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This is soo good. It would be a great series. I love it

Bust | KTH | (m)

☾ Pairing: Heistman!Taehyung x f. Reader

☾ Summary: Seeing a beautiful man in the middle of a bank robbery is unusual. Seeing him again afterward is even more unlikely… and yet not unlucky. 

☾ Word Count: 2,211

☾ Genre: Criminal, Smut, PWP

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Bank robbery, light depiction of fear/anxiety, mentions of poor financial situations and money-related stress, recreational drinking, ‘good girl’ petname, explicit language, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), biting, spanking, implied body worship kind of, a hint of overstim, bodily fluids and cum-eating. 

☾ Published: Monday, January 15, 2024

☾ A/N: This is an idea I randomly spoke about forever ago in a TikTok DM with @gimmethatagustd and this is strictly written to ruin their entire life tonight. I hope it works idk osifodigjoijg. 

☾ A/N 2: Tonight is number four for my 100 Drabble Challenge and I rolled number 24 for criminals! I hope you enjoy my depraved thoughts of Taehyung in that GOD DAMN SQUID GAME OUTFIT AT PTD. MY MASK KINK DOESN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE BUT BE FUCKING SURE IT WILL ONE DAY. HE MADE ME INSANE. 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration ☾

Sweat beads down your back, the trickle of it slower than the clock ticking above your head. Time seems to slow as you sit on a carpet that hasn’t been steam cleaned since the 80s and push yourself against the wall, eyes glued to the open vault. 

It had happened so fast and yet now, it’s like it can’t be over fast enough. Each second that ticks by feels like it takes a year. You cannot hear the chatter of the men inside the vault, but their harsh whispers raise goosebumps on your skin.

At least they haven’t noticed you. Not that you would do much, anyway. You have no intention of going over to push the alarm by the door, too afraid to alert the armed man who stands just outside the vault room on the other side, and far too underpaid to risk your life for a financial institution. 

For a moment, you wish it were you robbing the damned bank. Maybe you could pay off the student loans on your degree you’re not using and run the heating in your apartment during the winter instead of bundling up in several layers. 

Your momentary lapse of delusion passes as the men rush out of the vault, duffles in hand. They’re all dressed in red, black masks covering their faces with shapes on them. You’re vaguely aware that the costume belongs to some sort of show you saw online, but you can’t place them.

Perhaps you’ll watch it now.

“Hurry up,” one of the men barks toward the vault. There had been three inside, but only two came out. “Grab the last and let’s go. Two minutes left.”

They’re gone in an instant. Your eyes dart back to the vault where you can hear the last person inside. Glancing at the clock, you watch the seconds tick by. 

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. A minute. 

A man dressed in a red suit, hood pulled over his head comes out of the vault. As he slugs it shut with one arm, the bag on his shoulder droops, spilling the contents inside out onto the floor. Bands of cash fall out, thudding around his feet. He swears loudly and bends over, back slipping more to drop cash on the ground.

In his frustration, he crouches and tips the mask up a fraction, shielding his face from the camera above but not from you, huddled on the floor a few feet away.

Your heart skips. The thief is beautiful. Dark eyes focused on his task, a wide nose that fits perfectly on a symmetrical face with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a pursed mouth. There’s a flush in his face from the heat, the tip of his nose an endearing shade of rose.

As if sensing your gaze, his head snaps up. You cower against the wall, realizing now that you’ve seen his face, you’ve doomed yourself. He stalls completely, gloved hand hovering over the cash, eyes boring into you. He arches a brow as if to ask you a question and you respond by shaking your head. 

The thief gives you a cocky grin, nodding before he finishes picking up the money and tossing it into the bag. He looks at you again, a smirk on full display before he winks and pulls the mask back down. “Good girl,” he purrs. “I like that.” 

Despite the situation, your stomach flips. He stands and rushes out, lingering by the door for a second longer to stare at you through the black mask. You can’t see his face, but you know you’ll never forget it, pretty as an angel, dangerous as a devil. 

When the group is gone, you wait in silence, only the pumping of your heart to keep you company. When the cops come and ply you with questions all you can do is shake your head repeatedly. 

I was too scared. I can’t remember. 

-

I was too scared. I can’t remember. 

It is the same thing you tell investigators for nearly two months. Just when you think they won’t keep asking what the man looked like, they finally drop it, handing over the robbery details to the FBI. They were at least a little less callous, caring a little less about how many questions you answered. 

If you had to guess, your unimpressive financial situation even after the robbery was significant enough that you weren’t involved with the robbery. 

It’s hard not to wish you had been. The straw in your mouth belongs to a drink that is far too expensive for you to not wince and it barely tastes like anything. At this rate, you know you won’t get a buzz. You’d love alcohol to take the edge off of the loud club music or loosen you up a bit, but you’re resigned to being sober for the rest of your friend's birthday. 

Around you is a gaggle of men and women, both people you know and new faces trying to pick up your friends. Anyone trying to hit on you has already decided you’re far too grumpy to waste time on, most of their backs facing you as people shout over the music about working in finance.

You wonder if they also rob banks in their spare time. It makes you grin, thinking fondly about the thief once again. You do that a lot.  

Sipping the drink, you glance at your phone. It’s been an hour since you arrived, but you’re wondering if enough time has reasonably passed to excuse yourself. Tomorrow is one of your few days off and you intend to spend it lounging on the couch watching TV instead of nursing a headache.

Someone slides into the space at the bar next to you. You don’t glance up at them, spinning your skinny cocktail straw absently as you stare at the melted ice of your Long Island iced tea. You hoped that once it melted it would turn into a second drink, but it hasn’t. Cold, bitter water it is, then. 

“Why the long face?” You frown at the vaguely familiar voice and glance up, freezing. 

Mr. Bank Robber looks down at you, cocking his head to the side with a wolfish grin. Your mouth pops open in surprise, leaning back a little as you drink him in. This close, he is far more beautiful than you remember, the edges and shadows of his face like a carefully painted fresco. Michelangelo could hardly be talented enough to capture this. 

“You,” you whisper, his grin spreading further. 

“Have we met?” he leans on the bar, dressed in all black. You eye the three-piece suit and the glinting diamonds in the cuff links. His clothes are far finer than anything anyone else is wearing and when you breathe in sharply, you smell a hint of woody cologne. His dark hair is slicked back and you catch the dainty hoop earrings in his lobes. You like the juxtaposition. 

“You know we have.” He tongues the inside of his cheek, turning his head to order with the bartender. His eyes stray to you, raising a brow. You supply him with your answer, “A long island.”

The bartender nods, momentarily stupefied by the heistman’s beauty before walking over to the POS, tapping the screen with the speed and aggression unique to bartenders. 

“Kind of a shitty club,” he mentions, looking around over the top of your head. Sweat clings to your lower back, your mouth growing dry as you watch colors splash on his face. “Your face is too pretty for a place like this.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mhmm.” The bartender puts the drinks on the counter and the man gives him cash, signaling to keep the change. The bartender raises a brow but says nothing, taking the money as he goes. “What’s your name?”

“You probably already know it.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure you looked me up to see if I was a threat or watched me to see what I’d do.”

“You watch too many heist movies.”

“Maybe I watch just enough.”

He laughs at that and your lips twitch. It’s rich, making his face intimidating as he gives you a wide smile and shakes his head. “Alright, maybe you’re right.”

“Can I know your name?”

“For the right price.”

“My silence was a pretty petty, no?”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes dipping down and back up. You sip your drink, feeling a flush of warmth unfurl in your body, most notably between your legs. “I like you.”

“You have to like me. I know your secret.” 

Leaning forward, he ducks down so that he’s murmuring into your ear, hot breath ghosting your skin and making you tremble. “Want to hear more?” Your eyelids flutter as he waits, skin buzzing at his sudden proximity. You nod, feeling lightheaded. “My name is Taehyung. Want to get out of here?”

-

“Fuck,” Taehyung growls, hands skimming your bare sides. You can’t keep still under his gaze, hips squirming and fingers twisting in the sheets. His mouth is swollen and covered in your spit, his eyes blown as a large hand scrapes down to your thigh where he gives you a good slap. “I knew you were a good girl.”

A moan trips out of your mouth. Your thigh stings where he slapped you but he soothes it with the easy back-and-forth motion of his hand, his fingers digging into your flesh. Taehyung is a man starved, having littered your body with harsh kisses and bites, nearly breaking the skin.

You don’t care. You’re feverish for him, room spinning as you sprawl on his soft sheets in a hotel room that is far nicer than anything you’ve ever been in. You burn up like a star, core raging as Taehyung leans back down, pressing your naked thighs open for him as he sucks the skin of your chest between his teeth.

Everything aches. You want him so bad that you feel a cry come out of your mouth, lips wobbling as he laughs against your skin, sinking lower and lower, mouth loud as he sucks at your skin, tongue brushing over the sting of his teeth. 

“Does my good girl need her pussy eaten?” Taehyung rasps, looking up at you where he kneels between your legs. “Is that why you’re crying, hmm?”

Taehyung looks like something out of a thriller. His eyes are dark and hungry, his shadowed face becoming some sort of demon of lust. He’s what you would imagine a dark god. A bacchanal devil, a creature made for sin. 

All you can do is nod in response, feeling Taehyung’s vicious grip on your thighs as he presses you further, your muscles stretching. The strain feels good, as does the slow drip of your cunt down the curve of your ass mixed with his breath.

“So messy,” he murmurs, leaning forward and blowing cool air on your sticky folds. You squirm, the sensation sending you into overdrive as you twist your head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He’s barely done a thing and you’re worked up more than you can ever recall. “Pretty.”

The slow, soft press of Taehyung’s tongue through your pussy makes you sag. It’s the relief that you so desperately needed, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit and drags his tongue back down. Taehyung is slow as he eats you out, tongue savoring every drop you can give him.

He taps your thigh, drawing your attention to him. He smirks as his tongue dips into your entrance, dragging back up to swirl around your throbbing bud a few times.

It’s impossible to tear your eyes away once you’re watching. Taehyung keeps his razor-sharp gaze on you, bringing his mouth fully to your cunt as he sucks eagerly. There is a rhythm to the curl of his tongue and the sharp suck of his lips, the wet smack of his ministrations driving you crazy.

“Mmm,” he hums, pressing his face in further. He’s messy with it, his jaw and nose covered in shiny slick. He laughs throatily when your back comes off the bed, thighs shaking. “Such a good pussy, just like I knew it would be.”

It feels too hot in the room. Your breaths are coming in too fast and there’s nothing you can do to catch it, Taehyung working you up to a frenzied, frenetic orgasm. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, pumping so hard that you think you might need to stop.

And then you break.

Your body seizes as you come, a scream ripping through your mouth as Taehyung slurps hungrily at your mess, spurred by your release. You can’t stop shaking as he dives in, unwilling to stop until you’re babbling, nearly lifeless as the orgasm teeters into overstimulation. 

Only then does Taehyung pull his mouth away, trailing wet, cum-spit kisses on your inner thigh, nipping your thigh here and there. 

“Think you can take more?” he asks, slurring his words against your thigh. “Think you can take my cock.” 

You nod eagerly, hand letting go of the sheets and reaching toward him. “Yes.”

“Mmm good. I’m about to bust.” He bites your knee. “And I don’t mean a bank, this time.” 

Angel | myg (m)

❀ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 

❀ Word Count: 15,551

❀ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 

❀ Published: September 3, 2023

❀ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist |

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.” 

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.” 

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 

So he does. 

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 

“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 

-

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 

-

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 

Money. This man has money. 

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 

“I will fucking kill you.” 

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast. 

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 

“Okay.” 

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“See you soon.”

-

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 

-

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Click. Squeeze. Bang. 

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang. 

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.” 

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

-

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 

Home. 

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.” 

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 

“Fuck.” 

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 

“Mmm.” 

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 

“Shit shit shit shit.” 

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 

Lights Masterlist

❀ Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Producer! F. reader

❀ Summary: Meeting Jungkook was a chance of fate. A moment frozen in time, eyes meeting across a room full of lights. The more the two of you advance in your career, the more lost in the lights you become. What if you never find your way back?  

❀ Word Count: 583 and counting

❀ Genre: Heavy angst, Idolverse, strangers to lovers, eventual smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Series Warnings: Eventual sexual content, explicit language, substance abuse, toxic relationships, manipulation, drama, and heavy angst, depictions of depression and anxiety. This series will explore concepts of the ‘darker’ side of being famous and being in the music industry. It is not an essay on the culture of idols nor does this attempt to draw some sort of conclusion or comparisons to the real music industry or life of idols. This is just something that was inspired by my re-watch of Gossip Girl and listening to The Weeknd and wanting to write about a toxic relationship between fame and self. 

