the anger that bubbled just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment. he needed to feel something other than this gnawing, hollow rage, needed to drown out the noise in his head, even if only for a little while.

so he did what he always did when the pressure became too much to bear—he turned to the only temporary relief he knew. the bar called to him, a beacon of false hope in the darkness that had become his life. there, among the noise and the laughter, the clinking of glasses and the buzz of conversation, he could lose himself, if only for a little while. the alcohol would burn away the edges of his anger, would blur the sharp lines of his thoughts until they were nothing more than a dull ache in the back of his mind. he craved that numbness, the brief respite it offered, even if it never lasted.

as he left the gym, his mind was still running wild, the voices still whispering insidiously, feeding his anger, pushing him to the edge. he could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his hands still shook slightly from the exertion, the way his heart pounded with unresolved fury. but he pushed it all down, burying it deep inside as he made his way to the bar, seeking out the oblivion he so desperately needed. the world outside seemed indifferent to his turmoil—the sun still shone, people still went about their day, oblivious to the storm that raged within him. and that only made him angrier, made him feel even more isolated, as if he was the only one trapped in this endless cycle of anger and pain. but the bar was waiting, the promise of temporary relief dangling just out of reach, and he latched onto that hope, no matter how fleeting, no matter how false. it was all he had left.

you stepped into the bar with a forced sense of confidence, your heels clicking against the worn wooden floor as you entered. the dim lighting cast shadows over your face, but you convinced yourself that every pair of eyes followed your every move. you had to believe it, even if it wasn’t true. you were determined to be the center of attention, to show the world, and more importantly, to show him what he had let go.

as you approached the bar, you held your head high, the tension in your shoulders disguising the fragility beneath. the bartender caught your eye, and you ordered your drink with a voice that sounded stronger than you felt. the glass was cool in your hand, a momentary relief as you took a sip. the burn of the alcohol was sharp, a distraction from the thoughts swirling in your mind.

with every sip, the anger that had fueled you began to dissipate, leaving a hollow space in its wake. the bar's noise faded into the background, and your thoughts grew louder, clearer. you began to think—really think—about everything that had happened. the whirlwind of emotions, the moments you thought were forever, and the sudden, jarring end that left you lost.

the more you thought, the more you began to pray. it started as a whisper in your mind, a plea to the universe, to whatever force controlled fate. you begged for a chance to undo the past, to turn back time, to rewrite your story. you wished for him, for the universe to bring him back into your life, for the pain to dissolve and be replaced with the love you once knew.

your thoughts spiraled, one after another, questioning everything. what if you had done something differently? what if you had fought harder, loved him more, or been more forgiving? what if this was all a test, and you were meant to prove that your love was stronger than the pain? you pondered every possibility, every twist of fate that could have led to a different ending. the more you thought, the more desperate your prayers became. you weren’t just asking—you were begging, pleading with whatever power might be listening. you needed him back; you needed him to see you, to realize what he had walked away from. you would do anything, give anything, to have him in your life again.

as you stared into the depths of your glass, the alcohol no longer brought relief. Instead, it amplified the ache in your chest, the void that only he could fill. the world around you faded, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your prayers, and the unbearable longing that consumed you. you wanted to make it clear, to whatever force might be listening, that you would do anything—everything—to have him back. you needed him to know, needed the universe to know, that your love was stronger than the pain, stronger than the anger, and that you were willing to fight for it, no matter the cost.

jungkook walked through the dimly lit streets, the cool night air biting at his skin, but he barely felt it. his thoughts were too loud, drowning out the world around him. he replayed every moment with you in his mind, dissecting each word, each touch, each mistake. the pain in his chest was sharp, a constant reminder of what he had lost. he wondered if there was anything he could do to have you back, even for a fleeting moment.

he knew the truth, though. he knew he couldn’t have you the way he used to. he had been selfish, too caught up in his own world, too focused on his own fears. he had pushed you away, bit by bit, until there was nothing left to hold onto. you were the opposite of him in so many ways. where he was sharp and jagged, you were soft and warm. where he built walls, you built bridges. you knew how to fulfill wishes, how to bring hope to the hopeless. that was why people were drawn to you, why they loved you.

but he had pushed you away, scared you off with his sharpness, with the very things he thought were protecting him. he often hurt people, unintentionally but inevitably, and it was exactly how he lost you. he hated himself for it, for letting his fears get in the way of something so beautiful. he was beautiful on the outside, and you knew it. but the more he had let you in, the more he found himself hurting you, even if it wasn’t intentional. you had a way of mingling with the night sky, floating in the air in an etherreal way that gave those around you a sense of relief, as if their wishes were being fulfilled, whereas he was nothing of the sort. he was pretty, and with beauty, there was the inevitable pain attached to it.

he needed you, even if it was just for a moment. he needed to see you, to feel the warmth of your presence, to remind himself of what he had once had and lost. his mind raced with thoughts of how he could make it happen, what he could do to have you back, even if it was just for a second. he would give anything to look at you, to see the way you smiled, to remember what it felt like to be loved by you. as he approached the bar, his heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anticipation and dread. he hadn’t planned on seeing you here, hadn’t even thought it was possible. but as he stepped inside, his eyes scanned the room, and there you were, sitting at the bar, a vision of everything he had lost.

the world seemed to stop for a moment as he took you in. you were beautiful, more beautiful than he remembered, but it wasn’t just your appearance that drew him in. it was the way you carried yourself, the way you seemed to light up the room even when you were sitting there alone. he could see the sadness in your eyes, the way you sipped your drink like it was a lifeline, and his heart ached for you, for the pain he knew he had caused. he wanted to go to you, to say something, anything, but his feet were rooted to the ground. he couldn’t move, couldn’t bring himself to take that step. what would he say? what could he say that would make any of this better? he had lost his chance, and now all he could do was stand there, watching you, begging the universe for just one more moment.

but the universe was silent, offering him no answers, no solace. all he could do was watch as you sat there, beautiful and sad, and wonder how he had ever let you go. the weight of his regret was crushing, and he knew that no amount of wishing could change what had happened. he had lost you, and now all he could do was live with the pain of that loss. so he stood there, frozen in place, watching you from across the room, the distance between you feeling insurmountable. he didn’t approach you, didn’t say a word. he just watched, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he would never have you the way he once did, that the only thing he could do now was remember, and regret, and wish for things that could never be.

the neon lights of the city danced in the puddles of rainwater, casting an eerie glow across the deserted streets. it was a night much like any other, except for the quiet ache in your chest that had been lingering for months. the rain had picked up just as you stepped out of the bar, the droplets mingling with the tears that had been threatening to spill since the moment you saw jungkook standing by the entrance. the silence between you had been deafening, a cruel contrast to the laughter and shared secrets that once filled the air. now, you found yourself walking in the same direction as him, the cold rain a pitiful excuse for the chills that ran down your spine.

his eyes met yours, a silent question hanging in the air. he offered a tentative smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, and you felt your heart stumble. without a word, you turned and ducked into the nearest alley, the rain a veil hiding your desperate hope that he’d follow. the seconds stretched out like a tightrope between you, each drop of water echoing in the silence until you heard his footsteps approaching.

he stepped into the alley, the rain soaking his dark hair and tracing lines down his cheeks. he looked at you, his gaze intense and searching, as if trying to read the story etched on your face. you took a deep breath, the scent of wet concrete and rain-soaked asphalt filling your lungs, and closed the distance between you. the rain grew heavier, but the only sound you heard was the thundering of your heart, the universe seemingly holding its breath for what was to come.

jungkook reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed the wet strands of hair from your face. his touch sent a jolt through your body, a reminder of the electricity that had once danced between you. his thumb traced the outline of your jaw, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. you leaned into his touch, your own hand finding its way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. it was a silent conversation, a dance of longing and regret that needed no words.

with a soft sigh, you raised your face to his, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips met yours. it was a kiss that held the weight of a thousand unsaid i love yous, a silent apology for the time lost and the chances squandered. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the rain continued to pound against the two of you, a cocoon of pain and passion. the alley was a sanctuary for your fleeting reunion, a place where the outside world couldn't intrude.

you both knew it wouldn’t last, that the universe had only granted you this one night to set things right. but for now, you were lost in the warmth of his embrace, the taste of him on your lips, and the feel of his skin against yours. you allowed yourself to believe in the lie that this could change everything, that you could have a second chance. his hands roamed your body, relearning every curve and contour as if trying to burn the memory into his soul. the rain soaked through your clothes, melding you together in a bittersweet symphony of desire and despair.

the night unfolded in a haze of passion, every touch a whispered promise of what could have been. the air grew thick with the scent of rain and the heat of your bodies as you stumbled into his apartment, a silent agreement hanging in the air. the room was dimly lit, the rain now a gentle lullaby against the windows, the only sound the ragged breaths and soft moans that filled the space. you let him lead you to his bed, the softness of the sheets a contrast to the tumultuous storm raging within you.

as you lay together, the storm outside mirroring the one in your hearts, you felt the sting of tears on your cheeks. jungkook kissed them away, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. you didn't speak, didn't dare to break the spell with words that could shatter the illusion. instead, you communicated with touches and sighs, your bodies speaking a language that transcended the limitations of speech. the moments were fleeting, the time slipping away like the rainwater down the drain. you both knew it was just a temporary reprieve from the cold reality that awaited you come morning. yet, as you tangled together, lost in the warmth of his arms, you couldn’t help but cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, the universe had chosen to tip the scales in your favor tonight.

but even as the thought whispered through your mind, the weight of the truth settled in your chest like a stone. the universe had never played favorites, and it wasn’t about to start now. this was just a brief intermission in the grand play of life, a poignant reminder of the love that once was and could never be again. as dawn approached, you lay there, your hearts racing, your bodies slick with sweat and the scent of each other. the rain had stopped, leaving only the quiet hum of the city waking up around you. jungkook's grip on you tightened, as if he could hold onto the moment forever. but the light grew brighter, and the shadows of doubt began to creep in, painting the walls with the harsh strokes of reality.

you knew it was over, that the universe had collected its debt and the bill was now due. you pulled away from him, the cold air hitting your skin like a slap. you dressed in silence, the weight of your clothes feeling heavier than the armor of a thousand warriors. jungkook watched you, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own, his expression a silent plea for you to stay. but you couldn’t. the sun was rising, and with it, the inevitable end to your stolen night. you whispered a goodbye, the finality of the word cutting through the air like a knife. he nodded, understanding in his eyes as you stepped out.

the days stretched out like an endless, monochromatic expanse, each one bleeding into the next with a sense of profound emptiness. the world outside your window seemed to spin on, indifferent to your internal collapse. you found yourself in a state of profound disconnection, where everything once vibrant had faded to gray.

you no longer cried, not because you had run out of tears, but because the depth of your sorrow had become a silent, consuming void. your eyes, once accustomed to weeping, now felt parched and vacant. the tears had dried up, leaving behind a dryness that mirrored the desolation within you. the very act of crying had become a distant memory, a faint echo of the anguish that had once poured forth uncontrollably.

the ache of his absence was now a dull, relentless throb in your chest. you moved through your days with a leaden sense of inertia, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. the bed you once shared with him felt like a vast, hollow expanse. you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the sheets cold and uninviting. the warmth of his presence had been replaced by an oppressive chill that seemed to seep into your bones.

you had lost your motivation, the spark that once drove you to engage with the world had flickered and died. the things that used to bring you joy now felt like meaningless rituals. you had no desire to engage with anything—no will to cook, to read, to socialize. the activities that once held meaning now seemed like empty gestures, as though they belonged to a past self you could barely recognize.

every corner of your home seemed to mock you with reminders of his absence. the roses he had given you still stood in their vases, their petals vibrant yet wilting against the muted backdrop of your sorrow. they had become a symbol of your hollow grief, their beauty now tainted by the pain they represented. they, too, had started to wilt. you found yourself unable to touch them, unable to bring yourself to care for them. they were a reminder of what had been lost, and their presence only served to deepen the emptiness.