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This series in no way attempts to paint a realistic depiction of idols, or the industry, or draw comparisons. None of the scenes or elements in this series in any way reflect how I perceive the music industry and do not represent any opinions as a whole. This is not intellectual commentary, it is just straight-up fiction. 

| Masterlist | Ask | Lights Playlist | Tag Lists

▷ e p i s o d e   z e r o  . . . p l a y   n o w 

▷ e p i s o d e o n e . . . p l a y n o w

II n e x t e p i s o d e . . . l o a d i n g

Lights | Episode 0 | jjk (m)

❀ Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Producer! F. reader

❀ Summary: Meeting Jungkook was a chance of fate. A moment frozen in time, eyes meeting across a room full of lights. The more the two of you advance in your career, the more lost in the lights you become. What if you never find your way back?

❀ Word Count: 583

❀ Genre: Heavy angst, Idolverse, strangers to lovers, eventual smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Nothing really in this chapter, vague references to being a kid growing up in a competitive environment, reader being a little poetic about her childhood.

❀ Published: September 28, 2023

❀ A/N: Hola, in honor of 3D I decided to post the prologue of this thing I have been working on while on hiatus as a cool project to inspire myself to write again. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I am writing this story as though it were sort of a ... famous person tells all. 98% of the story will be in the present tense and we read it as if it's happening, with small interludes of present-day where reader is reflecting on her life in an interview with Namjoon. I have no idea if I will stick with it, so please be patient and let me write this at whatever pace works best for me. And remember - there are going to be very dark parts of this series, and Jungkook and reader both are going to have very ugly moments. If that’s not your cup of tea and you do not like to see characters epically fail and sometimes reveal the ugly parts of themselves, this fic is not for you. 

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This series in no way attempts to paint a realistic depiction of idols, or the industry, or draw comparisons. None of the scenes or elements in this series in any way reflect how I perceive the music industry and do not represent any opinions as a whole. This is not intellectual commentary, it is just straight-up fiction. 

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Ask | Lights Playlist | Tag Lists | Next Episode |

“In omnia paratus. Ready for anything,” you scoff, shaking your head. “Seems like a pretty big ideal for a teenager. You have to understand, we all felt that way. A bunch of kids working for the same dream, ready to push, shove, claw our way to it.” 

Namjoon adjusts his glasses and nods. His long legs are crossed at the ankle as he leans back in his seat, the perfect picture of poise. His glasses are low on his nose and he’s dressed in a warm cardigan today to fight off the chill of Autumn. 

“Was it really competitive?” he prompts, fingers laced together. “What was that like?”

“It’s hard to say. I viewed it through the lens of a kid at the time. I guess to me it would have felt like a game - be better than everyone else, get a reward.”

“And now, through the lens of an adult.”

You heave a sigh and blow out air. You're in the comfort of your home up in the hills, a fireplace crackling to your left. The production crew thankfully didn’t fuss with your living room too much. It was perfect the way it was, muted tones and lived in, not some minimal, sterile space like Seokjin might have or the maximalist terror of Taehyung’s estate. 

“Now,” you venture, slowly stringing the words together. “I think it was where I learned to take no prisoners and to do whatever I had to do to win. Being that close to your dream, and meeting the legends you want to imitate while living in constant fear it might be taken away… it creates a feral desire in you. Feeds the monster inside the kid that has just started to wake up.”

“Would you say that’s where the hardship began?”

You shake your head. “Not the kind that we’re here to talk about. It wasn’t like - I wasn’t a child star, you know? I was still relatively normal. It was school and working on dancing and singing and all of these things because I wanted to produce music and it was hard, but it wasn’t… It wasn't cruel. It wasn’t dark.” 

“When would you say is when it first really started to turn for you?” Namjoon asks, leaning forward a bit. “The first moment you can remember that you might have taken that first step towards everything.”

“In omnia paratus,” you murmur again. You think about that night, gaze unfocused. You no longer see Namjoon, but rather a shock of shaggy, black hair, doe eyes filled with promise, and an arm full of tattoos. “Ready for anything but Jungkook, apparently.” 

Namjoon raises his brows. “So the night you met Jungkook?”

“In nihil paratus. I was ready for nothing, least of all the likes of fucking Jeon. That was the first night my management ever asked me to do something extreme. So I did.” 

“Tell me about that night, then.” 

You remember it so well. You’re not sure how out of all the memories, this one seems so preserved. Crystal clear and sharp at the edges. You remember the tight, white shirt Jungkook was wearing, tucked into dark jeans paired with boots. His tattoos were stark against his shirt and his hair was wavy, a little damp with sweat. 

Jungkook had looked at you from across the event floor, an ocean swimming with swaying bodies and flashing lights, cryogenic fog hanging in the air. You’d just walked in, careful not to trip in your stilettos as you walked down the steps. Nervous. Near cracking under pressure.

And then you looked up, right at those round, dark eyes. 

In nihil paratus. You were ready for nothing. 

Lights | Episode 1 | jjk (m)

❀ Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Producer! F. reader

❀ Summary: Meeting Jungkook was a chance of fate. A moment frozen in time, eyes meeting across a room full of lights. The more the two of you advance in your career, the more lost in the lights you become. What if you never find your way back?

❀ Word Count: 15,069 

❀ Genre: Heavy angst, Idolverse, strangers to lovers, eventual smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Discussions of manipulation in the music industry, there are gentle hints at the potential for Jungkook and reader to be addicts, general topics of competitiveness between kids growing up, recreational drinking, references to people using sex as advantage, allusions to topics of promiscuity, recreational drug use (weed), reader’s agent straight up trying to get her to have sexual relations with people, implications of using people, reader is aggressively goal-oriented, Jungkook and reader are a little naive and sort of love-at-first-sighting, explicit language, explicit sexual content, three sex scenes, sex in a public place (restaurant bathroom), oral (m. and f. receiving), spit play, spit in general, light degradation, rough sex, sex under the influence of alcohol (both are able to consent and want it), Jungkook drives after drinking (not implied or referenced that he’s drunk but he is driving after having glasses of wine), nipple play, vaginal fingering, reverse cowgirl, ass play (f. receiving), missionary, fucking from the side, a little bit of come play, voyeurism if you squint, a hint of possessiveness, literally so many bodily fluids like a ton, reader kind of being in something like subspace and being fucked stupid/to sleep basically, aftercare referenced, implied toxic relationships with past coworkers/current coworkers, references to vicious/toxic work industry, light depictions of cocaine use (not explicitly seen) by a side character, honestly Jungkook and reader are a lil cringe in this and moving very fast but they have addictive personalities idk what to tell you, there are hints to their addictive personalities, talk about social anxiety needing medication/alcohol to take the edge off (not good to do people!!!), very light hinting at traits that will be a problem 

❀ Published: October 6, 2023

❀ A/N: This might be the most gratuitous thing I have ever written - it actually might be too much sex? At what point is it too much and just too much come and kissing and the word c*ck, genuinely? Anyway, my goal with this chapter wasn’t so much plot as it was to introduce how volatile these two have the potential to be. If you’ve ever known someone who has struggled with addiction, you will notice the little innocent behaviors that have the potential for utter disaster. These are two people who are wildly native and very much think they are in control of their life, but who are a little reckless. It will seem like they get together fast because they do with like.. Very little regard for anything else. I really hope you enjoy this story. I think it will become sort of a little thing for me to put parts of past traumas I have into it to finally let them go, maybe! Also - I am using the western naming pattern in this with first name last name because of the ambiguity of where this story takes place. ❀ A/N 2: This story was originally named ‘Hiraeth’ but after chatting with a kind anon, I realized that the definition and translation of the word did not fit and lost cultural context from its original meaning and thus changed the title to Lights. Thank you @here2bbtstrash for the loyal beta read and @gimmethatagustd for helping me get VERY unstuck multiple times by letting me talk in circles and offering words of wisdom.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This series does not attempt to paint a realistic depiction of idols, or the industry, or draw comparisons. None of the scenes or elements in this series in any way reflect how I perceive the music industry and do not represent any opinions. This is not intellectual commentary, it is just straight-up fiction. 

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Ask | Lights Playlist | Previous Episode | Tag Lists | Next Episode |

Jungkook looks like sin. It’s the first thought you have as you pause at the bottom of the stairs, eyes nearly blinded by the twinkling lights above. But there he is, standing in the glow of flashing purples and pinks, looking right at you.

He’s standing at one of the booths on the far end of the club, which has been rented for an event that you don’t remember the details of. His eyes land on you, and though you’ve never met, you suddenly feel a connection snap into place, something magnetic. For a moment, everything goes quiet, like in those romance books you used to read when you were a teenager.

Before, it used to seem a little silly. You didn’t think it was possible to suddenly see no one else in a room full of people except one person.

Now, it doesn’t seem that preposterous. You’re only able to take in a fraction of information in the second that your eyes connect with his: round face, long, wavy hair, and an arm full of tattoos with a drink held in his hand. 

He is stunning. You already knew that from the other two times you’ve caught a flash of him at events, but every time you see him in person, you’re awed all over again by the effortless way he catches the eye.

The tension between the two of you breaks as someone knocks into you and you stumble, trying not to twist your ankle with the high heels you’re currently wearing. Too short to see over the rest of the crowd, you lose sight of Jungkook. Music comes rushing back to you, the vibration of the base and the hum of synth making it nearly impossible to hear what your agent says next to you.

“What?”

“Do you remember the list I gave you?” Mila demands, grabbing your wrist and pulling you through the crowd. It hurts a little as she drags you along, impatient after arriving at the event late because you had a problem with your wardrobe for the evening. “That list is imperative.” 

“Yes.” 

The list is impossible. You have memorized at least two dozen people that your agent expects you to talk to and rub elbows with tonight. Some of them are certainly doable - people at your own company, artists you’re familiar with. Others are ridiculous, including idols that are several calibers above your station as a newly promoted producer at ILIA. 

Sure, you have the new glow of recent popularity after some surprising award wins and being likable on social media - which matters to your company as much as producing award-winning records - but you know what they all think. You know that they think your parents paid someone or that you fucked your way out of being a junior producer. 

It helps that neither is true. It doesn’t help that you would have done it anyway, if it meant feeding the simmering hunger inside of you that never seems to fade, your desire to win outweighing everything else. 

“You should catch up with your old friend Luna, she should be easy. You trained with her in the early building stages of ILIA.”

“Yeah,” you mutter faintly. “I remember her.”

You remember almost all of them. Something about spending your formative years with a bunch of teenagers being pitted against one another to be the best has made their faces and names permanent. Even the ones who didn’t make the cut or quit on their own.

Quitting is a foreign concept to you. It’s not as foreign as Mila kissing the cheek of some manager at some company you don’t know, pushing you toward them. You don’t care about who he is. There’s nothing he can offer you if he’s not someone who makes music. And as far as you’re concerned, you’re under the careful and powerful tutelage of the Suga. 

Yoongi is a better connection than almost everyone in this building and you know it. 

Suddenly you regret turning down his offer to stay at the studio and work. Yoongi has the agency to say no to scheming agents and public relations teams. He’s already paid his way to be able to do whatever he wants. Specifically, he’s paid in manipulation, blood, sweat, tears, and drama.

You are fresh meat swimming alone in shark-filled waters. Still, you look people in the eye as you shake hands and force smiles all night, going through your mental rolodex of names and achievements. You exchange phone numbers with a few actresses, promising to get drinks. You’re sure they wouldn’t want to if you weren’t fresh off an award-season win. Still, it’s something. 

You spot Jimin in the crowd, feeling relief as you step up toward the series of booths that you spotted Jungkook near earlier. 

“Finally someone tolerable,” Jimin yells when he sees you, tossing back the rest of his champagne. He has kohl smudged around his eyes, making his gaze far more intense as he gives you a once-over. “You look ravishing. Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on the offer to come home with me?”

It would be a lie to say you both haven’t flirted with the idea. There’s something genuine in your friendship, though. Something difficult to find, a twin-flame soul that you’d be hard-pressed to ruin for a bit of publicity. Even if Jimin is the most divine creature you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

It’s out of the question, though. Jimin has become your safehaven in a house of cards world.

Looking him up and down, you let out a long whistle. His hair is freshly dyed bubblegum pink, glittering earrings looped through his ears that scatter the light. Tight black pants with a designer belt and a silk shirt tucked into the waist make him look elegant, the textured Chanel blazer cut perfectly to his narrow frame. 

“Honestly, Mila doesn’t care whether we fuck or not. She still sells that rumor to the press. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. ”

Jimin makes a face at your agent's name. He glances over to where she’s talking up someone from X Entertainment. “She’s a fucking snake.” 

“Well, she’s the snake assigned to me. It’s not like I picked her. As soon as they saw me as marketable, there she was hissing at my door and telling me I have to get in glam to wipe my ass.”

“So bite back. I know you have it in you.” You grimace and reach for a glass of champagne from a tray as it passes you. Jimin sighs as he looks you up and down. “I know you have fangs, little monster.”

You sip the champagne and make a face. It is far too sweet, fizzing on your tongue. “A dragon does not kill the sheep because it feels threatened. It kills when it pleases.”

“My girl. Let’s go around the room, shall we? I want to keep those rumors going.”

With a laugh, you take his hand and let him lead you around the room, passing Mila who grins at you as you go. You try not to leer at her, irritated with her obsession with your relationship with Jimin. When she first noticed that you and Jimin hit it off, she surprised you with an entirely new designer lingerie line. Just because, she had said. A girl should feel powerful and sexy. 