the moments you had once cherished now felt like fleeting illusions. the memories of his touch, his laughter, his smile—they all seemed like echoes from a distant, unreachable past. they hovered around you, tantalizingly close, yet forever out of reach. the very essence of him had become a temporary fixture in your life, a fleeting warmth that had vanished as quickly as it had arrived. your days blended into a monotonous routine, each one passing in a blur of gray and silence. you moved through your life with an automaton’s grace, performing tasks without passion or enthusiasm. the mirror reflected a face that seemed unfamiliar—hollowed eyes, a wan smile that never quite reached your eyes. the person you saw there was a shadow of who you once were, a shell that had been hollowed out by the weight of your grief.

even as you went through the motions of daily life, your mind was a swirling vortex of despair and disillusionment. you felt disconnected from everything, as though you were observing your own existence from a distance. your body was present, but your spirit seemed to have retreated into a dark, inaccessible corner. the world was a blur of indistinct shapes and sounds, and you struggled to find meaning in anything. in the quiet of your solitude, you found yourself lost in a labyrinth of thoughts that offered no solace. the emptiness was all-consuming, a deep well that seemed to have no bottom. the once vibrant, hopeful person you had been now felt like a distant memory, a ghost of a self that had been irrevocably altered by the loss of him.

jungkook lay in the darkness of his room, the sheets crumpled around him, a silent testament to the upheaval of his emotions. the room was heavy with the scent of you, a lingering fragrance that had become both a balm and a torment. the aroma of you clung to the fabric, a ghostly reminder of a presence now painfully out of reach. he buried his face in the pillow, the soft, familiar scent washing over him like a bittersweet wave, mingling with the dampness of his tears.

his heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, each beat a sharp pang of longing and regret. he clung to the pillow, clutching it as if it were a lifeline, trying desperately to hold onto the remnants of you. the tears streamed down his face, hot and relentless, soaking the fabric beneath him. he sobbed into the pillow, his cries muffled but raw, each sound an expression of his overwhelming grief. he could no longer see clearly through his tears, but the darkness of the room seemed to envelop him, pressing down on him with a suffocating weight. your absence was a gaping void that filled the space around him, amplifying his sense of loneliness. the bed, once a place of comfort and shared warmth, now felt like a desolate expanse where he lay alone, adrift in his sorrow.

desperation clawed at him, driving him to a place where he sought to express his pain in ways that went beyond mere tears. his hands, once gentle and loving, now sought a different outlet for his anguish. with a shuddering breath, he pushed himself up from the bed and stumbled to the wall, the dim light casting long shadows that danced with his movements. his knuckles, still raw from previous attempts to subdue his rage, were now red and bruised, but the pain seemed to offer a distorted sense of relief.

he pounded his fists against the wall, the sound of his blows echoing through the room. each hit was not driven by anger but by a profound sadness that had consumed him entirely. he felt the sting of the impact, the dull ache of his knuckles meeting the unforgiving surface. his punches were more of a plea than a fight—a plea to feel something other than the empty ache in his chest, a desperate attempt to make the void of your absence tangible.

the walls bore the brunt of his sorrow, and the small marks left by his fists seemed to mock his attempts to find solace. the physical pain was a poor substitute for the emotional torment, but it was the only thing he could grasp at in his moments of despair. the act of hurting himself became a ritual of sorts, a way to channel the overwhelming sadness that threatened to drown him.

he collapsed back onto the bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and his hands, now throbbing with the aftereffects of his self-inflicted blows, rested limply by his sides. the room was silent save for the soft rustle of the sheets and his uneven breathing. he stared up at the ceiling, the darkness above him a mirror of the darkness within. his mind was a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and memories. He replayed moments with you over and over, each memory a painful reminder of what had been lost. the scent of you on the sheets, once a comfort, now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how close yet how unreachable you were. he wished he could reach out to you, to call you and hear your voice, but the reality of your absence was a constant, unyielding presence in his life.

jungkook’s sorrow had transformed into a deep, gnawing depression that consumed every corner of his existence. he felt hollow, his body moving through the motions of daily life with a mechanical detachment. the days blended into a blur, each one marked by a sense of loss and longing. his emotions were a tumultuous sea, and he struggled to find solid ground amidst the crashing waves. every time he lay down, every time he stared at the empty space beside him, the grief would engulf him anew. the scent of you, the lingering touch of your presence, was both a comfort and a torment. he was caught in a cycle of remembering and mourning, unable to escape the pain that had become a constant companion. the bed, the walls, the silence—everything around him seemed to echo the emptiness of your absence, amplifying his despair.

you had spent days entangled in the suffocating grip of despair, every day a struggle to drag yourself through the motions of life. your home, once filled with the remnants of a love that now felt like a distant dream, had become a place where echoes of your pain reverberated endlessly. but as time wore on, there came a moment—a quiet, insistent moment—when the weight of your sorrow began to lift, if only slightly.

the realization that you had been clinging to a fractured ideal of the past started to seep into your consciousness. you began to accept that what you wished for, what you had yearned for so desperately, was not something that could be willed back into existence. the journey to acceptance was not instantaneous; it was a slow, deliberate process, marked by small victories and subtle shifts in your mindset.

you found solace in the mundane details of daily life. you began to notice the subtle beauty in everyday moments—the way the sunlight filtered through your window, the calming rhythm of your breath as you practiced mindfulness, the comforting hum of routine, and the way the godforsaken roses had finally withered away. slowly, you started to feel a sense of security in these ordinary rituals. they were reminders that life, while changed, continued to offer moments of tranquility and purpose.

as you ventured out into the world, your heart began to open up to new experiences. a first date—a simple, unremarkable event—brought with it a feeling of genuine happiness that you hadn't experienced in a long time. it was a tentative, fragile joy, but it was there nonetheless. you allowed yourself to be present, to savor the laughter and the connection, to let go of the lingering shadows of the past. the date was a pleasant surprise, an unexpected gift of normalcy and hope. as you walked hand-in-hand with your companion, you felt a warmth in your chest that had been absent for too long. the world seemed to expand around you, filled with possibilities rather than regrets. you were starting to live again, to feel alive.

at the end of the evening, as you were handed a bouquet of flowers, your heart fluttered with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. the flowers were beautiful, vibrant red roses, their petals soft and inviting. you accepted them with a genuine smile, letting their delicate fragrance mingle with the newfound joy you were experiencing. the sight of the roses, however, didn’t evoke the visceral reaction they once did. instead, they were simply another part of your reality, no longer a symbol of the pain that once defined your days.

what you didn't realize was that jungkook had been waiting nearby, a bouquet of dandelions clutched in his hands. he had hoped to see you, to offer you something that held meaning for both of you. but as he watched from the shadows, his heart sank when he saw you take the roses with such ease, a gesture that seemed to signify a quiet acceptance of a reality that he himself struggled to embrace.

the sight of you with the roses, when he knew how much you had loved dandelions, was a harsh reminder of the chasm that had grown between you. it was a moment that crystallized the harsh truth he had been avoiding—your life had moved on, had found new sources of happiness and meaning, while he remained anchored in the past. the acceptance he had hoped to find in his own heart seemed elusive, overshadowed by the painful reality of watching you embrace a new chapter without him. jungkook stood there, paralyzed by the sight before him. the dandelions in his hand felt like a cruel joke now, a poignant symbol of what could have been. they were meant to be a token of his love, a way to reconnect with the joy you had once shared. but seeing you with the roses, accepting them so effortlessly, made the dandelions seem insignificant, a mere relic of a bygone era.

in that moment, he faced the unyielding truth of his situation: the reality he had been trying to avoid was indeed cruel and unforgiving. his heart ached with a profound sense of loss, but beneath the pain was a new understanding. acceptance was a bitter pill to swallow, but as he watched you with the roses, he began to grasp its necessity. as you walked away with your bouquet, your happiness palpable, jungkook was left alone with his dandelions and the reality that you had found a way to move forward. the once vivid pain of your absence was now tempered by a melancholic acceptance. it was a realization that, no matter how much he wished things could be different, the world continued to turn, with or without him in your life.

the sky was a somber gray, an oppressive expanse that stretched endlessly above you, mirroring the weight that settled heavily on your heart. you stood there, clutching the bouquet of roses in your hands, their vibrant red a definite contrast to the bleak backdrop of the overcast day. the flowers, once symbols of love now transformed into markers of loss, felt heavy and poignant.

you had come to understand something profound in this moment—something that had eluded you for so long. you understood why jungkook had been drawn to these roses, why they had held such a special place in his heart. the roses were undeniably beautiful, their petals velvety and rich, a testament to nature’s ability to create splendor even in the face of hardship. but you also grasped the deeper truth: beauty, as with everything, came at a price. the thorns of the rose were not just physical barriers; they were metaphors for the pain that often accompanied true beauty and love.

as you held the bouquet, you let yourself marvel at the roses’ splendor. each petal was like a delicate brushstroke of crimson on a canvas of green, a fleeting masterpiece of nature. you ran your fingers gently over the petals, feeling their softness, their warmth, and for a moment, you were lost in their beauty. the roses were not just flowers; they were a testament to the complexity of emotions and experiences.

a tear, born from the depths of your sorrow, slipped silently down your cheek. it landed softly on one of the petals, its glistening drop mingling with the rose's vibrant hue. you watched in a kind of mesmerized sadness as the tear traced a slow, shimmering path over the surface of the petal. it was a testament to the pain you felt, yet the flower remained unwavering in its beauty. the tear did not diminish the rose's allure; it merely added to its story, making it all the more poignant.

with careful reverence, you approached jungkook’s grave, the final resting place of the person whose absence had left a void in your life. the roses, now intertwined with your sorrow, seemed to carry a weight that transcended their mere physical presence. you set them gently by his grave, placing them with a tenderness that spoke of your deep, unspoken grief.

the wind stirred, causing the petals to flutter ever so slightly, as if acknowledging the gesture. as you stepped back, you observed the bouquet resting there, a symbol of your enduring affection, and also of your newfound understanding of the delicate balance between beauty and suffering. the roses, despite the tear that marked them, remained beautiful—unblemished in their elegance, a reflection of the love and the pain they represented.

the realization hit you with a cruel clarity: even as the roses symbolized something deeply personal and painful, they also embodied an immutable truth about beauty. it was a truth that jungkook had understood far better than you could have ever realized before. his love for the roses had been an acknowledgment of their dual nature—their ability to captivate and hurt simultaneously.

you stood there, feeling a quiet, aching acceptance. the sky above remained gray, a canvas as muted as the feelings swirling within you. the roses danced in the eind, their thorns seemingly harmless now, their crimson petals vibrant as the wind blew against them. they were beautiful, just as he was. if only they hadn’t withered as quickly as they did. maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have either.

✧.*

a/n: modu uril chyeodabwa

i live in constant irrational fear that i'll wake up to an article saying yoongi killed himself it's such an unreasonable fear but with everything that's been going on i'm actually terrified

BONES & ALL (본즈 앤 올) (DRABBLE)

✧.* 16+

it was raw. not in the way you snacked on maraschino cherries under the sunlight in rome, not in the way the sweetness lingered on your tongue, dripping with a saccharine aftertaste that reminded you of summer. no, this was different—primal, almost. it was a love that bared its teeth, stripped of pretense, of pleasantries, and of the gentle touches that polite society deemed proper. it demanded everything and gave in return, not in delicate whispers or soft kisses, but in the pounding of your heart that seemed to echo in your very bones.

it wasn’t just the physical that made this love different. it was the connection that ran deeper than words, deeper than thought. in the silence, when the world around you fell away, you could feel—every hope, every fear, every dark corner of his soul he had kept hidden from the rest of the world. and you knew, in that silence, that you were the only one who could ever truly understand him. it was a love that was terrifying in its intensity, but you welcomed it. you welcomed the way it tore through you, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, because it also made you feel more alive than you had ever been. you wanted to bask in it, to let it consume you until there was nothing left but the two of you, tangled together in a world of your own making. this love was not pretty; it was not sweet or delicate. it was raw.