After a few attempts, Mila has finally learned you’re not a dumb little lamb. You’ll take her advice when you want it, but you refuse to let it be at the expense of the single person you trust outside of Yoongi, though Yoongi does not entirely count. As your mentor and senior, he would be horrified to hear you call him a friend. 

After nearly an hour of fake smiles, forced laughter, and far too much champagne, you’re tired and buzzed. You’ve talked to at least ten people on Mila’s long list of celebrities, execs, investors, and influencers that she’s pushed onto you. Another member of that list is standing a few feet away from you, laughing loudly at something Jimin says as she puts her manicured hand on his arm. 

As you contemplate whether or not you should bite the bullet and risk saying hello to Luna, someone behind you says, “She hates you. I think she still holds it against you that you got a producer deal without debuting.” 

Whirling around to identify the voice, you stop short. Jungkook Jeon stares down at you, his eyes just as dark and alluring as they were earlier when you made brief eye contact from across the room. This close, he is taller than you expect. His skin-tight white shirt leaves nothing to the imagination, showing the defined muscles of his stomach and chest, and his perfect, tapered waist. 

It’s a face you’re familiar with, pasted across fashion campaigns and media outlets as he talks about his new single. Your heart is pounding as you drink him in. Soft lips, round cheekbones, and gentle eyes that darken considerably when he watches you look him over.

“Yeah,” you say back, swallowing the rest of your champagne. The carbonation catches you by surprise, making you cough as you swallow the sweet liquid the wrong way. 

He laughs and takes the flute away from you, sticking it on a tray as a server passes by. “Bad swallower?” Instead of answering him, you put one hand on your chest as you cough and the other on his arm, steadying yourself as you lean over and cough, clearing your throat. “Damn, Mozart. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you rasp, feeling your face warm in embarrassment. You remove your hand from his arm and ask, “Mozart?”

“Don’t you do all that composing and shit?”

“I do that producing and shit, yeah.”

“It’s about the same. You’re Min’s prodigy, which means you’re Mozart. And he’s Haydn.” 

“I’m sorry, you know the names of classical composers?”

He smirks. “I know your name.”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know yours.” 

It’s a lie. You both know it is, and the grin that spreads across his face is downright devilish as he sticks his hand out. “Jungkook,” he says. You shake his hand, admiring his tattoos. And his fingers. But mostly his tattoos. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure is mine.”

“I would love to make that come true.”

You raise a brow. “Is this how most of your conversations go? Telling people that others hate them, name-dropping classical musicians, and making sexual innuendos?”

“Honestly? No, but I am having a great time. I will, however, drop the innuendos if they’re not your style.”

You smile. “I didn’t say that.” 

His answering smile makes your stomach flip.  “Want to get a drink?”

“Depends. Are you going to tell me about all these people who hate me?”

“This is my promise to you that I will only ever be honest with you. So yes.”

You gesture toward the bar. “Lead the way, then.”

Bodies press against you as the two of you snake through the crowd. Jungkook turns a few times to check on you and flashes you a quick smile to reassure him that you’re okay. It’s cute, you think. You don’t know much about him, but you’re impressed thus far. 

And perhaps a little intimidated by his star power and reputation. 

At the bar, the crowd pushes you closer, knocking your arm into his. He steadies you, keeping his hand on your elbow. “What’s your poison?” 

“Vodka soda!” you shout back to him. He nods and leans against the bar, giving your order to the bartender. Jungkook draws attention like moths to a flame, people looking at him and whispering behind manicured hands. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

You narrow your eyes as he waits on the drinks, one elbow propped on the bar, his other hand still on your arm. He bites his bottom lip, staring at you. “One might try and say you have something up your sleeve.”

“Nope, just my heart on my sleeve. You’re cute and I’ve heard nice things about you from Jimin. We grew up together.”

“Wait, really?”

That is a surprise to you. Jimin has never mentioned growing up with Jungkook or being remotely friendly of the sort. You frown as you think about it, wondering if Jimin left it out for a reason or felt that it was an unimportant fact. 

“Mhmm.” Jungkook hands you a drink, the glass already sweating from the humidity of the club. “What, Jimin doesn’t brag about me?”

“We don’t gossip about people in the industry.” 

Carefully, the two of you navigate back toward your section. Jungkook finds an empty booth and slides in, patting the seat next to him. You sit down and lean back, kicking your legs out in front of you and crossing them at the ankle. Your dress is short but remains modest, enough to keep people guessing. You take a sip of your drink, the burn making you hiss.

“I so rarely see you at events,” Jungkook says after a sip of his dark drink. “I’ve wanted to introduce myself for a while and then you came in and it was like we had a moment.”

“You mean you wanted it to be a moment.”

“Maybe I did.” He smiles. “So where have you been hiding?”

“Legend of Zelda isn’t going to play itself. I come to the events I feel like are worth it.”

Actually, you come to whatever Mila drags you to. Jungkook doesn’t need to know how most of your time is spent in a music studio with the caffeine shakes trying to perfect songs to make sure you don’t get tossed out on the street.  

He narrows his eyes. “Tears of the Kingdom?”

“Obviously. I’ve been building weapons of mass destruction for days.” 

Jungkook tilts his head back and laughs. “What other games do you like, Mozart?” 

Talking to Jungkook is a pleasant surprise. He isn’t at all what social media makes him out to be. You find he’s incredibly kind, certainly flirty, but also wildly endearing. You feel a little guilty at assuming his veneer would be thin and made of plastic like the rest. 

It certainly doesn’t feel like you’re talking to someone who went number one on Billboard the week prior. Jungkook doesn’t talk about other people he knows or ask about work. He flits through topics like a curious bird, quizzing your interests, scrunching his nose, and pouting when you say something he doesn’t like. 

It’s cute. He’s cute, and you’d be lying if you said that the longer you sat next to him,  you haven’t started to think about what it would be like to taste him. Even if he moves on the next day like his reputation has led you to believe. 

But… there’s something there. A spark, though perhaps a trick of the lights.

-

“You want me to what?” you ask, lowering your voice as you lean into Mila’s ear. 

A raucous chorus of Happy Birthday is being poorly sung on the dance floor. You hadn’t even realized this event was for someone’s birthday, and you have half a mind to ask who the hell you should be wishing a happy day of birth to, but Mila is bitching you out in front of the building’s restrooms. 

Even tucked away in the hall outside of the bathroom, you speak in hushed tones, worried someone will overhear her scheming. She looks down her beaky nose at you, eyes like an eagle. “Fuck him,” she repeats slowly, drawing out the syllables like you’re a toddler. “He’s into you and it would be great for publicity.”

“I’m sorry, but since when do you dictate my sex life?” 

Not only are you a little too buzzed to have this conversation, but the very implication that your agent thinks she can make you fuck Jungkook is hilarious enough to have you start giggling hysterically. Mila watches you with narrowed eyes as you cover your mouth, laughing behind your hands. 

“You are not a naive little girl,” Mila hisses at you. “He wants to fuck you, so let him. He’s attractive, he has influence, and he’s with one of the big four companies. It would be good press.”

“You and the fucking press, you’re obsessed!” 

“No, I’m right. My job is to be right and to tell you what to do, and right now I’m telling you that Jungkook is already known for sticking his dick in anything he can. He’s been staring at you all night. You’d be doing yourself a favor.”

You take a step back from her and hold up your hand. “If I fuck him, it’s because he’s hot and I want to. Not to play political chess for you, understood?”

“In my experience, you either become interesting or watch your career fade. Your time of being interesting is ticking. Your call. I’m getting out of here. Do what you want, like you always do.”

What Mila says hurts but you refuse to let it show, holding out a hand to gesture the way out of the hall. She walks by you brusquely, sweeping her blunt, black hair over her shoulder as she goes. You stand in the dark, the door to the bathrooms opening and closing, flashing bright light and then leaving you in with colors pulsing in front of you as your eyes try to readjust every few seconds. 

A loud group of girls startle you as they stumble out of the bathroom, laughing raucously. They’re a tangle of legs and heels and sweet-smelling perfume, nearly running you over as they sway, a collective mass of bodies. They look exactly like the women you cut out of magazines and pasted in your journal as a kid, dragging your finger over the pretty dresses and the designer names listed in the captions.

Luna stops short when she sees you, straightening and brushing her freshly dyed silver hair out of her face. She is cherubic and beautiful, her round cheeks flushing naturally and doll mouth always rosebud pink. You feel trepidation as she regards you, the girls in her group hanging back a bit as she assesses you.

“How are you?” she questions, settling on polite while flashing you a pointed smile and holding out her arms. 

Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake.

You feel a flicker of anger at yourself as you let her pull you into a hug, resentful that you must play this game. She smells like vodka and vanilla, and when she pulls away, you see the barest hint of white on her nose. You brush your finger back and forth on your nostril. 

“Oh.” She wipes it off with the back of her hand, giving a short, shallow sniff. “Thanks.”

“You look nice,” you offer stiffly. Your tongue is heavy from drinking and you scramble for compliments to say, even if they aren’t true. “I like your new song.”

“Thanks! I have the best producers and writers available out there. They really know exactly what they’re doing.” 

You feel the strain in your smile tighten. Moves and counter moves. “That’s good.”

“My team is great. I’m so thankful I had the opportunity to be with S3vn.”

Luna’s voice is polite. Happy, even. But you hear the double meaning in her words. Remember the way she cut your hair before a major review day when you were sixteen. She’s become better at being mean in a nice way. And you have become better at being unaffected, knowing it is her least favorite response.

“It’s nice to see you, Luna.”

Her smile drops when you don’t get upset. You turn and leave the hallway, palms sweaty and head spinning. Swallowing thickly, you wipe your hands on your exposed thighs and walk back to where Jungkook is sitting, surprised to see Jimin has joined him. He narrows his eyes as you approach, but his expression is overall unreadable.

You sit back down silently on the other side of Jimin, staring off into space. The room feels like it’s spinning. You’re toeing the line of buzzed and drunk, so you sip some water, letting yourself go silent as you absently stare into the crowd, watching the cascading lights, a little lost in them.

Jimin waves his hand back and forth in front of your face. “Are you listening?”

You blink a few times, turning to see him and Jungkook looking at you. “What?”

“Jungkook invited us to an after-party. J-Hope is having some people over.”

“Oh.” 

Chewing on your lip, you let your eyes drift to Jungkook. He gives you a tentative smile, nodding his head in encouragement.

“You should come,” Jungkook encourages with a coy grin. “I’d have fun with you there.”

“Do you want to go?” you ask Jimin quietly, looking back at him. He still has a vague expression, one you can’t figure out. “I’ll only go if you do.” 

“Sure,” he offers. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

-

“So you’re Yoongi’s prodigy? No shit!” Hoseok asks, looking at you from the front seat of the van. City lights blur on the other side of the window and it’s hard to hear him over the screeching singing in the car and the blaring music. “You’re about as hard to meet as Yoongi is!” 

J-Hope - Hoseok, as he has asked you to call him - gives you a bright smile. You just stare at him, shocked that he has any idea who you are. You make a mental note to thank Yoongi for even mentioning your name to him. Hoseok is an absolute powerhouse and someone you’ve followed for years. It’s a good connection.

“Told you that you’d want to meet her,” Jungkook says, voice deep. 

Jungkook’s body presses against yours in the packed-tight vehicle. His hand is on top of your knee. His cologne smells like amber and sandalwood, making your eyelashes flutter as you breathe in. You lay your head back against the headrest of the seat, letting it roll to the side a little to test his reaction when you place your head on his shoulder.

He turns his head toward you, his breath fanning against your forehead. You smell his mint gum. If you look up at him right now, your mouths would be close enough to kiss. “Hi,” he says softly. 

“Hi.”

“You have pretty eyes.”

“I grew them myself.”

Jungkook’s laughter is abrupt. You grin at his mirth. He has a cute laugh, totally at odds with the edgy tattoos and the way he carries himself. The paradox intrigues you.

“That wasn’t very smooth, was it?” 

He shakes his head. “It’s honest. I like it. Your reactions are probably the most genuine thing I’ve seen all night. I like genuine.” 

“There’s not a lot of that to go around.”

“I know. That’s why I’m glad we locked eyes from across the room.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, The Lonely Island.”

Hoseok lives in a luxurious apartment on the east side of the city. The entrance is private in a parking garage, away from wandering eyes. Everyone piles out of the car and when you slide to exit, you find a tattooed hand waiting to help you out.

Grinning, you take Jungkook’s hand. Your fingers tingle where they’re interlocked with his, warmth spreading across your palms. Once you’re out of the car, you start to let go. Jungkook squeezes his fingers tighter, urging you to look up at him. There’s a question in his eyes, gaze flicking down to where your hands are clasped. 

A small grin lights up your face and you squeeze his hand back. He leads you toward the elevator, swinging your hands back and forth. You know this game well: Jungkook is priming you. The hand-holding, the compliments, and the staying near you all night are all his signals to you that he wants you to go home with him.

You want that too, but you also don’t want it to come easy. It’s a risk to make him work harder for it, but you want to see if he will.. 

“Cute,” Jimin mutters, raising a brow as he walks next to you. 

Hoseok’s apartment is a dream. It makes sense for someone with as many writing and choreography credits across the industry as him, in addition to having two top charting albums, a clothing partnership with a popular designer, and countless brand endorsements. 

It’s much nicer than the small but flashy apartment ILIA has put you in. Where your apartment feels like a model home that you can’t leave fingerprints in, Hoseok’s feels authentic. There are hand-selected pieces of art on his walls, a towering bookcase of awards and plaques, blankets and pillows thrown over the couches, books and video game controllers on the coffee table.

Someone gets control of the speaker system and starts pumping hip-hop through the two-story apartment. You navigate to the kitchen where you run into Hwasa pouring drinks. She screams when she sees you, abandoning her bartender duties and making everyone in the kitchen flinch and turn in your direction. You let go of Jungkook’s hand, casting your arms open.

“Helllooooo?!” She grips you tight, kissing your forehead and both cheeks. You laugh, immediately feeling yourself relax having seen a familiar face. The greeting is a little more than you expect, but she’s drunk and happy. You take it in stride. “I cannot believe you’re here and with… well isn’t that new?” 

“Hello, Hwasa.”

“Jeon,” she greets, narrowing her eyes. She tucks you into her arm, pointing a finger at Jungkook. “You better not fuck with this girl, understand me? She is way too cool for your bullshit.”

He rolls his eyes. “What bullshit?”

“I’m so serious. I like her.”

Hwasa lets you go and laughs it off, giving Jungkook a quick kiss on the cheek before going back to her drink-making. Jimin is nowhere in sight, having drifted off to a corner of the living room to chat with Hoseok, leaving you with Jungkook. 

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry about that,” he ventures.

“It happens.”

“Still awkward.” 

“It is,” you snark. You bring your fist up to your mouth, speaking into it like you’re giving an interview. “Jungkook, how does it feel to be put on blast for your spicy endeavors right when you walk into the party?”

You hold your fist out to him, offering him the mic. “Spicy endeavors?” 

“Promiscuous has negative implications and we are sex-positive here.” 

“Wow, such forward-thinking media. I’ve never heard of that before.”

“You never will again, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook shakes his head and chuckles, gesturing to the drinks all over the counter. “You want a drink?” 

“I do.”

With a drink in hand, you both return to the party. There’s dancing going on in a corner of the living room, a card game going on in the dining room, and a smoke session going on around the couches. Jungkook sits on the arm of the couch next to Jimin and another girl you don’t know.

You freeze up a little, unsure where to sit. Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, reaching a hand out as he joins the conversation around the coffee table. You hesitate for a second, a little caught off guard before placing your hand in his and letting him pull you against him, leaning onto his thigh with your hips pressed together. His arm loops around the back of your thighs, hand resting on the outside of your leg. Your hand drops on his shoulder as you lean into him. 

People you know stop and say hi, their eyes lingering for a long time on the way you and Jungkook lean into one another. You ignore them, content to let them wonder how it is a little producer from ILIA got her claws into Jungkook for the night. 

When a weed pen is passed to Jungkook, you watch with curiosity to see what he’ll do. He takes it but looks up at you, raising his brow in question and holding it out like he’s asking for permission. You’re surprised but you nod - you don’t control what he does.  It’s sweet. Surprising, but sweet.

Jungkook takes two short pulls, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction from you. The girl next to him whines, swatting at it and smacking his leg, giggling. You pay it no mind, unworried about the flirting. He’s not yours, and even if he was, it’s your waist he has pressed against him.

Jungkook holds the pen up to you and you make a face. “I don’t know whose mouth has been on that.”

He snorts. “Alright, Mozart. I have my own. Would you prefer that?”

“Yes, I would.” 

Rolling his eyes but smiling, he passes it over to someone else and stands, your hand falling from his shoulder. “Come on, brat. We’ll go to the balcony so we don’t have to share.”

“Thank you, that’s what I deserve.” 

He giggles. “You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

“Imagine if I meant it.”

Jungkook navigates the apartment easily. You follow him, not unaware of the gazes and whispers that pass. You lift your chin. Let them talk. The only opinions that matter to you are those of your bosses, Yoongi, Jimin, and occasionally your mother on a good day. 

Right now, nothing else matters. 

It’s cold outside. You shiver while Jungkook shuts the sliding glass door to the balcony just off the bedroom. Light floods in from the hallway into the room, casting a golden glow behind you. Jungkook leans on the railing, pulling a weed pen from his pocket and waving it in front of you like a prize. 

You snatch it from him, sticking your tongue out. Bringing it to your lips, you suck gently on the tip, filling your mouth with acrid smoke as you inhale. It burns a little, making your eyes water as you let the air and remaining smoke out before passing it back to Jungkook. He echos your movements. 

Leaning against the railing, you look out at the city. It is dazzling from this high up, a home made for a god to watch over their creation. Silence hangs between you, occasionally passing the pen back and forth. The wind feels good, though a little cold. And you appreciate how quiet it is, the sounds of the party muted through the windows. 

Down below, the street looks mostly empty. It’s so far down that you’re not really sure. Your high starts to hit, dulling the edges of everything and making you feel a little soft and floating. You grip the railing a little tighter, looking at Jungkook from the corner of your eye. 

Fuck if he isn’t beautiful. 

“What?” he asks, a smile in his voice as he side-eyes you. “You’ve got a look on your face.”

“Nothing.”

“Mm. Not nothing. What?”

“You’re not what I expected. It’s a really nice change of pace.”

“Ah,” he answers, ducking his head. You grin, realizing that he’s blushing and trying to hide it. You poke his arm, laughing as you prod at him. “Stop, you’re making me shy.”

“You? Shy?” 

“Oh yeah. I am a mess around people. I might seem good at it, but it takes champagne and sometimes a Xanax to get me to operate at a level that’s normal with everyone else.”

“And then do you stay up all night re-thinking every single interaction you had and punishing yourself like why the fuck did I say this very weird thing?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, frowning and tilting his head up toward the sky. “It is exhausting. Sometimes I’m so worried I’m going to embarrass myself that I skip an event altogether and take the fucking verbal beating from the company.” 

“Ugh, Mila would fit right in.”

“She’s kind of a snake, huh?”

You hum. “Jimin called her exactly that earlier tonight.” 

“My agent hates her. Says she’s a total control freak and vicious.” You snort. That is an understatement. “Makes her successful, though. She has some of the world's biggest names under her.” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t choose her. She was assigned to me. Honestly, I don’t think she thought I had any potential to bring her success and be a household name until I won that award for producing Hwasa’s song.” 

“It was a good song.”

You smile distantly, looking out at the hazy lights of the city. Everything feels a little slow and dreamy, your thoughts fluid. “I liked it. I want to do better - be better. A lot of it’s about connections though and I… am not great at that part.”

“I think you’re doing pretty okay.”

Jungkook shifts closer. He’s turned to you, so near that you’re almost touching. He looks down at you through long lashes, watching for your reaction. You look up at him, a little starry eyed and dizzy at his proximity. This close, you can see the freckle just under his mouth. You want to kiss him, but you hold back, feeling your insecurity worm its way in.

“Yeah?” you ask, a little breathy. “Are you saying there’s a connection here?”

“Uh-huh.” He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth. He reaches a hand forward and brushes the underside of your chin, tilting your face up toward him even more. “Come home with me.”

The breath leaves your lungs. You’re not surprised that he’s asked, and yet your body still reacts, adrenaline taking over. His gaze is hungry as he watches you, waiting for your response, finger still propped under your chin like he might kiss you.

“Take me on a date,” you assert. Perhaps it's the drinks and the weed that makes you so bold, but you want more than anyone else has had from him. You want to be different. “Dinner.”

He tries to fight a smile, tonguing the inside of his cheek. The action is wildly attractive for some reason, nearly making you waver and let him take you home now. “Do you like Italian?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

“The day after. I’m busy tomorrow with work.”

He narrows his eyes. “Damn. Gonna make me wait in agony, huh?”

You grin. “I’m worth waiting for.”

“You very much are. Day after tomorrow at eight. Wear something nice.” 

“Fine. Wear those necklaces you wore for your Vogue shoot.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh?” Jungkook purrs. “You like the necklaces?”

“I like to imagine what they look like dangling above my face.”

He shakes his head. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.”

“Good. The day after tomorrow.” You take a step back, a wicked grin on your face. He drops his hand, staring you down. “Don’t be late.” 

-

Jungkook isn’t late and you wish that he was. Cursing over and over again, you pull the knee-high boot up your leg, thankful for the supple, flexible leather that fits your calf. You nearly fall over tugging on the next, finally getting your boots on and standing up straight in front of your mirror out of breath and flustered. 

The outfits had not gone according to plan. Something about going on a date with Jungkook has you feeling all out of sorts, going through enough outfits that your bed is now covered in them. You refused to tell Mila that you were going on the date, knowing that if she caught wind of it, she’d send paparazzi. As it is, Jungkook has assured you he’s gone through the hoops for a private dinner at an upscale Italian restaurant near the river. 

Turning in the mirror, you decide that the short, black dress over sheer black pantyhose paired with platform boots and a long, black peacoat will have to do. Grabbing your phone, you text Jungkook back quickly that you’re coming downstairs, apologizing for the delay.

Jungkook: Like you said, you’re worth waiting for. 

Me: Oh, I can take longer… 

Jungkook: Don’t make me come up there. 

Jungkook: Actually, on second thought, make me come up there.

As you pass your kitchen, you double back and run to the alcohol cabinet, pulling a bottle of tequila down quickly to shoot back a quick swig. It burns your throat, making you cough and squeeze your eyes shut as you hack for a moment, corking the bottle and gasping for air. 

At least it will take the edge off. 

Wiping the traces from your chin, you rush out of your apartment, letting the tequila burn its way through you to set the first layer of calm. In the elevator, you take in a slow, deep breath for five seconds. Exhale for five seconds. Inhale for five seconds.

The elevator dings, making you flinch. Clutching your purse to steady your trembling hands, you step out onto the ground floor of the parking garage where you find Jungkook parked illegally and leaning on the side of the vehicle. 

Slowing your steps, you appreciate the boy and then the car. Jungkook is dressed in black slacks with a belt at the waist and a black, tight-fitted turtleneck. The material of the shirt forms to his body, showing his defined arms and toned chest. 

Jungkook’s hair is slicked back, a single dangling earring on his left lobe paired with the rest of his signature hoops. You have no idea how a single piece of jewelry changes everything about his energy, but your heart rate skyrockets as you approach him, a little shy. 

He lets out a low, slow whistle. “Fuck. You are a knockout.” 

“You look pretty good yourself.”

“Nah, Mozart. You look…” He shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck, laughing a little. “You’re gonna fucking wreck me.”

A nervous laugh escapes you and you chew the inside of your cheek as you stop in front of him, hands crossed in front of you. He pushes off the car, which is a sleek Porsche, and sticks his hand out to you. Tentatively, you place your hand in his. 

Leaning forward, Jungkook places a kiss on your cheek. Your lashes flutter, skin warm. He pulls away with a small smile. “You look beautiful. I mean it.” 

“You’re making me nervous.”

“No kidding, I feel like my heart is about to come out of my chest.”

He’s going to be the death of you. It’s endearing, how honest he is, letting what he’s thinking pour out of his mouth. You’re unsure if it’s part of his game or if it’s genuine, and it puts you a little on edge, trying to guess what’s going through his mind. 

Lacing his fingers with yours, Jungkook escorts you around the car and opens the passenger. The interior of the car smells clean and is lined with white LED lights and red leather seats. You raise your brows as you slide inside, your coat protecting you from the cold leather. 

Jungkook closes your door and rounds the back, slipping into the driver’s side. He turns to you, tilting his head to the side. You fiddle with the buttons on your coat. “What?”

“Kiss me,” he says, sounding breathless. “Kiss me so we don’t have to be nervous anymore.”

“You just want me to kiss you.” 

Jungkook puts his elbow on the center console and leans forward. He looks down his nose at you, eyes focused on your mouth. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to fight a shiver of adrenaline threatening to take over. “So what?”

“Ask me nicely,” you murmur, leaning toward him. You look him in the eye, trying to still your hummingbird heart. This close, you see the flecks of gold in his irises, swirls of brown and caramel. They’re beautiful, framed by silky lashes. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

“Please kiss me.” 

“Hmm?”

“I am begging you to kiss me.”

“Almost…”

“I need you to kiss me.”

So you do. 

Jungkook’s mouth is soft. He laughs in surprise but leans into the kiss, slotting his mouth against yours firmly. It’s innocent and sweet, just a gentle brush of lips. You pull away, noses bumping against one another as he rests his forehead on yours. 

It’s quiet and cold in the interior of the car, only the sound of your shallow breathing and the hum of the engine audible. Something electric courses through your veins, ignited by the feeling of his mouth against yours and you immediately want more. You’ve never felt this sudden, carnal desire before. This need to fall into him. 