“i can’t do it,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat, choked by the weight of the moment. the tears had come without warning, slipping down your cheeks as if they’d been waiting for this very moment, mingling with the metallic scent of blood that hung in the air, thick and intoxicating. it wasn’t a stench—not to you, not now. it was a need, a desperate, consuming need that gnawed at the edges of your sanity, twisting your insides with a sickening blend of hunger and revulsion.

you hated yourself for it. hated the way your tongue darted out to lick your lips, seeking out that taste you shouldn’t crave, that bitter tang that made your head swim and your heart race. but it was there, undeniable, just as yoongi was there, his presence overwhelming, consuming. he was smiling, though it was a fragile thing, a ghost of the smirks you’d come to know so well. his eyes, however, betrayed him—heavy with sorrow, thick with tears that he refused to let fall, not now, not when he knew the end was upon him.

the angel of death had come for him, ready to collect the debt yoongi had long known he owed. and yet, as his hands—cold as death itself, as if they’d been left in the freezer to chill—came up to cradle your face, he looked at you with such tenderness, such raw, unfiltered love, that you almost believed he could still be saved. his fingers trembled slightly, brushing over your skin with a gentleness that belied the ferocity of his final moments, smearing his blood across your cheeks in a macabre caress. it was a final gesture, one that held a dark, twisted irony, a taunt almost. he wanted to feel you, to mark you, to leave a piece of himself on you even as his life slipped away. more so, he wanted you to give in.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and it struck you just how beautiful he was in this moment. he had never looked better, never seemed more alive, more vulnerable. more raw. his blood, his very essence, painted across your skin—he was both the artist and the masterpiece, and you were the canvas upon which he’d chosen to leave his final mark. the thought made your heart clench, your stomach twist in knots of guilt and desire.

“you have to,” he whispered, his voice a strained rasp, the words heavy with an unspoken plea. his breath was ragged, his strength waning, yet he used the last of it to press his forehead against yours. his eyes searched yours, seeking something—maybe reassurance, maybe a promise, maybe just the comfort of knowing that you were still there, with him, even as everything else slipped away. his scent, that familiar, intoxicating scent, filled your senses, clouding your mind until all you could focus on was him—his blood, his skin, his very presence that clung to you like a second skin.

you gritted your teeth, sobbing uncontrollably, the sound raw and guttural, torn from the depths of your soul. you wanted to focus on his touch, the way his hands felt against your skin, the way his breath ghosted over your lips, but all you could think about was his scent—how it enveloped you, how it lingered in the air like a dark, forbidden perfume.

“you have to do it,” he said again, his voice cracking, betraying the emotion he’d tried so hard to keep at bay. his eyes bore into yours, pleading, desperate. “bones and all.”

it wasn’t a command—it was a wish, a dying wish that hung in the air between you like a weight too heavy to bear. he wanted you to take him, to consume him in every way possible, to make him a part of you even in death. he could go, he could let himself slip away into the darkness, knowing that the last thing he’d given you was all of him—every broken, bleeding piece.

you had him—had him this whole time, but it wasn’t enough. he wanted you to go all the way, to take him in, bones and all, until there was nothing left but the memory of him that would haunt you forever. even in death, he wanted to be yours, to be the reason your stomach churned, the reason your tears fell, the reason you felt sick to your stomach with the taste of him on your tongue, the reason you cried out in agony as you tasted the last remnants of him on your lips. being in your heart wasn’t enough, loving you wasn’t enough. you would become one.

he wouldn't fight it, no matter how much it had hurt. he wouldn't fight the way his skin tore, his wound already ran deep enough. it could run even deeper if it was for you, he knew you too well. he knew you would give in, especially for him. he would tell you tear him apart, he would let you do anything. he made you hungry. if you took his finger, he would give you his arm. to love is to consume, every bit of it. his bones would crunch under the weight of your love. it was raw. it was love. how he loved it when you held his hands with your teeth, stripping every layer of the body that was now yours. how he loved it when you kissed his teeth, instead of his lips. there would be no leftovers, nothing to be thrown out. he was yours, in every sense. his lips had always been sweet, you thought. even as they bled crimson, every drop tasted like honey on your tongue.

no matter how gently you opened him, the blood would still taint your flesh, your heart, your soul. his heart had stopped beating long ago, but it didn't matter. it didn’t need to beat to love you, to belong to you. it needed to be consumed. he was tough—tougher than you’d ever imagined, tougher than you’d ever wanted to know. the feeling of him in your mouth only confirmed the thought—he was tough. he was tougher on the outside than the inside. and yet, even now, you didn’t want to hurt him. you never had. but how could he hurt? how could he feel anything but peace, knowing that he was yours, that you had him, bones and all?

✧.*

am i 😂😂 making 😂😂😂😂😂😂 you feel 😂😂😂😂😂😂 sick 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

a little older (더 나이든) — min yoongi (민 윤기)

✧.* 18+

building a life of your own was supposed to be the most important thing, a sacred endeavor carved out of dreams and determination. it was meant to be a testament to resilience, a collection of moments carefully stacked like cards, each one representing a triumph, a choice, a whispered hope. every decision, every relationship, every step forward was like placing a new card on the fragile structure—delicate, yet full of potential. there was an elegance in the construction, a beauty in the precariousness, as each layer rose higher, promising a future that was uniquely yours.

the foundation was always more fragile than it seemed. life, with all its unpredictable twists, was like a breath of wind, capable of unsettling even the sturdiest of foundations. the careful balance, once so meticulously maintained, could be disrupted by a single misstep, a fleeting moment of imbalance. and when it happened—when that one card faltered—it was as if time slowed, the world held its breath, and the house of cards began to tremble. in an instant, everything you had built with such care, such hope, began to collapse. the cards fell, one by one, in a cascading rush of loss. it wasn’t just the physical manifestations of your efforts that crumbled; it was the dreams, the aspirations, the very essence of what you had imagined your life could be. the crash was both silent and deafening, a paradox of destruction that left you standing in the aftermath, surrounded by the scattered remnants of what once was.

in those moments, it became clear that the life you had built, so painstakingly and with such love, was never as invincible as you had believed. it was delicate, ephemeral, a structure of possibilities rather than certainties. and now, with the cards lying in disarray around you, the realization settled in—building a life of your own was not just about the construction, but about the constant balance, the vigilance, the understanding that everything could be lost in a heartbeat. the house of cards was beautiful while it stood, but it was a fragile beauty, one that required more than just ambition to sustain—it demanded a deep awareness of its own impermanence.

the gentle hum of rome surrounded you like a comforting embrace, the city's timeless charm intertwining with the luxurious life you had carefully crafted for yourself. the cobblestone streets underfoot, the scent of freshly brewed espresso wafting through the air, and the vibrant murmur of voices from nearby tables—all were part of the life you had come to know and love. it was a life of indulgence, of quiet moments in quaint coffee shops between photoshoots, where you could savor the richness of your success, the delicate balance of beauty and fame that you had so skillfully maintained.

your phone vibrated softly on the marble tabletop, interrupting your thoughts. the screen flashed with the name of your manager, a reminder of the world that existed just beyond this fleeting moment of peace. you took a slow sip of your coffee before answering, already knowing the conversation that was about to unfold. “why won't you be able to make the shoot in milan?” her voice, usually calm and composed, carried a note of urgency, of disappointment that you could almost feel through the line.

you sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of the decision you had already made. “i gotta go back to daegu,” you began, choosing your words carefully as you gazed out at the bustling street, the vibrant life that you had temporarily claimed as your own. “i was enjoying some time off between shoots, but i have to go back. my mother called. she wants to get the family together.”

there was a brief pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you. then, your manager exhaled, the disappointment in her voice palpable as she responded. “i'm disappointed. you know how important this shoot is, how much it could mean for your career. but i understand—family comes first.” you ended the call with a simple, “i'll be in touch,” the finality of the words echoing in your mind long after the call had disconnected. the weight of her disappointment hung over you like a shadow, mingling with your own. you were disappointed, too—disappointed that your carefully constructed life, the life you had fought so hard to create, was once again being pulled away by forces you couldn’t control.

the last thing you wanted was to spend a month in daegu, surrounded by your family and whoever else your mother decided to invite into your life. you had built something here, something that was yours alone. the glitz and glamour of the modeling world were more than just a career—they were your escape, your sanctuary from the past you had left behind. the riches, the fame, the adoration of the media—they were all a part of the life you had chosen, a life that felt worlds apart from the one that awaited you back home.

your father had always been supportive, his pride in your achievements a quiet but constant presence in your life. but your mother, your mother was another story. she had never truly understood the life you had built, never missed an opportunity to remind you of the family you had left behind, the obligations she believed you were neglecting. she was too emotional, too needy, always quick to turn to you with her problems, her fears, using you as her therapist when all you wanted was to be her daughter. it was a role you had never wanted, a burden you had never asked for, and one that had driven a deep wedge between the two of you.

as you sat in the coffee shop, the realization settled in with a dull ache—you didn’t want to go back. not now, not ever. the life you had built was there, in those moments of quiet luxury, in the thrill of the spotlight, in the knowledge that you were beautiful and that the world loved you for it. the idea of returning to daegu, to the suffocating expectations of family, was almost unbearable.

and yet, there you were, about to board a plane back to the place you had spent so many years trying to escape. you knew that once you were there, the walls you had so carefully constructed around yourself would start to crumble, brick by brick, as your mother’s words chipped away at the confidence you had so painstakingly built. but for now, you let yourself savor the last of your trip. you let the warmth of the roman sun wash over you, let the taste of rich coffee linger on your tongue, let the sound of the city’s heartbeat fill your ears. you allowed yourself this final moment of peace, a small luxury before the storm that awaited you back home.

the airport was a sea of hurried footsteps and murmured conversations, a place of constant motion and transient connections. the lights overhead were bright, almost glaring, casting a harsh glow on the polished floors and sleek, modern architecture. you walked through the bustling terminal with your head down, the brim of your hat casting a shadow over your face. the hat was slightly too big, the edges brushing against your sunglasses, but it was a necessary discomfort. you knew the hat and shades might draw attention, might make people look twice, but it was a risk you were willing to take. you couldn’t afford to be recognized tonight—not when the weight of the decision to return to daegu was already pressing down on you.

the noise of the terminal was a constant hum in your ears, a backdrop of lives intersecting and parting ways. you moved with purpose, but each step felt heavy, as if the gravity of what awaited you back home was pulling you down. the bustling crowd gave you a sense of anonymity, a comfort in the chaos, but there was always the underlying fear—what if someone recognized you? what if a single glance, a moment of misplaced attention, shattered the fragile anonymity you clung to?

you reached the gate, the final checkpoint before you could slip into the relative safety of the plane. the lady at the gate, dressed in a crisp uniform, greeted you with a professional smile, her eyes scanning you briefly before she spoke. “ticket, please.” you handed it over, your fingers brushing against the smooth paper, and you watched as she glanced at it, her expression unchanged until her eyes fell on your name. the realization dawned in her eyes, a flicker of recognition that quickly blossomed into a wide smile.

her voice dropped to a near whisper, a mix of awe and excitement as she spoke again, her tone more personal now. “are you in first class?” you nodded, a small, polite gesture, before affirming softly, “yes, i am.” her fingers trembled slightly as she checked the ticket, the formalities of her job momentarily forgotten as she glanced back up at you. the admiration in her eyes was unmistakable, a look you had seen a thousand times before, but one that still made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“i’m such a big fan,” she said, her voice almost reverent. “would you mind—?” she trailed off, pulling out a poster she had tucked away—a poster of you, one from a recent campaign, your face smiling back at you with a confidence you didn’t quite feel in this moment. you forced a smile, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you replied, “of course.” you took the pen she offered, your hand moving almost automatically as you signed your name, the signature that had become so familiar to you, yet felt so alien in moments like this. the pen scratched lightly against the glossy paper, the sound almost lost in the noise of the terminal, but to you, it felt deafening. when you finished, you handed the poster back to her, your smile still in place despite the churning in your stomach.

“thank you so much,” she gushed, her voice barely above a whisper now, as if she were afraid to break the spell. “i hope you have a safe flight.” you nodded again, murmuring your thanks as you took your ticket back, slipping it into your bag with hands that felt too heavy, too cumbersome. the brief encounter had left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way that only the public eye could make you feel. as you walked away, towards the plane that would take you back to a life you weren’t ready to face, you kept your head low, your hat pulled down just a little further, your sunglasses pressed tightly to your face.

the publicity was suffocating, a constant reminder of the life you had chosen, a life that came with its own set of rules and expectations. there were moments, fleeting but persistent, when all you wanted was a normal life—one where you could walk through an airport without being recognized, where you could board a plane without the weight of fame pressing down on your shoulders. but that life wasn’t yours to live, not anymore. so you kept your shades on, the brim of your hat shielding you from the world as you made your way to the gate, your steps quickening as you neared the entrance to the plane. you handed your ticket to the flight attendant, her smile professional and warm, and without a word, you slipped past her and into the sanctuary of first class. you found your seat and settled in, sinking into the plush leather with a sigh that was more of resignation than relief.

daegu’s air felt different the moment you stepped off the plane. the warm breeze carried with it the scent of familiarity—of home, of memories both cherished and forgotten. you moved through the terminal with a practiced ease, gathering your luggage as if in a trance. the sleek, designer suitcases were a stark contrast to the airport’s simple decor, a reminder of the life you had built away from here.

once you had everything in hand, you made your way out of the airport, your hat still pulled low over your face, your sunglasses firmly in place. the crowds here were less intense, less likely to recognize you, but you weren’t taking any chances. it was better to remain hidden until you were safely out of public view. you stepped out into the open air, the evening sun casting long shadows on the pavement, and you quickly hailed a cab.

the driver—a man in his mid-fifties with a kind, weathered face—didn’t say much as you slid into the back seat. you gave him the address, and he nodded, pulling away from the curb without a word. the silence was a gift, and you found yourself grateful for it. the drive through daegu’s familiar streets was oddly comforting, the buildings and landscapes bringing back a flood of memories, some pleasant, others less so.

as the car approached your childhood home, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach. you tipped the driver a bit extra as a silent thank you for the uninterrupted journey, and he accepted it with a small, appreciative nod. only when you were certain you were out of sight did you finally remove your sunglasses and hat, letting the cool air of the evening touch your face. you took a deep breath, steadying yourself before stepping out of the cab.

the sight that greeted you was unexpected—your parents stood in front of the house, their faces alight with joy, and a small group of people you didn’t recognize clustered around them. there was a makeshift cookout in the yard, the smell of grilled meat and the sound of laughter filling the air. it was a welcome-home celebration, one that should have made you feel warm inside, but instead, it only heightened your unease.

your father was the first to approach, his arms open wide. he was a strong, silent man, not one for overt displays of affection, but in this moment, he wrapped you in a hug that spoke volumes. you allowed yourself to sink into the embrace, feeling a flicker of genuine warmth. when he released you, you noticed your mother standing off to the side, her expression slightly pinched, as if disappointed that she hadn’t been the first to greet you. still, you turned to her with a smile, pulling her into a hug. her embrace was firmer, more scrutinizing, as if she were searching for something. “you’ve gotten thinner,” she remarked, pulling back to look at you, her tone half-critical, half-concerned.

you couldn’t help but laugh lightly, brushing off her comment. “that’s part of my job, mom.”  your father’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, his voice gentle as he added, “and you’ve gotten prettier, too.” he smiled as he stroked your hair, a gesture that felt both tender and grounding.

“i’ve missed you both,” you said, the words slipping out before you could fully process them. they felt genuine, though, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the comfort of this reunion. but the moment was fleeting, your eyes drifting to the unfamiliar faces in the yard. “who are all these people?” you asked, unable to keep the curiosity—and slight irritation—from your voice.

your father gestured towards the group, his tone casual as he began introducing you to each of them. “these are some family friends. they’re only here for the day, but one of them will be staying for the month.” you smiled and nodded politely as each person was introduced, some of them expressing admiration for your work. you’d gotten used to it—meeting people who knew you before you knew them—but it didn’t make the encounters any less awkward.

“who’s the one staying?” you asked your father, trying to mask the apprehension in your voice. he chuckled softly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “you know him very well.”

you frowned, confusion knitting your brow. “what do you mean by that?” your father didn’t answer directly. instead, he simply gestured to a man walking toward you from the other side of the yard. you turned to look, your breath catching slightly as you took in his appearance. he was handsome, undeniably so, with a soft smile on his lips and a calm, confident way of moving. there was something familiar about him, but you couldn’t quite place it.

as he approached, his smile widened. “no, this can’t be (y/n),” he said, his tone light, almost teasing. for a moment, all you could think was how striking he was, and how frustrating it was that you couldn’t remember who he was. your father beamed with pride, his gaze flickering between you and the man. “she’s pretty, isn’t she?” he asked, his voice full of paternal affection.

the man nodded, his eyes not leaving yours. “gorgeous,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. there was a pause before he added, “do you remember me?” you searched his face, trying to dig through the layers of your memory, but nothing came to mind. with a reluctant shake of your head, you admitted, “i’m sorry, but no.”

your father laughed, a deep, hearty sound that rumbled through the air. “this is yoongi. he used to come over all the time to take care of you when you were younger and home alone.” your eyes widened in recognition, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly falling into place. “yoongi?” you echoed, incredulity coloring your voice.

he nodded, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “i’ve changed a bit, haven’t i?” you laughed nervously, still processing the transformation before you. “only in the best way,” you replied, your voice slightly breathless.

yoongi shrugged, the smile on his face turning a bit wry. “that’s what divorce does.” you blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “you, you divorced miss jeon?”

he nodded, his expression calm, as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “yeah. it was for the best, though.” you shook your head slightly, still reeling from the news. miss jeon had been such a constant presence in your life, always there to help out, to cook meals when your parents were busy. the idea of her and yoongi no longer being together felt strange, almost surreal. sensing your shock, yoongi gave you a reassuring look. “don’t worry about it,” he said gently. “it was the best outcome for both of us.”

you nodded slowly, still absorbing the information. “it’s just hard to believe.” he smiled again, this time a bit more softly. “i know. but it’s good to see you again.” he paused, stepping forward to envelop you in a warm hug, his arms strong and comforting. as he pulled back, he added with a teasing glint in his eye, “and don’t worry—you’ll be seeing a lot more of me for the next month.” you managed a smile in return, though your mind was still spinning with the unexpected turn of events.

yoongi had changed significantly, to your shock. it seemed to make your father chuckle, his amusement evident at your reaction, but it wasn't temporary shock. you found yourself staring at him for a second too long, trying to process how much he had changed. he was handsome, he seemed less stoic than you remembered. he had been taking care of himself, it was evident in the way his skin shined under the sunlight and how his muscles flexed in his shirt that was just, maybe, a little too tight. you had remembered him as skinny, borderline bland, but he took good care of you while he had to. he looked amazing for his age, even though he wasn't too older than you.

his mine had chosen to run wild, too. he was aware that you were no longer the little girl he watched over with his ex-wife. you had changed, blossomed into a woman. he knew it beforehand, when you had started working. as much as you were a global hit, you were a national star just as much, if not more. he had seen the photos, the interviews, the shoots. the first time he saw them, your father had showed them to him with a proud smile on his face that seemed to clash with yoongi's shock. it wasn't negative in the slightest, he simply couldn't believe how bold and beautiful you had gotten. seeing you in person made all the difference, you were even prettier in person.

the hot water cascaded over your skin, the steady stream washing away the lingering tension of the day. you stood under the showerhead, eyes closed, letting the warmth seep into your muscles, relaxing the knots that had formed from the journey and the unexpected reunion. the steam filled the small bathroom, wrapping you in a comforting cocoon of heat and humidity. the scent of the lavender-scented body wash mingled with the steam, creating an almost meditative atmosphere. there, in the quiet, steamy space, the world outside felt distant, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to be fully present, savoring the solitude.

but as you turned off the water and reached for a towel, your hand met only empty space. panic sparked in your chest as you realized you had forgotten to bring one with you. the heat from the shower quickly dissipated, leaving your skin to prickle with the chill of the air. you glanced around the bathroom, hoping to find a spare towel or anything to cover yourself with, but there was nothing.

resigned, you wrapped your arms around yourself as best as you could, trying to cover your body as you opened the bathroom door just a crack. the house was quiet, the murmur of conversation from the yard barely audible through the walls. it was late, and most of the guests had left. you took a deep breath, assuring yourself that everyone else was either outside or already settled in for the night. the coast was clear. you stepped out into the hallway, your bare feet making no sound on the cool wooden floor. with your hands still clutched to your chest, you hurried towards your room, your steps quick and silent. the soft hum of the house was the only sound accompanying you, and you felt a small sense of relief as you neared the safety of your door.

but as you rounded the corner, your breath caught in your throat. standing in the hallway, just a few feet away, was yoongi. He froze, his eyes wide with surprise as they locked onto yours. for a split second, neither of you moved, the shock of the situation rooting you both in place. yoongi’s gaze traveled down, his eyes widening further as he took in the sight of you—damp, vulnerable, and very much exposed. you saw the moment he realized what he was doing, his eyes snapping back up to your face, filled with a mix of apology and something you couldn’t quite place. his mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. he seemed to be struggling with himself, as if trying to force his eyes away, but they lingered just a second too long before he finally managed to turn his head, averting his gaze.

your heart pounded in your chest, embarrassment flooding your system as you clutched the clothes in your hands to your body, trying to cover as much of yourself as possible. “i—i’m sorry,” you stammered, the words coming out in a breathless rush. “i forgot to bring a towel.” he shook his head quickly, his back still turned to you, his voice strained as he replied, “no, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have looked. i didn’t mean to—i wasn’t trying to—” his words trailed off awkwardly, and you could see the tension in his shoulders as he gestured vaguely for you to return to the bathroom. “just go back. i won’t look.”

you didn’t need to be told twice. with your heart still racing, you turned on your heel and hurried back into the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a soft click. leaning against the cool tile, you let out a shaky breath, your skin tingling from both the chill and the residual heat of the shower. the image of his face, the way he had looked at you, flashed through your mind, and you felt your cheeks heat up in a mix of embarrassment and something else you couldn’t quite identify.

meanwhile, yoongi stood in the hallway, cursing himself silently. he had seen you grow up, watched you transform from the little girl he used to babysit into the stunning woman you were now. but that didn’t give him the right to look at you like that, to let his gaze linger when he knew he should have looked away. you were his friend’s daughter, and he was supposed to be here to support you, not ogle you like some kind of creep. he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to dispel the image of you that was now seared into his mind—the way your wet hair clung to your neck, the water droplets that had trailed down your skin, the way you had looked at him with those wide, startled eyes. he had to have some restraint. he couldn’t afford to lose control, not there, not now.

on the other side of the door, you were having similar thoughts. you couldn’t believe you had been so careless, so oblivious to the possibility that someone might see you. the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable, or worse, to leave him with a bad impression of you. you had always respected him, admired him even, and now you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had ruined everything with one careless mistake. as you slowly dressed, your hands still trembling slightly, you couldn’t help but wonder how this would affect the next few weeks. you would be seeing a lot more of him, and the thought of facing him after what had just happened filled you with a mix of dread and nervous anticipation.

dinner that evening was quiet, the usual hum of the house interrupted only by the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain and the soft murmurs of conversation. the long wooden table, covered with a simple white cloth, held the comforting spread of homemade dishes—steamed vegetables, grilled meats, and a bowl of steaming rice, all of which your mother had prepared with care. you had slipped into the kitchen earlier, wordlessly assisting her in setting the table and serving the food. she had smiled at you, her face softening with an expression you hadn’t seen in years. “thank you for helping,” she had said, her voice tinged with a quiet appreciation that made you pause. you had simply nodded in return, trying to ignore the strange twist in your chest.

as you walked into the dining room, you couldn’t help but notice yoongi seated at the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes watchful, as if he were silently observing everything around him. you caught his gaze for the briefest moment, and your heart skipped a beat. his eyes were dark, reflecting the soft light of the room, and when he looked at you, it felt as though he could see right through you. flustered, you quickly looked away, busying yourself with placing the last of the dishes on the table. your mother noticed the faint pink on your cheeks but said nothing, though a small, knowing smile played on her lips.

“you look beautiful in that dress,” yoongi said suddenly, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the comfortable silence. You froze for a moment, the compliment catching you off guard. the white dress was simple, something you had thrown on without much thought, but the way he said it made it feel like a grand gesture.