For a second, you fight it. Then, you give in. 

Leaning forward, you catch Jungkook’s lips in a real kiss. It’s slow at first. You catch him off guard but he’s quick to keep up, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth greedily. Dizziness makes your world spin. You press up against the center console, sliding your tongue gently against his. Jungkook reaches a hand up to your face, cradling you as he deepens the kiss. 

His mouth tastes like spearmint gum. Your skin is overheating, and you suddenly feel  stuffy and constricted in your jacket. Jungkook breaks the kiss, panting against your lips as he presses chaste kisses to the side of your mouth and lips. 

“Did you drink tequila?” he asks, voice husky. He starts kissing your jaw and your head lolls to the side, eyelids fluttering. “Tastes like it.”

“I was nervous,” you pant, almost moaning as his tongue flicks out to lick at your skin. “So I took a shot.”

“I make you that nervous?” His teeth pull at your earlobe. You sink further into the seat, starting to turn boneless. You feel like you’re melting at the joints, abruptly unable to string together a sentence under the attention of his greedy, warm mouth. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re supposed to take me to dinner.”

“Oh, I am. And then we'll order ice cream, and then we’re going home.” 

“Oh?” 

“My home. I have necklaces to show you.”

“Fuck.” 

Reluctantly, Jungkook pulls away. His lips are wet and a little dark from kissing you, his eyes wild. You watch him from where you’re sunken in the seat, a little wrecked from just kissing. You realize that Jungkook has the potential to ruin you. To crack you open and devour you.

And you let him. 

Reaching across the car, you cradle his face, thumb pulling at his bottom lip, damp with your lip gloss and spit. “Pretty,” you murmur. His tongue darts out, laving across your thumb. You grin. “Dangerous.” 

“Not with you.” 

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Well, I mean it.”

“We barely know each other.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care. I have a sense for these things.”

“Mmm.” You drop your hand from his face. “Dinner, then. And ice cream. And then home.” 

-

Jungkook’s first lie is that he’s not dangerous with you. He nearly kills you several times on the way to dinner, leaning over at almost every stoplight to bring your mouth to his again. His mouth is addictive, each kiss intense and intended to make you fall further and further into this waking dream you’re in. 

By the time the valet opens your door to a private entrance at the restaurant and helps you out, you think you might be entirely drunk on Jungkook’s kisses alone. He laces his fingers with yours, pulling you close as you walk up toward the back of the restaurant.

Inside is a dark hall, barely lit by fixtures in the ceiling casting gold light. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust as Jungkook gives the host his name. To your right is a curtain with the soft hush of diners and piano music. To your left is another curtain with no sound coming through. 

“Thank you for choosing us, Mr. Jeon. Right this way.”

The host bows his head slightly, guiding you to the left curtain. He pulls it open and gestures for you to enter. You step through after Jungkook, raising your brows when you realize it’s a private dining room. It looks reserved for events and parties perhaps, but the room is furnished with a single table and rich, mahogany chairs. 

Velvet drapery covers the walls and a large, crystal chandelier hangs over the table. The heels of your boots click on the hardwood floors as Jungkook leads you to your seat, letting go of your hand to pull out the chair. You flash him a smile, sitting as he helps you scoot in. 

He sits across from you, adjusting his shirt sleeves. Your eyes momentarily get sidetracked when you realize he has on the layered necklaces you ask for, and you grin before averting your attention to the host who instructs that the chef and the sommelier will be with you momentarily to talk about your dining options for the evening.

When he leaves, it’s just you and Jungkook with the soft sound of piano trailing from somewhere distant. You level your gaze on him, watching him watch you. The setting feels intimate, leaving you a little overwhelmed but in a good way. You’ve gone on dates, but not like this. 

“What?” he questions gently. “You have a look on your face.”

“I’m just impressed, is all.”

“It only gets better from here. I have so many ideas for dates.” 

“Oh? Plural?”

“Mhmm.” He leans back in his seat, tonguing his cheek. “If all goes well, anyway.” 

“So far so good.” 

The sommelier and the chef arrive together, hands tucked behind their backs. It’s hard to pay them much mind. Jungkook is distracting, even as he gives them his full attention, nodding along and answering their questions. He looks to you for input, but you feel a little useless, barely listening to what they’re saying. 

“Trust me enough to order?” he asks, leaning over the table conspiratorially. 

“Well, you’re with me, so you must have good taste. I trust you.” 

His foot nudges your ankle under the table playfully. He orders a round of appetizers and wine. When the sommelier asks you to sample it, you follow Jungkook's lead, inhaling the dark red lightly. It smells strongly of cherries and something sweet, making your mouth water. The taste is lush and wonderful, pleasing to the palate. 

The sommelier bows and leaves the two of you alone, vanishing behind the curtain. Jungkook lifts his wine glass to you, smiling. “Here’s to our first date and many more.” 

“Cheers.” 

After a sip, you set your glass down and look at Jungkook from across the table. “Was it absolutely painful, waiting for today?”

“I hardly survived, to be honest. All day yesterday I lay in bed dreaming of today.”

“Hmm. Is that all you dream about?”

His gaze darkens. “Careful, Mozart. I dream very vividly.”

Jungkook does impress you. With his knowledge about a wide variety of topics, with the charming expressions he uses as he speaks, with… him overall. He’s multifaceted in a way you rarely get to see with others, and you feel giddy as you listen to him.

Though you have a similar experience getting into music, it’s nice to hear Jungkook’s story. You keep it light, avoiding the darker parts of going through trainee programs and how competitive and hard it was to be a kid, growing up while working. 

He asks you about music. Not just the music you work on, but the music you grew up listening to, your favorite genres, and the technical aspects of making music. Jungkook is intelligent and familiar with the mechanics of making records. He asks questions and nods along, interested and curious in learning. 

You can’t remember the last time you had a conversation go this well, even outside of dates. When you urged Jungkook to take you on a date, you weren’t sure you’d end up liking him. Now though, as he lets you take the last stuffed mushroom because you can have whatever you want, you realize that you like him. 

It is such a dangerous game to play, especially with the rumors you hear about him. 

Instead of thinking about it, you enjoy dinner. You both finish the bottle of wine and he orders another. You’re feeling loose and warm, laughing more often and giving him lazy smiles. Even without the wine, you want to drag him to the bathroom and get on your knees. Now with a few glasses in, you’re thinking about it more and more. 

Dinner sobers you up a little, but it doesn’t remove the heat between your legs and the growing desire to kiss him again. You think about the way his mouth moved against yours, tongue gentle and talented. Your mind wanders into places less innocent, especially after dinner comes to an end and ice cream is brought out, as promised.

Jungkook carves the spoon through the dessert, leaning forward with it held out. You smirk, leaning to meet him halfway to let him slide the ice cream into your mouth. Cold vanilla melts on your tongue. It’s good and creamy, but you hardly pay attention to the taste, eyes fastened to Jungkook’s. 

“Good?” His voice is deep, soft. “I want to taste.”

You pick up your spoon, picking up a small scoop. You hold it out to him and he repeats your motion, bending to meet you. His eyes don’t leave yours as he eats it, tongue running over the bottom of his lip after to catch any extra. 

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, getting up abruptly. He holds his hand out to you and you place yours in his. He hoists you up and surprises you by pulling you into his chest. “We’re going.” 

You lean up on your toes, stealing his lips with yours. They taste like the wine you’ve been drinking. Your mouth tingles as you kiss him and your thoughts are cottony and slow, only focused on the way he hums, leaning forward to swipe his tongue eagerly into your mouth.

The kiss turns a little messy. You’re woozy, letting him bend you backward as he steals the breath from your lungs. Jungkook is intoxicating, your hand dropping his to wrap around his neck. You thread your fingers through the waves at the nape of his neck. They’re silky soft, sliding between your fingers. You tug a little, pulling a groan low in his throat.

“Careful or I will fuck you here,” he pants, spit-slicked mouth moving against yours. You run your tongue along his bottom lip, tasting more wine. “Devil.” 

“What’s stopping you?” 

Jungkook pulls away from you, holding you at arm's length. You stare up at him, eyes heavy. You feel arousal pool in your stomach with the way he looks at you, his mouth wine-stained. 

“That’s how you want it?” His tone is threatening. Laced with something carnal. Your stomach flutters as you nod. You’re not thinking about anything but him, not worried about anything. “Fuck.”

Without hesitation, he grabs you by the hand and pulls you across the floor. You follow him eagerly, heart hammering as Jungkook all but kicks the private bathroom door open. He yanks you inside and spins you, pushing you toward an elegant sink.

The bathroom is dark. The walls are painted black and the gold-fixtured lighting is dim. It would be romantic if Jungkook wasn’t flicking the lock behind him and advancing on you. Just as he reaches for you, you surprise him, dropping to your knees and looking up through your lashes. 

He raises his brows, looking down at you, heat behind his eyes. You lift your hand to the zipper of his pants, slowly pulling it down, pausing for permission.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, nodding. “Take what you want.”

Licking your lips, you do exactly that. Your fingers are nimble as you undo the button at the top of his pants. You pull them down a little, just enough to get them out of your way. You eye the hardening outline of his cock against his briefs, breath catching. 

You look up at him. “You have a huge cock, don’t you?”

He sticks out his tongue between his teeth. “Why don’t you find out, hmm?”

Leaning high up on your knees, you lick the outline of his cock, watching as he shivers. You run your tongue to the tip of his cock, stopping to mouth at it. He curses, hips twitching as you soak the fabric with your mouth, placing your hands on his thighs.

Muscles twitch under your palms. You dig your nails in and scratch upward, the fabric hissing underneath your fingers. Reaching the waistband of his briefs, you pull down agonizingly slow. Jungkook’s fingers twitch at his sides, but he lets you do what you want, breathing heavily through parted lips. 

Jungkook’s cock springs out. You feel your mouth water at his thick length, already hard from the barest stimulation. Pearly beads of precum decorate the dark tip. You hum, contented as you stick your tongue out and give a quick kitten lick to the base of his shaft. 

He hisses, hips twitching forward. Teasing him, you trace your tongue along a vein on the underside of his cock until you reach the tip, circling the swollen head with your tongue generously. Jungkook closes his eyes, his head falling backward.

You grip him firmly, gathering saliva in your mouth before spitting on his cock. He moans out loud and you grin, pumping him slowly while ducking under your hand to lave your tongue across his balls. He curses and a hand shoots to your head, not pushing you, but fingers pressed tight against your skull.

“Fuck, you like being a little slut?” he growls. 

“Mhmm,” you answer back, pulling his cockhead into your mouth. His salty precum melts on your tongue. 

Jungkook fills your mouth. You feel the stretch on the sides of your lips as you take him in properly. You let spit pool on your tongue as you slide down his cock, slurping gently as you do. It’s messy and wet and a little clumsy, the wine making you uncoordinated. 

It doesn’t matter. His fingers press into your hair as you set a rhythm, bobbing your head and sucking gently while your hand pumps what you can’t fit in your mouth. Jungkook pants above you, his soft moans echoing off the tile. 

The sounds he makes spur you further. Drool runs down your chin as he succumbs. You watch him through misty eyes, the crown of his cock kissing the back of your throat as you try to take him further than you can manage. You feel your throat constrict, coughing a bit as you pull off of him, twisting your wrist as you work him and gasp for air.

Spit and precum connect your lips to his cock in a thick string. It breaks when you cough, eyes stinging. 

“Yeah?” he asks, gritting his teeth. “Like choking on that fucking cock?”

You run the flat of your tongue over his frenulum, making him wine. “Like hearing you moan,” you admit. The slick sound of your hand stroking him makes you squeeze your legs together. “It makes me so fucking wet.” 

“Show me.”

Jungkook’s hands go to yours. He pulls you up by the wrists. Your knees feel wobbly but he holds you steady, pressing you against the counter. He steals a searing kiss from you that is more tongue than lips, hands skimming up your arms and down your sides until he’s at the hem of your dress where he pauses. 

“This okay?” Your eyelids flutter open. His nose is pressed against yours, eyes steady. “We can stop whenever or if you’re too drunk.”

“I’m not.” It’s true, you’re a little drunk off the wine, but your head is clear. You know exactly what you want and your thoughts are concise. There are no hesitations and you don’t care that you’re in a bathroom, face wet with mixed fluids. “Want it.”

“Mmm.” 

Jungkook slips a hand under your dress, fingers brushing over your soft thighs. It feels good, his dragging touch enticing. Your head tilts back, allowing him to press hot, wet kisses on your throat. His fingers pick at the garter belt secured to your pantyhose, making him groan.

“I wanna see these later.”

“You will.”

He licks your neck. “Good.”

You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his mouth sucking gently at your throat while his hand slides to your underwear. He presses the pads of his fingers over the silk, just enough to make your thighs close around his hand, gasping. 

“You are wet.” There’s a smile in his voice. He moves his fingers in a gentle circle, applying pressure to the damp spot on your underwear. “Sucking me off did that?” 

“And the ice cream.”

“Oh? Watching me eat ice cream, huh?”