“yes, it really suits you,” your mother added, her tone bright. she was beaming at you, clearly pleased that someone had noticed. you forced a smile, your hands twisting the fabric of your dress nervously. you could feel yoongi’s eyes on you, and when you finally looked up, he was smiling at you—not just a polite smile, but something warmer, softer, and it sent a shiver down your spine. you tried to smile back, but your lips wobbled with the effort.

you took your seat, feeling his presence beside you like a tangible force, even though he was seated across the table. your father, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, began to ask you about your recent time in italy. “how was it?” he inquired, his voice full of genuine curiosity.

you paused, gathering your thoughts, and then answered, “i indulged in three things in italy—writing, wine, and men.” the words slipped out with a playful lilt, intended to tease, and the room erupted in laughter. your father chuckled, your mother giggled, and even some of the guests offered polite laughs. but yoongi’s reaction was different. his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and there was something stiff about the way he forced it onto his face. you caught the change in his expression and quickly looked away, but the image of his tight-lipped smile lingered in your mind. the thought of you—his little princess, as he had once affectionately called you—indulging in men made his stomach churn. he couldn’t reconcile the image of the young girl he had known with the woman sitting before him now.

“did you find a boyfriend?” your mother asked, a hopeful glint in her eyes. the question was laced with expectation, but you shook your head, dismissing the idea. “no, i don’t have time for that,” you replied, waving off the notion with a flick of your hand. the truth was, the thought of settling down, of committing to someone, felt suffocating, especially when your life was a whirlwind of photoshoots and travel. you enjoyed the company, the fleeting connections, but nothing more.

your father nodded thoughtfully and asked about your writing, his voice full of encouragement. “and your writing? how’s that going?” you hesitated for a moment, thinking about the journals and notes you had scribbled away during your time abroad. “i’ve done some dabbling here and there,” you admitted, keeping your tone light. you knew your father was proud of your creativity, always encouraging you to express yourself. but the truth was that the words you had written were a reflection of your darkest thoughts, the sides of yourself you kept hidden from the world. they were pieces of you that you had no intention of sharing.

“you should show us sometime,” he suggested, smiling warmly at you. you nodded, knowing full well that you never would. those words were yours alone, a private sanctuary in a life that was otherwise so public. as dinner wound down, the conversation grew quieter, the energy of the evening mellowing out. the food was nearly finished, and you pushed your plate aside, offering to help your mother clear the table. “i’ll do it,” you said, standing up and beginning to gather the empty plates.

“i’ll help,” yoongi offered, standing up almost immediately, his hands reaching for the dishes as well. you glanced at him, surprised by his sudden eagerness, but you didn’t refuse. together, the two of you worked in silence, clearing the table and bringing the dishes into the kitchen. the room was warm, filled with the lingering smells of the meal, and the only sound was the soft clinking of dishes being stacked.

as you reached for the same plate, your fingers brushed against his. the touch was brief, but it sent a jolt through your system, your breath catching in your throat. you looked up, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. his expression softened, something unreadable in his gaze, and you felt a blush creep up your neck, spreading across your cheeks. you both pulled your hands away quickly, embarrassed by the unintended contact. “sorry,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you focused on the dishes. “no, it’s fine,” yoongi replied, his voice steady, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper there. he paused, as if he wanted to say more, but instead, he simply turned away, continuing to clear the table.

the house had quieted down after dinner, the lingering smells of the meal now replaced with the comforting scent of night. you had helped your mother finish up in the kitchen, and after a few more polite exchanges with the guests, you excused yourself, claiming exhaustion from the long journey. your mother had given you a gentle, knowing smile, and your father had patted your shoulder, telling you to rest well. but even as you ascended the stairs, the house settling into a comfortable stillness, your thoughts were far from calm.

in your room, you began your nightly routine, each action methodical and deliberate, as if going through the motions might settle the unease in your chest. you pulled on a shirt—a soft, oversized one that hung loosely on your frame, the hem brushing against the tops of your thighs. it was one of those shirts that felt like a second skin, comforting in its familiarity. you paired it with a simple set of panties, the cool fabric brushing against your skin. the choice was practical, a blend of comfort and modesty, yet there was something almost intimate about it, a reminder of the solitude of the night.

you glanced at yourself in the mirror, the reflection showing a woman who should have been ready for sleep. but instead, your thoughts were restless, wandering to places you couldn’t quite control. you climbed into bed, the cool sheets welcoming against your warm skin, but the moment your head hit the pillow, you knew sleep would not come easily. there was something tugging at you, an inexplicable pull that you couldn’t ignore. it started as a whisper at the back of your mind, an insistent urge that grew louder with each passing moment. you told yourself it was foolish, that you should simply close your eyes and rest, but the more you tried to ignore it, the stronger the feeling became.

before you knew it, you were slipping out of bed, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor as you made your way out of your room. the house was dark, save for the faint moonlight streaming through the windows, casting long, pale shadows along the hallway. you moved quietly, the soft rustling of your shirt the only sound as you padded down the corridor, your heart beating steadily in your chest. you paused outside yoongi’s room, the door slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling out into the hall. you could hear him inside, the soft rustle of fabric, the quiet sound of his movements. you knew you shouldn’t be here, that you should turn around and go back to bed, but something kept you rooted to the spot.

you peered through the gap in the door, your breath catching in your throat at the sight that greeted you. yoongi was standing by the bed, his back to you, shirtless. his skin was pale, almost glowing in the soft light, his muscles defined yet subtle, the kind of physique that spoke of quiet strength. his shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist, and as he reached for a shirt, you couldn’t help but admire the way his biceps flexed, the smooth lines of his back. you knew it was wrong to look, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away, your gaze drawn to the way the muscles in his back moved as he pulled the shirt over his head.

it was only when he turned around, his eyes locking with yours, that you realized you had been caught. your breath hitched, a wave of heat flooding your face as you stumbled over your words, flustered and embarrassed. “i—i’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, “i didn’t mean to—” but he just smiled, that familiar, soft smile that you had seen countless times before. it was a smile that was both understanding and amused, as if he found your embarrassment endearing rather than intrusive. “it’s alright,” he said gently, his voice low and soothing. “you don’t have to apologize.”

you hesitated for a moment, still caught in the awkwardness of the situation, but then you found your voice again. “i just wanted to wish you a good night,” you said, your tone earnest, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. his smile widened, a hint of warmth in his eyes as he replied, “good night to you too.” there was a moment of silence, the air between you thick with something unspoken, and then you nodded, offering him a small, shy smile before turning to leave. as you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, the weight of it sending a shiver down your spine.

when you returned to your room, the sense of restlessness had faded, replaced by a strange, warm feeling that you couldn’t quite explain. you slipped back into bed, pulling the sheets up around you, but this time, your thoughts were quieter, your mind slowly drifting towards sleep. in the room down the hall, yoongi stood for a moment, his mind replaying the brief exchange. he chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much you had grown and changed, to him, you were still that sweet, flustered angel—the same girl he had known all those years ago.

yoongi lay in the oppressive stillness of his room, his mind a tempest of conflicting emotions. the darkness enveloped him, offering no comfort, only amplifying the storm within. every attempt to find solace was met with the image of you in that absurdly tight white dress, an image that had seared itself into his consciousness with unforgiving clarity.

the sight of you—no longer the innocent child he once knew but a vision of such tantalizing allure—it was no shock when his hand found its way to his clothed dick, a silent admission of the battle he was losing. he began to stroke himself tentatively, the fabric of his boxers a barrier that only served to heighten the anticipation. his mind was a minefield of guilt and desire, each step he took towards release laden with the weight of his transgressions. he knew he should stop, that he should find some semblance of dignity and self-control, but his body was a traitor, demanding release from the prison of his own making.

his strokes grew more deliberate with his boxers gone, the friction increasing as he thought of what it would be like to touch you, to explore the softness of your skin and the heat that he was sure lay beneath. he bit his lip, trying to muffle the sounds of his own pleasure, his eyes fixed on the door that separated you from his indecent thoughts. the knowledge that you were so close only served to exacerbate his arousal, making his hand move faster and with more urgency.

his breath hitched as he imagined the moment of penetration, his cock pushing into you, feeling the warmth and wetness that was so alien to his usual solitary rituals. his hand was a poor substitute, but in the quiet of the night, it was all he had. the tension grew, a coil tightening in his balls, and he knew he was close. his thoughts grew more fervent, his strokes more frantic, until finally, with a silent groan, he reached climax.

his hand was sticky with his own release, a reminder of his failure to resist temptation. the guilt washed over him like a cold shower, leaving him trembling and ashamed. he knew he should clean up, should move on from this moment of weakness, but instead he lay there, panting and disgraced, the image of you still etched into his mind's eye. the quiet of the night was now a taunting silence, a reminder that he was alone in his depravity.

you awoke to the soft murmur of the morning light filtering through the curtains, its gentle embrace coaxing you from the depths of sleep. as you stretched languidly, you felt a sense of calm that made you smile. rising from your bed, you ribbed your eyes and padded softly down the stairs. the house was quiet, save for the faint, rhythmic ticking of a distant clock. it was a serene morning, perfect for easing into the day.

when you reached the kitchen, yoongi was already there, sitting at the table with a distracted air. his posture was rigid, and there was a certain tension in his demeanor that you couldn’t quite place. the moment you entered the room, his eyes flickered up toward you briefly before darting away. despite his efforts to look elsewhere, his gaze betrayed him, lingering far too long on your bare legs, which were still exposed, to his dismay. “good morning,” you said cheerfully, trying to set a light tone for the day. your voice was like a splash of warmth in the chilly air of the kitchen.

yoongi’s response was almost a whisper, a bare acknowledgment of your greeting. “morning.” you moved toward the coffee maker, the comforting routine of preparing breakfast a welcome distraction. “you want some coffee?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at him. “yeah, that’d be great,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude, though it was laced with an awkwardness that made you wonder about his mood.

as you busied yourself with the coffee, you noticed the kitchen was unusually empty. your parents were absent, a fact that piqued your curiosity. “where are my parents?” you inquired, your voice carrying a note of concern. yoongi shifted slightly, as if the question had pulled him from his own thoughts. “they’re out for the day,” he said, his gaze now firmly fixed on the table, avoiding meeting your eyes.

you nodded, accepting his answer without further question. the rhythmic sound of the coffee machine filled the silence as you went about your task. when you reached for the sugar, you bent over to retrieve it from the cabinet. the movement was casual, a natural part of your routine, but you were acutely aware of yoongi’s intense gaze. the breath caught in his throat was audible, a sharp intake of air that seemed to punctuate the otherwise silent kitchen. he watched the way your shirt rose, faltering just above your hips, giving him a view of your thighs pressed together, ass hanging in the air with nothing but a pair of stupidly red panties adorning your skin.

it struck you then that yoongi’s reaction was more than mere surprise. it was as if he was struggling to maintain composure, as though he thought you were doing this deliberately to tease him. but you weren’t aware of any such intent; it was simply the way you moved. you straightened up with the sugar and continued preparing the coffee. when you finally handed him his cup, his eyes met yours for a fleeting moment. despite the lack of makeup, you felt a surge of confidence in his presence. his eyes softened, and there was a fleeting, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at his lips as he took the cup from you.

he cleared his throat, his voice tentative as he ventured into a new topic. “so, i’ve been meaning to ask about your writing. you seemed hesitant to talk about it last night.” you chuckled softly, the sound light and airy. “my writing is a product of all my worst parts,” you said with a shrug, attempting to downplay its significance.

yoongi’s eyebrows knitted together, a look of disbelief crossing his face. “i don’t believe you have any bad parts,” he said earnestly, his eyes searching yours for a hint of the truth. you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “you’d be surprised,” you replied. “there are things that even the closest people don’t see.”

his expression softened, and for a moment, the tension in the room seemed to ease. you felt a familiar sense of safety in his presence, as if no time had passed since the days when you had felt so secure in his company. the familiarity of his presence, combined with the casual conversation, made you feel as though the world outside had paused just for the two of you.

you prepared for a day by the pool with a casual elegance, slipping into a bikini that showcased your figure with a subtle confidence. over it, you draped a sheer cover—a delicate, airy jacket that fluttered with every movement, its only purpose to add a touch of grace rather than offer any real coverage. the fabric was almost ethereal, catching the sunlight with each step you took, giving you an otherworldly aura.

descending the stairs, you made your way back to the living room, where you spotted yoongi. the moment you entered his line of sight, he looked up, and the breath caught in his throat. his eyes widened, a visible shift in his demeanor as he took in the sight of you. his heart seemed to drop, overwhelmed by the sight of you in your swimwear, the sheer cover highlighting your figure in a way that was both mesmerizing and painfully distracting.

with a cheerful smile, you called out to him, “hey, i’m gonna be by the pool. if you need anything, i’ll be around.” he nodded, his response barely audible, as if his mind was struggling to catch up with the reality of the moment. there was a heavy silence between you, filled with unspoken tension, as you turned and made your way outside.

once by the pool, you settled into a lounge chair, stretching out and letting the warmth of the sun envelop you. the heat should have been palpable, but your thoughts were consumed by yoongi. the sun’s rays might have been intense, but they barely registered in your consciousness compared to the whirlwind of thoughts about him. your mind drifted, replaying moments with him, the sound of his voice, the way he looked at you.

the quiet of the morning was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. you turned your head, squinting against the sunlight to see yoongi emerging from the house. he was shirtless, the warmth of the sun glistening off his skin. in each hand, he carried a glass—one for him and one for you. you couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of him, the way his physique was revealed in the sunlight adding a new layer of intensity to your already tangled feelings.

he reached you and offered one of the glasses with a slight, nervous smile. “i brought you something to drink. vodka lemonade.” you accepted the glass with a grateful smile, the cool drink a welcome relief from the heat. “thank you,” you said, taking a sip and savoring the refreshing taste.

he sat down beside you, his own drink in hand. there was a hesitant chuckle in his voice as he remarked, “i can’t believe i’m watching you drink. it’s kind of surreal.” you laughed softly, the sound light and airy. “i’m not a little girl anymore,” you said, glancing at him with a playful glint in your eye. “can you believe it?”

yoongi’s laughter was nervous, a strained attempt at casualness. “yeah, i can,” he replied, though the lie was almost tangible in the way he avoided your gaze. oh, if only you had known just how deeply his words conflicted with his inner reality. the poolside atmosphere was serene, the gentle ripples of the water reflecting the sunlight and adding a soothing background to your conversation. you sipped your drink, feeling the cool liquid contrast pleasantly with the warmth of the sun on your skin. yoongi sat close beside you, the space between you charged with an undercurrent of unresolved tension.

the heat of the sun was almost unbearable, and you found yourself shifting restlessly on the lounge chair. the coolness of the vodka lemonade was not enough to quell the growing discomfort you felt. it wasn’t merely the oppressive heat that was troubling you; there was an unsettling awareness that you had developed feelings for yoongi, and it was all too complicated. you knew it was wrong, knew you shouldn’t feel this way, but the truth was undeniable.

rising from the lounge chair, you decided to seek refuge in the kitchen. the cool interior of the house was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside. you carried both glasses with you, their contents now barely touching the bottom of the tumblers. as you walked through the house, you could feel the tension in your steps, an eagerness to escape your own thoughts and the weight of your emotions.

once in the kitchen, you set the glasses down and grabbed the bottle of vodka and the jug of lemonade. the motion of pouring the vodka into the lemonade, the swirl of the liquid mixing together, was almost meditative. yet, the comfort of the routine did little to ease the restlessness simmering within you. in an effort to cool off, you discarded your sheer cover, letting it fall onto a nearby chair. the fabric slid off your shoulders and pooled on the seat, leaving you in your bikini once more.

the heat of the kitchen seemed to intensify as you stirred the drink, but it wasn't just the temperature that was making you sweat. you were grappling with the undeniable reality that you had feelings for yoongi—feelings that were supposed to be off-limits. the conflict inside you was almost as unbearable as the heat itself. he was quite literally your father's best friend, you had to keep repeating that to yourself, praying for some sort of voice of reason.

just as you were lost in thought, the sound of footsteps alerted you to yoongi’s presence. you turned to find him standing at the kitchen entrance, his eyes fixed on you. for a moment, time seemed to freeze. your heart leaped in your chest, each beat echoing the tumult of emotions that had been swirling within you. you cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “are you okay?” you asked, the words slipping out with a hint of vulnerability.

his gaze was intense, almost pained as he took a step closer. he shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “how can i be okay?” he asked, his voice heavy with emotion. “with you like this around me, for the next month?” the words hung between you, charged with a tension that neither of you seemed able to escape. Your heart pounded as you processed the implication of his statement. it was clear now—he was feeling the same struggle, the same undeniable pull that you were.

you pressed your lips together, trying to find the right words. “i can’t handle it either,” you admitted quietly, the weight of your own confession settling over you. “but it feels so wrong.” to your surprise, yoongi closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. his hands reached out, gripping your waist with a firmness that was both reassuring and electrifying. his gaze was locked onto yours, filled with a blend of longing and resolve.

without another word, he pressed his lips against yours. the kiss was sudden, a powerful surge of emotion that seemed to silence every other thought in your mind. his touch was both demanding and tender, his lips moving with a desperate intensity that spoke volumes. when he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours with an almost anxious urgency. “does it still feel wrong?” he asked, his voice a low, husky murmur.

the question hung in the air, and without thinking, you responded by closing the space between you again. you pressed your lips against his, this time with a fierceness that matched the tumult of your feelings. the kiss was fervent, each movement a declaration of the emotions that had been kept in check for far too long.

his hands began to roam, exploring the curves of your body, lingering on your breasts. the feeling of his rough fingers against your sensitive skin made you gasp into his mouth. yoongi took advantage of the opportunity, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. you could feel the hunger in his touch, the need that mirrored your own.

his thumbs grazed your nipples, eliciting a moan from your throat. the sound seemed to drive him wild, and his touch grew more insistent. he pinched and rolled your nipples, sending bolts of pleasure straight to your core. your pussy grew wetter with each touch, and you found yourself grinding against his thigh, seeking relief from the growing ache.

his hands slid down to your waist, then under the fabric of your bikini bottom. with a swift motion, he pulled it aside, exposing your wet, eager pussy to the cool kitchen air. the contrast made you shiver, and you felt his cock harden against your stomach. the reality of what was happening was overwhelming, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. all that mattered was the feel of his hands on you, the taste of him, the promise of what was to come.

you broke the kiss, panting. “right here?” you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. yoongi nodded, his eyes dark with lust. “right here, right now,” he confirmed, his voice a gruff whisper. he stepped back, guiding you towards the kitchen counter. “i need to taste you,” he said, his gaze dropping to your pussy.

his words sent a thrill through you, and you eagerly climbed onto the counter. your legs parted, and he stepped between them, his eyes feasting on the sight before him. you watched as he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin. then, his tongue touched you. the sensation was exquisite, sending shockwaves through your body. you grabbed onto the edge of the counter, your knuckles turning white as you held on for dear life.

his tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and probing, as his fingers delved deeper into your pussy. you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body tightening in anticipation. the air was thick with the scent of your arousal, and your moans filled the kitchen. it was all so wrong, but it felt so incredibly right.

his eyes met yours, and you could see the hunger in them, the desire to claim you in every way possible. without a second thought, you leaned back, exposing your throat. “choke me,” you begged, the words slipping out on a breathless whisper. yoongi’s eyes flared with surprise, but he didn’t hesitate. his hand wrapped around your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you feel both safe and utterly vulnerable.

his mouth returned to your pussy, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers. the feeling of his hand on your throat, the way he controlled your breathing, was intoxicating. your orgasm built, wave upon wave of pleasure crashing over you. and when it finally hit, it was like nothing you had ever felt before—intense, all-consuming, and absolutely filthy.

his mouth remained on you, even as you gasped for air, his tongue lapping up every drop of your release. when he finally pulled away, his eyes were gleaming with satisfaction. “you gonna help me out, too?” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “gonna suck my cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do?”

you slid off the counter, your legs wobbly from the intensity of your climax. dropping to your knees, you looked up at him, his cock standing proud and hard before you. without hesitation, you took him in your mouth, the taste of your juices mingling with the salty tang of his skin. his hand found its way to the back of your head, guiding you deeper. “fuck, princess, just like that,” he hissed, his grip tightening. you could feel his cock thicken in your mouth, and the power of the moment was exhilarating. you sucked and licked, eager to please him, to show him how much you wanted this.

his hips began to rock, fucking your mouth with an increasing urgency, his head embracing the back of your throat. you didn't care, you had all the reasons in the world to stop and set boundaries, but even more not too. he pulled at your hair, grunting with his heavy cock splitting your throat open. he looked down at you, your teary eyes and puffy lips, and it only made it worse for him, his cock throbbing in your mouth, but he couldn't cum like that. he needed to feel you, to tear you apart, to ensure that you'd never look for that kind of control from any other boy. nobody but him, he was the perfect pick. you needed somebody just a little bit older.

his cock slipped out of your mouth with a wet pop, and before you could even gasp for air, he turned you around, pressing you against the counter. his hand found its way into your bikini again, two thick fingers plunging into your pussy. you felt yourself stretch around him, your body begging for more. “you're soaked,” he murmured, his voice filled with a dark kind of glee. “you're gonna be the death of me.” you pushed back against his hand, wanting him to go deeper, to fill the ache that had only been heightened by his touch. “please,” you moaned, the word barely coherent as it slipped from your lips. “i need you.”

yoongi stepped closer, his body pressing against your back. “you're gonna get me,” he promised, his voice gruff with desire. he removed his fingers and lined up his cock, pressing the head against your entrance. he hadn't even pushed past your sopping folds yet, and you were already a mess. you felt him enter you, inch by inch, stretching you out. it was painful and perfect all at once, his girth splitting you open, filling you up in a way that made you feel so full, so alive. you bit your lip to stifle a scream as he pushed deeper, until he was fully seated inside you. your pussy clenched around him, desperate to keep him there, to never let him go.

his hand returned to your throat, squeezing gently as he began to move. the counter was cold against your stomach, but you didn't care. all you could focus on was the way he filled you, the way his cock slammed into you with each powerful thrust. his other hand snaked around your body, playing with your clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

his grip tightened on your throat, cutting off your air. you felt the panic rise, but it only made you wetter. “you like that, don't you?” he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your neck. “you like being choked while i fuck you?” your eyes rolled back in your head, and you nodded frantically. it was sick, it was twisted, but you didn't care. it felt too good to think about stopping.

his strokes grew faster, more erratic, his breathing ragged in your ear. “i'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained. “where do you want it?” you choked out the words, “inside me,” and he growled his approval. with one final, powerful thrust, he released his grip on your throat, and you felt his warmth flood into you. your body convulsed around him, your own orgasm ripping through you with a ferocity that left you trembling.

his cock remained buried inside you as he leaned over, pressing his sweat-slicked chest against your back. “all mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “mine to fuck, to fill up with my cum.” your pussy clenched around him, milking every drop he had to give. the thought of his cum inside you, claiming you, made your core throb with a deep, primal need.

his cock slid out of you, and you felt the emptiness acutely. but before you could protest, he was pushing his cum-soaked fingers into your mouth. “have a taste,” he demanded, and you eagerly complied. the taste was salty and bitter, but it only served to drive you wild. your eyes watered as you sucked on his digits, cleaning them thoroughly.

he pulled away, his fingers tugging your bikini bottom up, the fabric pushing his sticky cum further into your sore cunt. “keep it in,” he ordered, his eyes dark and possessive. “i don't want my cum to spill out of that tight little cunt.” you nodded, standing on shaky legs. he reached out, grabbing your chin and tilting your face up to his. “good girl,” he praised, his eyes searching yours.

you stepped away from the counter, the stickiness between your legs a constant reminder of what had just happened. your bikini was askew, and your body was still flushed with arousal. yoongi reached out, gently adjusting your bottoms to cover your swollen pussy. “don't tell anyone,” he whispered, his eyes serious. “this is our little secret.” you nodded, your throat tight with the promise of more to come. the air was thick with the scent of sex, and the kitchen felt different now—like a sacred space where you had both lost and found something in the heat of passion. “i won't,” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “but what happens now?”

yoongi leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “now,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “we do this again, and again. until we can't get enough of each other.” his hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing it possessively. “you're mine, and i have no intention of letting you go.” the words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and fear. you knew this was wrong, knew that it could ruin everything, but the feeling of his cum inside you, his claim on your body, was too tempting to resist. you were in too deep, and you had no intention of climbing out

the hours stretched interminably, the passage of time marked only by the shifting light that filtered through the windows. you found yourself drifting between contemplation and restlessness, your thoughts endlessly circling the intimacy you had shared with yoongi. the weight of the moment, the raw intensity of the sex, seemed to press down on you with an almost unbearable gravity.