“Sorry about it.”

“Don’t be.” He hooks a finger and pulls your panties to the side, touching your sticky folds properly. A moan slips out of your mouth. You can feel your heart slamming in your chest so hard you think you might have a cardiac episode. “You can watch me eat your pussy later.” 

Between the implication that there is a later and thereby more after this, and the way Jungkook’s fingers slip up and down your heat, you’re a goner. It feels so good, some of the pressure between your legs relieved as he teases your clit.

Spreading your legs wider, you lean hard into the bathroom counter. It hurts where it presses against your spine but you ignore it, content to let him push you until your head hits the mirror. 

Jungkook’s fingers tease your hole, leaving your cunt clenching. You whine, bringing your hands to his face to pull him off your neck and to your mouth, biting his lip playfully. 

“Fuck me,” you ask between kisses, mouths smacking loudly. “Wanna feel you stretch me out.”

“Can’t even wait until we’re home?”

“You can fuck me there too.”

He laughs darkly. “Demon.”

Jungkook removes his hand from between your legs and bends at the knee, grabbing you behind the thighs. You jump lightly and he lifts you, putting you on the counter. Your dress hikes up, baring your glistening cunt to him, underwear still pulled to the side. 

Balmy air kisses your skin. It’s hot in the bathroom as he cages you in, tattooed hand pumping his cock. You’re bent out of shape, spreading your legs and feeling the strain of the straps on your garner belt as you stretch them. 

Reaching between your legs, you pull your underwear farther to the side, ensuring they won’t be in the way. He shakes his head, eying your heat hungrily as he runs the tip of his dick up and down your messy folds. It feels good but it’s not enough, making you squirm and whine audibly. 

He tuts at you, sliding his hand up to press the head of his cock into your dripping hole. Your eyes roll back, feeling the pressure of him splitting you open as he sinks in. The stretch of him aches in pleasure-pain, your pussy opening up for every inch that he feeds you.

“Shit you’re tight,” he gasps, falling forward to rest his head on your shoulder. His back muscles strain against his shirt as he pushes in the rest of the way, bottoming out until you’re stuffed full, walls fluttering around him. “God, I could come just like this.”

“Pussy whipped?” 

“Fuck, I’m gonna be.”

One of your hands goes around his neck, nails pressing into his skin. He sucks in air sharply. Your other hand drifts to his ass, grabbing him and squeezing. “Please make me come. I need it.” 

Instead of answering verbally, he starts to fuck into you. It’s not a slow build or something passionate. It’s needy and heady and desperate. He sets a brutal pace and you can’t help but let out a loud moan, the shape of his name escaping you.

The feeling is addicting. You cling to him, jostling against the sink as he fucks you. The wet sound of your cunt around him is loud and lewd, backtracked by your breathy moans getting louder and higher-pitched. You feel yourself shaking, fingers digging into him as he grabs your hips, holding you down to the counter.

Jungkook’s breath fans your neck, his face buried there. He curses, occasionally biting your tender skin, making you squeal. You can feel the ghost of a smile against you, his tongue soothing your stinging flesh. 

Grabbing one of your thighs, he hikes your leg higher. You slide into the sink, nearly bent in half as he changes the angle. He hits your spot on the upstroke, almost sending you into an orgasm immediately. The tension in your stomach is so tight you think you’re going to unravel. 

Instead, it climbs higher and higher. You can barely breathe as he straightens to fuck you even harder. The faucet digs into your back. You don’t care, grabbing the counter as you cling to it for life, babbling. Nothing that comes out of your mouth makes any sense and just when you think you can’t take it anymore, you come. Hard. 

Everything in your body locks up. You spasm around him, squeezing his cock for everything it's worth. Your orgasm is swift and powerful, taking the breath from you for a long moment before you finally manage to gasp for air, sagging against the sink. 

With a few messy pumps, Jungkook comes with a loud curse, head tossed back, hips slamming yours. You can feel your release between the two of you, sticky and running down your thighs. His thrusts slow until he’s left softening inside of you.

Come leaks when he slowly pulls out. The drip is obscene but you’re too fucked out to care, looking up at him in a daze. It smells like sex in the bathroom and a light layer of sweat covers your skin. 

Carefully, Jungkook tucks himself back in his pants before ripping paper towels out of the dispenser to gently wipe at your thighs. You laugh and let him take care of you, grateful that he does. He swipes one greedy finger up your pussy and pops it into his mouth, making your jaw drop.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to eat you out later.”

You chew your lip as he finishes wiping the mess from your lower half. “So there is a later, still?”

He looks dubious. “I told you that you were coming home with me.”

“I know I just thought maybe…”

“That I was gonna fuck you in a bathroom and that would be what I wanted?” You nod. “I told you, I want more dates. Something about you, Mozart. Also, you letting me fold you in half in a bathroom makes me want to drop down on one knee.”

It pleases you to hear that more than you care to admit. 

With Jungkook’s help, you ease off the counter. At a glance in the mirror, you burst into hysterical laughter. Your mascara is smudged, your mouth is wet, and you look wrecked. He laughs too, caging you in and reaching around you to turn on the faucet, running the tips of his fingers underneath and bringing them up to gently wipe under your eyes.

You smile at him as he attempts to make the running makeup less noticeable. When he finishes, he turns off the faucet but remains pressed to your back, arms looped casually around you. He has a small smile, staring at you in the mirror.

“What?” you ask, laughing.

“This is going to sound stupid,” he prefaces. “But I just feel something here. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Post-nut clarity?”

He presses his pelvis into you. “No. It’s just like this really silly… I don’t know. Crush. But it just feels right.”

Surprisingly, you understand what he means. This spark you feel with him is new to you. There’s never been anyone else you feel so natural with, so immediately attracted to. Certainly not enough to throw inhibition to the wind and suck them off in a bathroom. 

Something about Jungkook lights you up, a candle catching fire and burning through the wick hot and fast. People might call it reckless and immature, but you don’t know how else to explain this innate desire to jump in head-first with him. 

“I feel it too.” 

He kisses the back of your head. “Come on. I’m not done with you yet.” 

-

You feel lost in the lights on the way home. Jungkook’s hand settles on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth. He’s a little subdued, focusing on the road. You don’t distract him, content to adjust the air conditioning so that it cools you off, your skin on fire from the wine and Jungkook. 

The night certainly went in a direction you weren’t planning, but you don’t mind. Jungkook excites you. Perhaps it is a little rash and naive, but you don’t care, enamored by the layers of him. You want to peel back more, to dig to the core until he’s yours. 

Whatever the madness is, it appears to be equal. When Jungkook pulls into the luxury apartment building known for high-profile celebrities and government officials, he’s on you again, pulling you across the car to meld your mouths together. 

Dull pain blooms in your mouth, lips bruised from kissing him. You don’t care, eager to slot your tongue against his, brushing against the wet-rough feel of it. 

“Come on,” he whispers, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. “Let’s go upstairs.”

It should not surprise you when Jungkook swipes a key fob and selects the penthouse apartment, but it does. It shocks you even more when the elevator opens into a four-level home. Your mouth drops open a little as you enter, Jungkook’s fingers laced with yours. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch the entire four-story home. From where you stand in the entryway, you can see multiple open-concept rooms, each ornately decorated with a modern style and neutral tones. Nothing about what you can see screams Jungkook, suggesting that his label has put him here - has the money to put him here.

The thought itself is staggering, momentarily reminding you who you just let fuck you senseless in the bathroom at an upscale restaurant. Letting Jungkook’s hand go, you wander into the main room of the apartment, stepping down into the sunken living room with large, curved couches surrounding a coffee table.

Above you, a massive glass artwork of floating lights hovers. They’re turned off, but it looks like a sculpture project most likely commissioned by a wildly expensive artist. Jungkook joins you in front of the towering windows overlooking a wide terrace. The sheer curtains do nothing to hide the twinkling lights of the city. 

It gives the illusion that you’re among the stars. Jungkook leans over and presses a button on the remote. The curtains quietly begin to roll open, revealing the view in full. It is breathtaking, much more magnificent than the view from Hoseok’s apartment. 

“They really pulled out all the stops for you,” you murmur, turning to look at him. He toes the carpet, twisting his mouth as he blushes. “This is insane.”

“It’s too much.”

“A little bit. But it’s cool.”

He smiles and reaches a hand out. “Let me show you the rest tomorrow after breakfast.”

You take his hand and let him pull you along toward the winding staircase. “I want waffles.” 

“And in the morning, I’m making waffles!”

You both dissolve into laughter at the Shrek reference. Jungkook pulls you up the steps until you’re on the top floor, which is made up of a spacious bedroom with windows that overlook the city, an ornate bathroom you can only see the door to, what you assume is a walk-in closet, and an additional terrace with an infinity pool, firepit area, and bar. 

The bedroom is more of Jungkook’s style. It’s not nearly as pristine, the sheets and blankets rumpled, all dark grey tones. There are shoes by the closet door and a shelf in the far corner with action figures and collectibles that you don’t recognize. 

In the middle of the room stretches an impossibly large bed with modern sconces on either side. Medication, a glass of water, and a watch are on the nightstand next to the bed. And no signs of other suitors, you notice, but you push the thought out of your mind as Jungkook pulls you backward toward his bed, smiling.

This time you’re slower. He sits on the bed, pulling you by the waist to straddle him. Your knees sink feather-soft into the mattress on either side of him, settling yourself on his thighs as you draw him in for a kiss. You hold him gently by the jaw, fingers spread and pressing warm into his skin. 

Jungkook’s hands skate around your hips to your ass, squeezing gently as your tongues dance together. Your buzz from the wine is gone now, replaced with desire burning through you, hot as a torch. It doesn’t feel needy and crazed now, but a little softer. More intimate. 

Carefully, Jungkook leans backward, taking you with him. You squeal into his mouth as you land on top of him, arms giving out. You crash into his chest, though not too hard. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He places his hands on your waist and precariously rolls over, managing not to knock heads and limbs as he places you under him. His knee slots between your legs, hands leaving your waist to bracket your head. “God damn, you are beautiful.”

It’s strange. You feel beautiful - or at least, you feel desired under him. Perhaps it is not the same thing, but the way Jungkook looks at you with swollen lips and starry eyes, you feel powerful. Godly, even. 

He dips back down, pressing a kiss to your mouth and one to your jaw. He leaves a wake of heat, stealing your breath away. Leaning back, you give him access to map the tender flesh of your throat and collarbones, threading your fingers through his hair. 

Eyes closed, you let the world spin. His mouth is the finest delicacy, pressing kisses that are butterfly-soft all over your heated skin as he pulls the straps of your dress. You help him by slipping your arms out. He gathers the fabric and pulls down, sitting up as he does so.

Silk rolls against your skin. It’s cool in his bedroom, making you shiver as he reveals your lacy bra and matching garter. He tosses the dress, sitting high up on his knees as you lay splayed out for him. 

“You know,” he ventures. “Normally I don’t like lingerie.” His fingers trace the swells of your breasts. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, goosebumps breaking out on your skin from the tantalizing touch. “But I could get used to it on you.”

“I only wear it on special occasions.” 

Jungkook lowers himself, planting a wet kiss on the top of your right breast. “What’s the occasion?” 

“I needed something to hold up my pantyhose.”

His laugh cools the fresh trail of spit he leaves on your skin, earning a violent shiver from you. He notices, eyes flicking up to look at you. They’re endless pools of dark, watching your every move as he slow-drags a finger up your stomach to the top of your bra. He hooks his finger over the top of the cup and pulls gently, the fabric scraping your over-sensitive nipple. 

Everything he does feels overwhelmingly erotic. You watch, hypnotized and out of breath as he sticks out his tongue, circling your nipple lazily but not giving it attention directly. You let out a wavering moan, voice gone. 

Oh so slowly, Jungkook flicks his tongue over the hardened peak of your nipple. You bow up into him, wanting more. He tsks at you and you go flat on the bed, fisting the sheets tightly to ground yourself as he grins, delighted. 

“You listen well, huh?” You nod, head heavy. You can’t think of any words, thoughts bleeding together like liquid spilled across a watercolor canvas. “Is that how you like it? Being told what to do like a good girl?”

“Yes.” You suck in a sharp breath as Jungkook scrapes his teeth generously over your nipple. 

“You weren’t a very good girl when you got on your knees and swallowed my cock whole in the bathroom.” He flicks his tongue back and forth, sending your eyes to the back of your head as you squirm underneath him. “You were quite the dirty girl, huh?”

“Both.”

Instead of answering you, Jungkook envelops your bud fully, sucking gently. Pleasure rolls through you, your pussy beginning to slow ache with arousal. Your head falls to the side, and you’re only able to pant and dig your nails into his sides where you grab him, either to hold him to you or push him away; you’re not sure.

Jungkook’s mouth is wicked, lavishing your tits. He sucks greedily, noisy as he slides his tongue from one breast to the other. When you look at him, you see sin. Your chest shines in the glowing light of the city with the evidence of his oral fixation, turning you on even more. 