you had retreated to your room, seeking solace in its familiar confines. the bed, once a place of comfort, now felt like a vessel of confusion and regret. you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the room around you bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon sunlight. your mind was a turbulent sea, tossing around memories of the kiss, the touch of his hands on your waist, and the conflicted look in his eyes. the sex, though fleeting, had been a revelation, an unspoken admission of what lay between you, and the enormity of it was daunting.

every time you closed your eyes, his face would appear, his gaze filled with a mixture of longing and anguish. the guilt that gnawed at you was mirrored by his own struggle. you had noticed it earlier when he had walked away from the kitchen, his shoulders slumped and his expression a portrait of internal conflict. it was clear that he was grappling with the same turmoil that had taken root within you.

the silence of the room was occasionally broken by the vibrations of your phone. the pings were a jarring intrusion into your contemplation, each one a reminder of the world outside your cocoon of worry. finally, when you reached for your phone, you found a message from taehyung, a friend whose exuberance was a contrast to the somber mood you were engulfed in. it read, “hey! i heard you’re back in daegu. i’m at the club tonight, and it’s been a while. you should come out and join me.”

the simplicity of taehyung’s invitation, the promise of an evening away from your internal strife, was like a breath of fresh air. it was exactly what you needed to escape the relentless spiral of guilt and self-reproach that had been consuming you. the thought of a night at the club, surrounded by friends and lost in the rhythm of music, was a welcome distraction, a way to momentarily forget the weight of your decisions and the confusion surrounding your feelings for yoongi.

without hesitation, you texted him back, accepting his invitation with a mix of relief and eagerness. the prospect of spending a night out, dancing and socializing, offered a tangible remedy to the unease that had settled so heavily upon you. in the privacy of your room, you stood in front of the mirror, preparing for a night out at the club. you had carefully chosen an outfit that was both stylish and expressive of your current mood—a sleek, black dress with a daring neckline that accentuated your figure, paired with heels that added just the right amount of allure. the dress clung to your curves in a way that felt both confident and liberating, each movement highlighting the grace you carried with you.

you applied your makeup with a meticulous touch, opting for a smoky eye that added a touch of glamour, and a bold lip color that completed the look. each brushstroke was a deliberate effort to transform yourself into someone who could temporarily escape the heaviness of recent days. the final touch was a pair of sparkling earrings that caught the light as you moved, completing your ensemble with a flourish.

as you finished getting ready, you heard the faint sounds of yoongi moving about in his room across the hall. you knew he was there, but the emotional weight of your recent interactions had kept you from directly addressing him. yonight was about reclaiming a sense of normalcy and fun, and the club seemed like the perfect escape. as you prepared to leave, you crossed the hall to grab a quick look at your reflection in the full-length mirror one last time. just as you turned, yoongi’s door opened slightly. he stepped into the hallway, his eyes widening in surprise as they took in the sight of you.

“where are you off to?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity mingled with an undertone of something else—something darker. you flashed him a bright, carefree smile, trying to inject a sense of lightness into the conversation. “taehyung is taking me to a club tonight,” you said, your voice cheerful despite the undercurrent of unease you felt.

his reaction was immediate. a flicker of frustration crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with a strained smile. “okay,” he replied, his voice barely concealing the tension that simmered beneath his words. “have a good time.” you nodded, feeling a pang of guilt at his subdued reaction, but the promise of a night out with friends was too alluring to ignore. you offered a final smile before turning and walking down the stairs, the click of your heels echoing in the quiet house.

as you stepped outside, the cool night air greeted you with a refreshing contrast to the warm interior. taehyung was waiting by his car, his face lighting up with a friendly grin as he saw you approach. he stepped out of the vehicle, and the two of you exchanged a warm hug. his arms encircled you in a friendly embrace, his laughter ringing out as he playfully commented on how good you looked.

from the window, yoongi watched the scene unfold with a growing sense of unease. he saw the way taehyung looked at you, the way his eyes lingered on you with an admiration that seemed to cut through the night’s darkness. the casual familiarity of your hug, the easy way taehyung interacted with you, ignited a smoldering frustration within yoongi. he clenched his fists, trying to suppress the bubbling anger that rose within him. it wasn’t just the sight of you with someone else—it was the way taehyung’s gaze seemed to hold a mixture of affection and possessiveness that yoongi found almost unbearable. every movement, every gesture, seemed to etch itself into his memory with a burning intensity.

as you and taehyung got into the car and drove away, yoongi’s eyes remained fixed on the scene. the darkness of the night and the dim streetlights cast long shadows, but his thoughts were sharp and clear. the image of taehyung’s hug, the warmth and ease between the two of you, was seared into his mind, adding fuel to the smoldering frustration that had taken root within him.

the club was a pulsating whirl of neon lights and thumping bass, the energy of the crowd vibrating through the floor and into your very bones. the air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume and sweat, and the faint haze of smoke from the fog machines created an almost dreamlike atmosphere. music reverberated through every corner, a relentless beat that drove the rhythm of the night.

you and taehyung arrived to a warm welcome from the crowd, who greeted you with a mix of admiration and excitement. the club’s patrons had clearly heard of your return to daegu, and you were immediately swept up in the buzz of their enthusiasm. as you made your way through the throng of bodies, taehyung by your side, you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of flashing lights and lively chatter.

at the bar, you signed another autograph, your signature fluid and practiced as you scrawled your name on a series of glossy photos and memorabilia. taehyung stood beside you, his laughter a comforting sound amid the chaos. “i’ll never get used to this,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. his eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and curiosity. you chuckled softly, the sound almost lost amidst the cacophony of the club. “neither will i,” you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. the constant attention, the flashes of cameras, it all felt a bit surreal, a reminder of the world you had momentarily stepped away from.

his expression softened as he glanced at you, noticing the subtle change in your demeanor. “why so down?” he asked, his tone gentle but inquisitive. you hesitated for a moment, the weight of your recent experiences heavy on your shoulders. “it’s a long story,” you replied, not willing to delve into the complexities of your emotions right now.

his eyes showed a glimmer of understanding, and he didn’t press further. instead, he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “well, don’t let it ruin tonight. you’re here to have fun, remember? just let go and enjoy yourself for once.” his encouragement was a lifeline, and you took it to heart. you smiled at him, gratitude mingling with the resolve to let the night’s energy lift you from your thoughts. “okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “let’s do this.”

the two of you moved towards the dance floor, the pulsating rhythm of the music beckoning you closer. as you stepped onto the floor, the crowd seemed to part and then close around you, a living sea of people moving in sync with the beat. he slipped into the rhythm effortlessly, his movements fluid and confident. you followed his lead, allowing the music to wash over you and carry away the remnants of your lingering worries.

the lights above shifted in a kaleidoscope of colors, casting dynamic patterns across the dance floor. you lost yourself in the beat, your body swaying and twisting in time with the music. the beats were relentless, and as you danced, you felt the strain of the day’s emotions slowly dissolve, replaced by the exhilaration of the moment. the music seemed to resonate with something deep inside you, a reminder of the joy and freedom that had once been so familiar.

you occasionally glanced at taehyung, who was clearly having a blast. his infectious energy was a bright spot in the evening, and his carefree dancing seemed to pull you further into the night’s festivities. every now and then, he would catch your eye and flash a grin, as if to say, “see? isn’t this fun?”

as the night wore on, you took a break from dancing to grab a drink. the bar was bustling with activity, and the bartender quickly mixed a vibrant cocktail that was both refreshing and potent. you sipped the drink, feeling its coolness slide down your throat, and let the alcohol take the edge off your remaining anxieties. the conversation around you was a pleasant hum, and you found yourself engaging in light, cheerful banter with a few fellow partygoers.

every once in a while, you would catch sight of taehyung making his way through the crowd, often surrounded by a small group of admirers. his laughter and charisma were magnetic, drawing people in and creating an atmosphere of shared joy. you were grateful for his presence, his ability to make the night feel lighter and more enjoyable.

the night continued in a blur of music, dancing, and shared moments of joy. you felt a renewed sense of connection with taehyung and the people around you, a reminder that even amidst personal turmoil, there was still space for fun and camaraderie. as the hours passed and the club’s lights began to dim, signaling the approach of closing time, you felt a sense of contentment.

stepping outside into the cool night air, you took a deep breath, savoring the contrast between the heated club and the refreshing outside air. he stood beside you, his expression one of satisfaction and camaraderie. “see? that wasn’t so bad,” he said, nudging you playfully. you smiled, feeling a genuine sense of relief. “thanks for getting me out tonight,” you said. “i needed this.”

his grin widened. “anytime. let’s just make sure you don’t stay cooped up forever. there’s a lot more fun to be had.” as you both made your way to the car, the night felt lighter, and the burdens of the past few days seemed a little more manageable. the club had provided the distraction you needed, and as you drove away with taehyung, you allowed yourself to savor the fleeting moments of carefree joy that the night had offered.

in the stillness of the living room, the ticking of the clock seemed to echo louder with each passing second. yoongi sat slouched on the sofa, the dim light from the table lamp casting shadows across his face. his fingers fumbled with a can of beer, the metallic crumple of the empty container a testament to his mounting frustration. it was two in the morning, and you still hadn't come home. the silence of the house was oppressive, amplifying his anxiety and gnawing at his thoughts.

had something happened to you? had a stranger taken you for the night? the possibilities raced through his mind, each one more unsettling than the last. the quietness of the house was occasionally interrupted by the distant hum of the refrigerator or the soft rustle of the curtains, but these sounds did little to soothe his growing unease.

he watched the second hand of the clock tick away, each movement a reminder of the time slipping by. his fingers drummed impatiently against his knee, and the empty beer cans scattered on the table beside him were a reminder of how long he’d been waiting. the weight of his concern grew heavier with each passing minute, turning into an almost unbearable pressure.

finally, a sound broke through the silence—the unmistakable click of the front door opening. yoongi’s head snapped up, his heart racing with a mixture of relief and frustration. he watched as you stumbled into the living room, your movements unsteady and your eyes slightly glazed. the sight of you brought a wave of relief, but it was quickly overshadowed by a surge of anger.

you wobbled slightly as you approached him, your gaze softening as you took in his presence. with a tired but genuine smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning into him. “i missed you,” you murmured, your voice thick with the effects of too many martinis. he let out a low chuckle, his amusement tinged with exasperation. “you smell like alcohol,” he observed, his tone more resigned than accusatory.

you frowned slightly and gestured towards the table where the empty beer cans lay. “and you’re no better,” you retorted, a playful edge to your words despite your unsteady stance. he raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “what were you doing at the club for so long?” he asked, his tone more serious now.

you shrugged, your arms still draped around his neck. “having fun,” you replied, a hint of mischief in your voice. he scoffed, a small smile playing on his lips. “with who?” he demanded, his tone edged with a hint of jealousy.

you grinned, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “with taehyung,” you said, the name rolling off your tongue with an affectionate lilt. his expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the information. to your surprise, he reached out and gently lifted you up, placing you onto his lap. the movement was deliberate, his hold firm but gentle as he settled you comfortably. “with taehyung, huh?” he said, his voice low and contemplative as he looked at you.

you nodded shyly, your hands pressing against his chest for balance. “yeah,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his gaze lingered on you, a conflicted mix of emotions evident in his eyes. “you two must be pretty close, huh?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of possessiveness.

you nodded again, feeling the intensity of his stare. “we’re friends,” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering effects of the alcohol. his eyes darkened slightly, his frustration evident. “i don’t like that,” he said, his tone firm and resolute.

you tilted your head slightly, leaning into his touch as you pressed closer to him. “why not?” you asked, your voice soft and inquisitive. his hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers brushing gently against your skin. “friends who look at you the way he does,” he said, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. he paused, his lips brushing against your neck as he continued, “make my blood boil.”

your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, the warmth of his breath mingling with the softness of his lips. the sensation was intoxicating, drawing you closer to him. without further hesitation, yoongi closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. the kiss was both urgent and tender, a mixture of the longing and frustration that had been building between you. his arms encircled you, pulling you even closer as the world outside seemed to fade away.