Your underwear sticks to you uncomfortably and your toes curl. It feels so good but you need so much more, dripping in a way that is maddening as he starts to trail his mouth downward. He is so so slow, tasting your skin, hands skimming your sides, scraping blunt nails across your sensitive flesh. 

He’s hardly done anything and yet you’re shaking underneath him, more sensitive and turned on than you’ve ever been. You cannot recall ever being this close to falling apart from just having someone touch you and play with your tits.

But it’s the way Jungkook looks at you. The movements of his hands on your skin. The way every single brush of his tongue and every drag of his teeth scraping over you seems perfectly timed. Attuned. 

It feels like Jungkook already knows every part of your body, and something about that both terrifies and excites you, kicking your adrenaline into high gear, heart rattling, pulse beating in your neck. 

With hooded eyes, you watch Jungkook unclasp the garter belt. He is gentle and methodical, pulling every layer of clothing off with a touch so reverent that it can only be holy. He is solely focused on his task, tasting your skin when his mouth draws near enough to feel you. 

When he has you naked and shaking, he sinks to the floor in front of the bed, hands pressing your thighs open. You feel how much of a mess you are, slick and cold as the air hits you. You whimper, pussy aching to the point of madness. 

Jungkook chuckles. “Yeah? Does it ache, baby?”

“Uh-huh.”

He blows cool air right onto your pussy. The sensation is a pleasure-sting, making you twist in his hands, trying to angle away from him to escape the cold. He laughs again, pinning your hips firmly to the bed while he presses hot-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. 

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs into your skin. “I told you that you were going to watch me eat this pussy.” 

With effort, you lean up on your elbows, watching with your mouth parted as Jungkook tilts forward agonizingly slow to run the flat of his tongue up your cunt. Your fingers squeeze the sheets, thighs flexing under his firm hands. It feels so good but it looks even better. 

He smirks, dipping down again to slow-lick you from top to bottom. You’re hypnotized, feeling your stomach lurch violently at how good it feels and how good he looks sliding his tongue through your wetness. 

“Taste just as sweet as that ice cream,” he murmurs, sliding his hands closer to the apex of your thighs to hold you open. He catches your clit with his lips, sucking softly. Your head falls back as sparks explode under your skin. “Mmm. Like this so much better though.” 

“Feels so good,” you rasp, lifting your head to fixate your eyes on him again. “Fuck, Jungkook.” 

His tongue dips into your hole, tasting you further, drinking you in. “How do you like it?” he asks, tongue slowly zigzagging upward to circle your bundle of nerves. You’re trembling under him, fingers going numb with how tight you hold the sheets. “Slow? Fast? Messy?”

“Messy.”

He hums and brings his entire mouth to you, sucking greedily, tongue laving back and forth. You fall backward, unable to support yourself as he complies with your request. You bring a hand up to cover your face, trying to catch your breath. 

“Shit,” you gasp. 

Jungkook presses his face into your cunt, licking and slurping at you. The sounds are pornographic and you don’t care, your other hand going down between your legs to card through his hair, pulling gently. He grunts in appreciation, fucking his tongue into you, wiggling expertly. 

You feel thoroughly fucked. Your limbs are heavy, the world spinning as he devours you. He lets your hips cant against his face, encouraging you with soft little hums, mouth smacking against you. 

“This fucking pussy,” Jungkook swears, sucking harshly at your folds. “Fuck.”

“Wanna taste,” you beg, thoughts sticky. “Lemme.”

“Fuck.”

Jungkook’s tongue slides through your folds before he stands up, leaning over you. You turn to look at him - his eyes are blown, the bottom half of his face shining with your juice. You whine and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out eagerly. He follows your lead, grabbing your jaw and squeezing as he gathers your slick and his spit in his mouth before letting it drip into yours. 

You can barely taste yourself but you fold your tongue in anyway, closing your mouth to swallow. He seems dazed, pupils dilated and wild as he crashes his mouth to yours. Your teeth click together and you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself properly for a moment before he breaks away and drops back down, attaching his mouth to your pussy.

This time, Jungkook is vicious. He pulls you to the edge of insanity, your thighs closed around his head, his grip on your legs iron. He whips his head back and forth, tongue pressed hot and heavy against you. You climb climb climb climb -

You break. 

Everything in you seizes. You writhe in his hands, coming hard against his mouth. He doesn’t stop, mouthing you through your orgasm until you’re screaming and pushing at his forehead, the stimulation morphing from white-hot bliss to pleasure-laced pain. 

Jungkook lets you push him away only for him to climb up your body, ripping his shirt up as he goes. Your arms feel heavy and sluggish as you pull at his belt. Your fingers fumble, unable to work the button and the zipper, making him laugh.

“I got it,” he whispers, leaning forward to steal a brazen kiss. “You good?”

You nod, unable to form words. You are good, but you’re still dizzy from the orgasm. 

Still, seeing him strip off his shirt has you ready to go again. You lean forward, hand running up the flexing planes of his abs as he shuffles out of his pants. His body is beautiful - cut lines meeting soft skin, whorls of ink staining his arm and chest. His thighs are powerful, flexing as he kicks off his briefs, freeing his hard, heavy cock. 

You reach for him, grasping him in your hand and guiding him toward your messy heat. Jungkook groans as you run his swollen head up and down your folds, making his cock shine with your arousal. 

“Just like that,” he rasps, nodding his head. “Make it nice and fucking wet.”

After a few shallow thrusts, you take the tip and press down into your entrance. You feel a slight ache as he stretches you open despite having fucked you less than an hour ago. You pant through it, watching between your legs as he presses in until his hips are flush with yours. 

It is a tight fit. Full. But so, so good. Jungkook leans forward, placing his hands on either side of his head. You look up to see his necklaces dangling in your face, making you grin. You tug on them, bringing his mouth down to yours for a slow, gentle kiss. 

When he pulls away, he smiles. “Wore them just for you.” 

“Mmm good. Fuck me, please. Feels so full.” 

Jungkook’s left hand goes down, hiking your leg up around his waist. This time is different. He sets the pace slow, pulling all the way out and then gliding back in. You’re drenched enough to make the slide easy, your walls stretching around him the more he fucks you, setting a steady rhythm. 

Pleasure spreads from your cunt outward, unfurling like a blossom. The gentle drag of his cock is mind-numbing, your hands sliding up your stomach to cup your chest, squeezing your tits. He groans in appreciation, picking up his pace a little, the wet slap of skin against skin backtracked by your loud, heavy breathing. 

Sheets cling to your damp skin. You feel your chest heaving, Jungkook’s skin sliding against yours as he pulls you closer. You raise your hips, rolling into him, meeting his thrusts. Your hands slip on his arms, trying to find purchase on anything to ground you. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, trying to catch his breath. 

He pulls away and grabs both of your legs, making you slip. He’s careful not to pull out, pressing your legs together and hooking them side-by-side over his right shoulder, leaning in. The strain on your thighs feels good and the angle hits deep. 

You bring a hand to your mouth, biting into your knuckle. The pain is like a relief, an outlet to channel the pent-up orgasm building like an indestructible storm inside of you. 

Soft, deep moans drip from Jungkook’s mouth. Your feet flex, your body curling as the pleasure spreads. It’s like you can't sit still, every part of you exposed and raw, sparking with electricity as he drives his hips forward relentlessly. 

Your sweaty calf slips off of his shoulder. He slows and taps you on the leg. “Wanna ride me, baby?”

“Yeah. Wanna sit on it.”

“Good girl.”

You preen under the praise. He pulls out, leaving a wet trail of fluid as he does. You’re both a little fuck-drunk and uncoordinated, switching places as he tosses himself on his back, reaching up to grab pillows and stuff them under his shoulders and head.

Facing the windows, you throw a leg over his hips, surprising him by turning your back to him. He growls and slaps a hand on your ass, the sound loud in the room. You moan, spurred by the sting as you shift down to his hips. 

Grabbing his wet cock, you hover over the tip, carefully sinking down his shaft. This angle makes him so much deeper - you swear you feel him in your stomach. Speared to capacity, you take a moment to breathe, overwhelmed and overheated. Jungkook doesn’t mind, content to knead your ass and hips, fingers pressing into muscle and relieving tension. 

“That feels so nice,” you sigh, head rolling to the side. You close your eyes, pussy twitching and stuff full. 

“Yeah? I’ll give you a massage this week.”

“You’re promising me so many things.”

“Have to keep you on the hook.”

“And on your cock?”

He squeezes the globes of your ass. “Definitely on my cock. Feel so good wrapped around me.” 

Leaning forward, you put your hands on his shins, using him as leverage to slowly lift yourself. The drag feels delicious, and when you drop back down, it feels like the air is punched from your lungs. You fuck yourself on him at your own pace, listening to the sound of him falling apart, occasionally his hands cracking your cheeks. 

Biting your lip, you drive yourself to the edge of madness, shaking as your head falls forward between your arms, his name dropping from your mouth. Jungkook slides his hands under you, adding his assistance as he lifts you up and down his cock, helping you bounce. It’s wet and nasty and you don’t care, enjoying every second of it.

“Can I play with this pretty little asshole?” he asks, voice rough. 

“Uh-huh.”

Wet fingers slide between your cheeks. Jungkook presses a finger to your tight rim, not enough to breach but just enough to give mind-melting stimulation. You grind yourself in his lap, focusing on the way it feels every time you roll your hips. Jungkook’s finger circles your asshole in time, making you nearly sob as you work yourself to an orgasm, so fucking close to coming for the third time that night. 

He encourages you softly, come on, baby, and yeah just like that, get yourself off dripping from his lips. It’s like honey to your ears, sweet and syrupy. You work him faster, fingers going tight in the sheets as you hit your stride, arching up toward another release. 

It builds and builds until you’re right on the edge, so so so close that you’re nearly screaming, eyes squeezed shut, breath held, legs shaking. 

You fall over the edge, barely able to keep your rhythm. You feel your pussy flood around him. You’re gulping down air, hips still moving, broken cries interrupted by mindless babble. 

When you start to slow, Jungkook sits up. He nearly knocks you over but he catches you, carefully laying you flat on your stomach. You go boneless, barely there, and floating. Your last orgasm makes everything watery and opaque, Jungkook’s voice is like syrup when he speaks.

“You okay?” You nod vigorously, sticking your ass up a little bit. You’re a little bit useless, but you want him to come, want him to use you. He notices, laughing as he spreads your legs a little, mess running down your folds. “Such a good girl for me, giving me this swollen cunt to use. Fuck, you’re perfect.” 

Tired and spent, you roll your head to the side, closing your eyes, just content to breathe as Jungkook starts to fuck you with abandon. It still feels good, making you tremble underneath him, bordering overstimulation. You toe that line of electricity, fingers twisted in the blanket, breath hissing. 

Jungkook chases his orgasm, bending down to press a hot kiss onto your shoulder as he comes, tongue licking over the sweat and salt of your skin. 

Time moves differently then - at least it feels like it. You don’t know how much passes between Jungkook’s orgasm and him pulling out, or him finally getting up and waking you up. You’re dizzy when you look at him, head cottony and full of almost-sleep. 

Wordlessly, he takes you to the bathroom. You don’t have the mind to look at your surroundings or pay attention to what anything looks like, content to let him pull you into the shower and turn on the hot water. You’re barely there, lost between exhaustion and a post-bliss aura that makes you soft. 

When Jungkook kisses you in the shower, it’s not with the intent to start something else, but it does wake you up. You become a little more lucid, kissing him sweetly, innocent. Afterward, Jungkook wraps you in a fluffy towel and guides you through his bedroom to another room in the house, too tired to change his sheets.

You crash down in the bed together, heavy-limbed and sated. Jungkook pulls you close, already half asleep, eyes shut and mouth parted. You curl into him, realizing you fit perfectly into the curve of his body. Like you were made for him. 

Quickly you fall asleep, your last thought being that perhaps Jungkook is made for you.

-

Morning comes with a brush of a gentle mouth against your shoulder. You hum, turning your head toward the source of the touch. Jungkook’s lips press against yours, morning-slow, tired-soft. You’re sore everywhere - most notably between your legs - but you let him drag you into a lazy makeout session.

Neither of you are really awake. The sun has not come up yet, the world awash in dark grey. Warm blankets wrap around you, heat trapping between your body. Jungkook’s hand slides down your waist and dips between your legs. You part them, sighing as he swipes his fingers through you and groans when they come away wet.

No words are spoken. Only butterfly-soft breaths and gentle gasps of air as he sinks two fingers into your heat from behind. You open yourself up to him, falling into the feel-good stimulation of his touch as it brushes your G-spot.

It doesn’t matter that you’re tired and sore. You want more of Jungkook - cannot get enough of him. Already you’re thinking about the next time you can have him. Even as he lines his cock up with your entrance, pushing in slowly until he’s snug to your core, you’re thinking about how many more times you can take him. How many more ways you want to. 

You’ve barely started and you’re addicted. Craving him. Reaching a hand around behind you to cradle his head to the back of yours, feeling his warm breath fan your ear as he fucks you slowly. Delicate. Far too intimate for the two of you, almost strangers. 