the kiss deepened, his fingers tangling in your hair as he explored the softness of your lips. it was a moment of pure connection, a release of the emotions that had been pent up for too long. the intensity of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, made you feel as though nothing else mattered in that moment.

his hand slid down to the small of your back, his grip tightening as he pulled you onto his lap. the fabric of your black dress was thin, offering little resistance to his touch. you could feel his arousal pressing against your thigh, a silent declaration of his desire. your breath hitched in your throat as his hand moved higher, cupping your breast through the material. your nipples were already hard, begging for his attention.

without breaking the kiss, yoongi reached down and began to tug at the hem of your dress. the sound of fabric ripping filled the room as he pulled it up over your head, leaving you in just your lacy black lingerie. the sight of you half-dressed was almost too much for him to handle. his eyes raked over your body, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. his hands roamed over your curves, his fingers tracing the lace of your panties. as he pulled them down, he caught a glimpse of the cum stain from earlier, a pleasant reminder of what he had done. his eyes flashed with possessive lust as he took in the sight of his dry cum on the fabric. “took it like such a good girl,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

his hands found your hips, guiding you onto his waiting erection. the sensation of skin on skin was electrifying, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. he was rougher this time, his movements urgent and demanding. with each thrust, he slapped your pussy, the sound echoing in the quiet room. the stinging sensation only served to heighten your arousal, making you moan louder with each hit.

his hands gripped your waist, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had you riding him like a wave. the feeling of his cock filling you up was almost too much to bear, but you craved more. your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons in his skin as you leaned back, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

his dirty talk grew more intense, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest. “don’t wanna see you with anymore boys,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “they won’t ever get to have you like this.” the words sent a fresh wave of desire through you, your walls tightening around him as you neared climax. his strokes grew more erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he approached his own release. you could feel him swelling inside you, his muscles tensing as he fought to hold back. but you were beyond caring about his control, your own need overwhelming any thought of restraint.

he took sight of the way his cock buried itself in your stomach, the outline evident. it was enoufh to make his dick twitch, he could practically see it happening. finally, with a guttural groan, he let go, filling you with his hot cum. the sensation pushed you over the edge, and you came hard, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. tears streamed down your face, not from pain, but from the intensity of the pleasure that consumed you. as you collapsed onto his chest, gasping for air, you realized that this was the most alive you had ever felt.

“we need to stop doing this,” you exhaled softly, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. “stop?” he echoed, his voice gruff and surprised.

“it’s complicated enough already,” you murmured, your heart racing from the aftershocks of your climax. his grip on your waist tightened, his cock still pulsing inside you. “i don’t want us to stop,” he said, his voice unyielding. “is it such a crime to want you all to myself?”

his words sent a thrill through you, but also a pang of fear. you knew the consequences of your actions, the web of lies and deceit that would unravel if anyone found out. yet, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt towards him, the way he made you feel alive and desired in a way no one else ever had. you pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the present, the warmth of his embrace, the scent of your mingled arousal, and the sticky mess between your legs. it was a mess you didn’t want to clean up, a mess that was a testament to your shared passion.

his hands began to move again, stroking your body with a gentle fierceness that made your skin tingle. he knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you ache for more. his fingers traced the path of his earlier possession, the cum stain on your panties now a wet smear as he slid his digits through it.

you gasped as he brought his hand up to your face, your own cum glistening on his fingers. before you could protest, he brought them to your mouth and slid them in, urging you to taste. the sweet and salty flavor filled your mouth, and you felt a wave of submission wash over you. his other hand found your clit, his thumb flicking and circling the sensitive nub as he began to thrust into you once more. his cock was still hard, the friction of his earlier release only adding to the intensity of the moment.

you couldn’t help but moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you gave in to the sensations. the room spun around you, your body no longer your own as he claimed you over and over again. it was a rough, animalistic fucking that made you feel more alive than you ever had. his slaps grew more forceful, his words more demanding. “say it,” he ordered, his voice harsh in your ear. “say you’re mine, only mine.”

“yoongi,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m yours, only yours.” his pace quickened, his strokes becoming more erratic as he neared his second climax. you could feel his balls tightening, his body coiling like a spring ready to release. with a final, desperate groan, he emptied himself inside you, his cum mixing with your juices.

you collapsed onto him a second time, your body trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction. the room was still, the only sound the harshness of your breathing and the thundering of your hearts. for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered but the two of you, lost in a sea of passion and desire. but reality would come crashing back soon enough, with the light of day and the harsh truth of your actions. for now, though, you were his, and he was yours, bound by a secret that neither of you could escape.

you sat at your desk, the dim light of your lamp casting a soft glow over the pages of your journal. the room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the pages as you turned them, the only sound breaking the silence of your introspective evening. the journal was your refuge, the place where you poured out your grief and unspoken pain, each word a release of the emotions that had been bottled up for too long.

your pen moved across the page in a hurried scrawl, the ink reflecting the depth of your sorrow. you wrote about the ache of missing your old self, the pressure of expectations unmet, and the weight of a future that seemed increasingly uncertain. tears blurred your vision, making the words on the page dance and waver. each tear that fell onto the paper seemed to absorb the rawness of your emotions, the ink smudging as your sorrow seeped into the pages.

you had shared so much with those sheets of paper, details of your grief that had remained unspoken. it was as if the journal was an extension of your heart, a place where your deepest fears and frustrations could find solace. but tonight, the act of writing felt especially cathartic and painful, the tears falling freely as you bared your soul to the empty pages.

the sound of footsteps from downstairs interrupted your solitude. you closed the journal and wiped your eyes hastily, trying to regain composure as you headed towards the staircase. the air downstairs was cooler, and the distant clinking of dishes and murmurs of conversation signaled that your mother was awake.

as you descended the stairs, you saw her seated at the kitchen table, her gaze directed towards the window. yoongi was in the living room, his presence a silent comfort in the midst of the familial tension. you greeted them quietly, your heart heavy with the emotions that you had tried so hard to contain. your mother looked up as you entered the kitchen, her expression unreadable. “how’s work?” she asked, her tone neutral but carrying a hint of concern. “when do you have to go back?”

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “i’ll be going back after the month passes,” you replied, forcing a calmness that didn’t match the turmoil inside you. she nodded, but there was a shadow of disapproval in her eyes. “i prayed for your success, you know,” she said. “but i wish you had chosen a different path—one that’s more respectable. you could have been a doctor, a lawyer, someone who makes a real difference. instead, you’re just posing for a camera.”

the words struck you like a physical blow, each syllable a reminder of the gap between your aspirations and her expectations. your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, your heart aching with the weight of her judgment. “i’m sorry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the apology feeling inadequate in the face of her disapproval. her gaze softened slightly, but the damage was done. the conversation had laid bare the fact that no matter how hard you worked, no matter how much you achieved, your mother’s acceptance was always just out of reach. the realization was a sharp, stinging reminder of the ongoing struggle to reconcile your dreams with her expectations.

without a word, you excused yourself from the room, the weight of the conversation pressing heavily on your shoulders. you moved with a sense of urgency towards the bathroom, needing a moment away from the prying eyes and the crushing disappointment. in the bathroom, the cool, sterile light offered little comfort as you shut the door behind you. you leaned against the sink, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the tap, letting the water run until it became a soothing backdrop to your tears. the tears came freely now, each drop a release of the pain you had been holding inside. the harsh brightness of the bathroom seemed to amplify your emotions, every sob echoing in the stillness of the room.

you closed your eyes tightly, letting the tears flow unabated. the mirror reflected your tear-streaked face, the red-rimmed eyes a testament to the depth of your grief. you took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had been stirred up by your mother’s words. the tears were a release, a way of letting go of the pent-up frustration and sadness. as the sobs began to subside, you found solace in the simple act of crying, allowing yourself to feel the weight of your mother’s disapproval and the grief of your own unmet expectations. you knew that the moment of vulnerability was a necessary part of your healing process, a way to confront and process the emotions that had been building up inside you.

yoongi's heart felt heavy with the weight of the earlier conversation. his concern for you had deepened, and he felt an overwhelming urge to understand more about what you were going through. his feet, driven by a mix of worry and compassion, carried him towards your room. the door creaked open slowly, and yoongi stepped into the space that was so intimately yours. the room was bathed in a soft glow from a lamp on your nightstand, its light gently illuminating the walls adorned with photographs. his eyes were immediately drawn to the collection of images, a testament to the life you had lived.

photos of you as a little girl lined one wall, capturing moments of innocence and joy. in some, you were caught in candid laughter, a radiant smile lighting up your face. others showed you at milestones, each image a snapshot of a time before the complexities of adulthood began to weigh heavily on you. yoongi’s chest tightened at the sight, a pang of sorrow stirring in his stomach. it was impossible not to feel the ache of how much you had grown, how far you had come from that wide-eyed child full of dreams.

next to those nostalgic images were more recent photos—of you as you were now, your beauty more striking than ever, yet layered with an undeniable sadness. each photograph seemed to tell a story of its own, a reflection of the woman you had become. his heart ached at the contrast between the vibrant child in the old pictures and the poignant figure in the more recent ones. it was clear that beneath the surface of your radiant exterior lay a deep, unresolved pain.

his gaze was drawn to the desk, where he saw your journal resting atop a pile of neatly stacked papers. he hesitated for a moment, knowing it was a violation of your privacy, but the pull of his concern was stronger. with trembling hands, he opened the journal, its pages warm from the gentle light of the lamp.

the first entry his eyes fell upon was a stark revelation of your inner turmoil, “i want to die, doesn’t everyone?” the words were raw and haunting, a glimpse into the depths of your suffering. yoongi’s breath caught in his throat as he read on, his heart breaking with each line. you had written about sleepless nights, about the emptiness that came with a lack of meals, and the guilt you felt for your suffering despite having what many would envy. the words were a vivid portrait of your struggle, painting a picture of the pain you had carried alone.

further along, you wrote about your mother, your conflicted feelings towards her. despite her love, you had felt her disapproval, her preference for a different path for you. the way you described your feelings of inadequacy, the yearning for acceptance, cut deep into yoongi’s heart. each entry was a window into a world of quiet desperation, a reflection of your most private fears and regrets.

as his eyes scanned the entries, he felt a profound sadness. the weight of your words, the anguish you had poured onto the pages, seemed to press down on him with a crushing force. he was lost in the depth of your pain when he heard the softest of voices behind him. “it’s stupid, isn’t it?” he turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, a sad smile on your face, the remnants of tears still visible on your cheeks. his heart ached even more seeing you like that, so vulnerable and exposed. he took a step towards you, his face reflecting a mix of anguish and determination.

“nothing you feel could ever be stupid,” he said gently, his voice laden with sincerity. his hand reached out, brushing the tears from your cheeks with a tenderness that spoke volumes. “why didn’t you tell me about this? why didn’t you share any of this with me?” you shrugged, your gaze falling to the floor as if it held the answers you couldn’t articulate. “i always had a feeling i’d never live long,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

yoongi’s breath caught at your words. the notion that you felt such a finality in your existence was more than he could bear. without thinking, he closed the distance between you, pulling you into a tight embrace. the hug was a physical manifestation of his anguish and his need to offer you comfort. he stiffened as he held you, the weight of your words settling heavily on his shoulders. “never say that again,” he whispered fiercely into your ear, his voice trembling with emotion. “is that really what you want? to leave me alone, to fight it all in silence?”

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cried into his shoulder. “i’d give anything to be the little girl you remember,” you admitted between sobs. “i miss her more than anyone.”

his heart broke at your admission. he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his own filled with an earnest intensity. “you should be proud of the woman you’ve become,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him. “that little girl would be so proud of you. and no one could be more proud than i am.”

you looked at him, searching his face for any trace of insincerity, but all you found was a deep, unwavering conviction. “you really think so?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “yes,” he affirmed, his eyes locked onto yours with a warmth that seemed to dispel the shadows of doubt. “she would be proud, but nobody could be as proud as me. you’ve grown into someone incredible, someone who has faced so much and still stands strong.”

in that moment, wrapped in his embrace, you felt a sense of comfort and acceptance that had been elusive for so long. his words, filled with genuine admiration and affection, offered a glimmer of hope amid the lingering darkness. you clung to the promise in his voice, the promise that despite everything, you were valued, you were loved, and you were worthy of pride.

✧.*

a/n: a shorter one lol a dabble if u will