If someone had told you two days ago that your night would start with locking eyes with Jungkook, a world-renowned artist, and end with securing a date that led to this moment, trembling in his arms as he makes you come again, you’d have thought they were crazy. 

Now, you can’t imagine it turning out any other way. Can’t imagine not feeling him shift his hand around to play with your clit, bringing you swiftly to another cresting orgasm, leaving you shaking and broken and near weeping in his arms, coming down from your high as he finishes himself off, cock twitching inside of you. 

Jungkook’s hand leaves your pussy, sliding up your stomach until he reaches the underside of your jaw. He grabs you, turning your face to his, stealing your mouth in a sloppy, searing kiss. 

“Mine,” he mumbles against your mouth between kisses. “Mine.” 

F*ck Christmas | myg (m)

❆ Paring: Yoongi x f. reader

❆ Summary: Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog.

❆ Word Count: 23,466

❆ Genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

❆ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❆ Warnings: Reader is miserable to start this and isn't very nice to Yoongi because she has Feelings and unpacked issues, a lot of nostalgia, mentions of depression and depictions of anxiety, mentions of parent deaths (Yoonig's mom, readers dad), a lot of familial guilt, reader isn't always The Best, Yoongi's dad has some failing memory with old age, Yoongi and reader and their endless pining, cheesy and very contrived scenarios, explicit language, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content including, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving) fingering (f. receiving), Big Dick Yoongi, bodily fluids, established safeword, honestly emotional fucking ok, reader being a bit in subspace/overwhelmed during sex, cheesy as fuck ending

❆ Published: December 28, 2022

❆ A/N: Holy shit this is finally done. It is days, late, about 10k more words than it was supposed to be because I couldn't shut the fuck up, and it is not my favorite thing I have ever written, but I hope that you enjoy it anyway, and that you find some comfort if you have a hard time during the holidays like I sure as shit do (which is why this fic is legit so late ijsdgkjng). Eternally grateful to M for being my mental crutch during this process, reading to make sure it doesn't suck and constantly assuring me I'm not writing a total car wreck. Super pleased to have been able to write with @here2bbtstrash @gimmethatagustd and @nabiolive so please please please make sure you check out their fics when they're posted (Jai's is posted now so GO READ!!!!)

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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The monotonous shuffle of feet, mechanical click of the baggage claim conveyor, and three-toned chime before a muffled and completely unintelligible airport announcement work together in tandem to make a grating symphony. 

You spot your neon green, plastic suitcase drifting through the black flaps of the conveyer. As it nears, a cluster of people block your access, huddling and waiting for their bags right up against it. With an angry sigh, you navigate around them, throwing a glare as you reach for your back and haul it off the conveyor. 

People who crowd baggage claim when their bags aren’t out are at the top of your travel intolerances, second only to people who clap when the plane lands. 

Wheeling your suitcase toward the entrance as fast as you can, you look at your lock screen to see that your mother has blown up your phone with text messages.

[Mom]: Gate G

[Mom]: I’m at gate G

[Mom]: I still have the white Macaran. Gate G I am waiting by it.

[Mom]: What are you wearing? I will try to pull up closer. 

[Mom]: They are asking me not to wait. Do you have your bags yet? Is it close to Gate G?

“For the love of Christ,” you mutter under your breath, shoving the device in your pocket. 

The airport doors open, making a stuttering suction sound as they do. Cold air hits you in the face, making you flinch and squint. 

Just near the column marked ‘G’ your mother waits in her white car, waving wildly when she sees you. Despite your temporary annoyance, you give her a tight-lipped grin as she climbs out of the car, running to you with hand motions signaling she wants your bag. 

“Hi, hi!” she cheers, grabbing you quickly for a brief hug before making grabbing motions toward your bag. “Here, let me! Let me!”

“It’s fine,” you assure, trying to wheel the heavy bag away from you. You both end up wheeling it together, your mom refusing to let go of the handle until she’s opening the trunk and you’re hauling it into the back. “Thanks.”

Inside the car, the leather seats are heated and the hot air is blasting enough to threaten a nosebleed. You close the vents as your mother gets in, saying something you can’t hear over the blaring horns, slamming of her door, and fumbling with her seatbelt.

“What?”

“How was your flight?”

Awful. Long. Filled with absolute dread of the finality of your one-way ticket. Wondering if the movers had successfully delivered your shit to storage and dropped your car off at your mother’s house.

Naturally, you say none of these things. You offer canned responses with forced happiness that your mother doesn’t detect. She’s just happy to see you. The thought makes you soften a little.

Outside the world is covered in sheets of white. You know the winding roads well. Your mother talks about how it’s just the two of you for Christmas morning, but that she is volunteering at the homeless shelter on Christmas Eve. You take this in with a soft hum, eyes watching as you pass Mulberry street.

If you drive down another mile and take a left, you’ll be at Plaza Center, the mecca of your childhood with a movie theater, a Blockbuster turned Mattress Firm, Lucky Strike bowling alley, and a combination grocery store and liquor store where you used to huddle outside in the cold while waiting for someone’s fake ID to work. 

Soft music plays in the background as the tires hum on the road. You pass by the newer additions to the town – Starbucks, Olive Garden, Longhorns – they’ve all replaced longtime restaurants and a laser tag place that you remember having three birthdays in a row at. 

“Tired?” your mom asks, drawing you from trying to draw up the red brick houses from memory instead of watching them blur by. You hum. “You can take a nap later, get that airplane yuck off of you. Yoongi is working on fixing those damned cabinets. He ripped out the whole thing-“

“What?” 

“What what?”

“Why is Yoongi in your house?”

Your mother blinks at you owlishly as she pulls up to the stop light. You realize suddenly that she’s in one of your father’s old sweatshirts from university. It cuts you like a knife as you readjust yourself in the seat, suddenly tense and griping the door. 

“Min Yoongi still lives here?”

“Of course he does,” she scoffs and turns when the light changes. “Do you not keep up with him? You guys used to be such good friends.”

“Why is he at the house?”

“I just told you, he’s re-doing those damn cabinets. They had mold in them.”

For a moment, you just slow-blink at your mother. Min Yoongi is in her house – your house, now. You haven’t seen him since college. You knew he had moved back after school to help move his dad into a home, but he was supposed to leave once his dad was settled. 

He was… well he was supposed to be a big-shot architect. You just assumed he was. It occurs to you that you can’t remember the last time you even looked at Yoongi’s social media, though that was more on purpose than you’d like to admit.

Who wants to see what their life-long crush is still up to after they’ve long stopped talking to you?

“So you had him do our cabinets? He’s an architect, not a contractor.” 

“You really don’t know shit,” your mom laughs. “Yoongi took over his dad’s shop down on Miriam. Home Depot keeps trying to run him out, but most of us still like the comfort of Min’s Hardware. Plus, he spends the entire last quarter of the year building toys and the like for the children’s home and new chairs and furniture for the old folks home.”

You pause. “Is Old Man Min-“

It’s hard to bring yourself to finish the sentence. You remember the bleak affair of summer 09’ when Yoongi’s mother passed away, but you feel like someone would have told you if his father had passed. 

Thankfully, your mother shakes her head. “Still kicking. Yoongi didn’t want to sell out to one of those land development companies, though. They kept trying to pressure him – they want to open up a Super Target – but he said no.”

“Huh.” You lean back in the seat as your mom turns down your street. There is a sense of trepidation as you pass rows of brick-and-mortar homes with nondescript cars in the drive. “Good for him. Fuck Target.”

“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t mind a target, but I certainly don’t want it to replace Min’s.” 

A dark blue truck sits in the drive of your home. It’s hard not to focus on it, your eyes drifting from the swan-shaped mailbox to the giant blow-up decorations still wiggling, even covered in snow. The wind chimes are frozen on the porch and there’s a tarp on the swing set in front of the kitchen window.

The kitchen window, where you vaguely make out a shape with his back turned.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. You have no reason to be nervous to see Min Yoongi and yet the thought of awkwardly walking into the kitchen like hey how are you threatens to make your demand your mom drive you back to the airport even though you have nowhere to go.

No home to go back to. No fiancé to-

Your mom shuts off the dark and slides out. She’s still rattling on about the developers buying up land and putting in condos and luxury apartments that no one can afford. You’re a beat behind her, slipping a little on the icy drive as you scramble out of the vehicle and retrieve your bag. 

Inside your chest, your heart pounds against your ribcage. You keep glancing out the window, wondering if you’ll suddenly see Yoongi’s soft, sweet face. Kicking ice off her boots on the porch, your mother opens the door as she talks on, breezing in and to the side to take off her boots.

You step in awkwardly. Unfamiliar. 

Everything in your view is the exact way you remember it, except suddenly… None of this feels like yours. Or like anything that has ever belonged to you. To your right, there is an open doorway that leads to the study – or the computer room as your dad chronically called it. It’s dark inside but you can see the indents on the carpet from the faded office chair, and the power-down Dell on the desk with multiple broken drawers. 

On the right is a cubby where you can kick your shoes off and hang your bag. You follow your mother’s example and take off your boots, feeling in a daze as your eyes drift down the hall. There’s a set of stairs that lead to the second floor just beyond the door to the computer room, and the living room and kitchen open up at the end of the hall.

Christmas music and the smell of cinnamon float down. There’s a lump in your throat as your mom walks toward the living room – and ultimately where the kitchen is. And Yoongi. Who is apparently hammering at something loudly, from the sounds of all the banging that drowns out the sound of Michael Bublé. 

“I’m gonna lay down,” you blurt before your mom can enter Yoongi’s line of vision. You’re frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, heart hammering. “The plane ride really exhausted me and I have a bit of a headache. Yoongi’s banging will make it worse.”

She frowns. “Well at least come to say hello.”

“I’ll see him later,” you assure her, moving toward the hardwood stairs and bending to pull up your bag. “It’s a small town, no big deal. Tell him I said hello.”

You’re halfway up the stairs when your mother says your name, irritation evident. You don’t respond, jogging the rest of the way. The bottom of your bag clips one of the stairs, making you stumble. You curse and recover before rushing down the right side of the hall, past the pictures on the wall and your open bathroom with the mermaid curtains straight into your room where you slam the door.

Leaning against it, you close your eyes and take a few breaths. In and out. In and out. Downstairs, the hammering pauses. You assume your mother is talking to Yoongi. Guilt eats away at you like a worm to an apple. You shove it down and walk into your room proper, trying not to think about how you want to avoid the man downstairs at all costs. 

Collapsing on your bed, you flinch and grab the mattress, forgetting how springy it is as they twang under the sudden weight. Your room is exactly how you left it. Aquamarine walls, a sea turtle lamp, a horrible collection of Justin Bieber memorabilia including a lunch box you can’t ever remember using, and an old box TV with a tiny DVD player. 

A broken lava lamp stands frozen in time on the white, paint-chipped dresser. You wonder if it even turns on anymore. The rolling closet door is open, empty save for extra sheets and towels and a couple of Vera Bradley duffle bags your mom never tossed out. 

Everything is the same and yet… you have never felt more like a stranger in your own home.

Pulling the scale pattern quilt from under you to wrap yourself in, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, although the hammering downstairs starts once again.

-

A knock on the door and your mom’s voice telling you to come eat dinner pries you from sleep. Your limbs feel heavy and your back and neck ache with the unfamiliarity of the springy bed. Your thoughts are honey-thick as you try to remember that you’re not in your apartment – your old apartment that is no longer yours – and that your ex is not with you.

Mouth dry and limbs sluggish, you manage to trek down the stairs, footsteps heavy and awkward. There's still Christmas music playing somewhere in the living room, but it’s at a manageable volume now. You try not to think about it too much, finding Christmas music particularly grating this year.

The smell of dinner drifts from the kitchen and your stomach growls viciously, reminding you that you only had cheese and crackers for lunch. You rub your eyes, entering the open concept area with the kitchen facing the living room and the dining room tucked on the side of the kitchen against the glass-paned windows that look out into the yard.

Your mom sets something on the table and straightens, gesturing to something on the island countertop as she says, “Will you bring those potatoes over, Yoongi? I keep forgetting them on the counter.”

Two things happen at once. 

The first thing that happens is the slow-blink turning of your head, suddenly aware that a man is standing in your kitchen looking at you. Your feet glue themselves to the floor and your mouth parts a little in surprise and confusion that there is another human being in your house outside of you and your mother. 

The second thing that happens is the surge of panic and curiosity slamming into one another, two rogue waves at war as they unsteady the sleeping waters of your mind post-nap. You feel the urge to turn on your heel and run back up the stairs, but you’re stuck staring at Yoongi, both terrified to see him and... well you haven’t seen him in a while. You’re curious. 

Yoongi’s hair is blonde - a color he hasn’t had in years - with silky lowlights that look really good on him. Though most of it is tucked behind delicate, round ears that are decorated with his signature silver hoops, a few rogue strands fall endearingly over soft cat eyes. He’s broad in the shoulders, the material of his shirt pulled taught over the hint of biceps.

And Yoongi’s face – devastating as always. You always thought that he looked like a child of the moon goddess, smooth, milky skin with a rose-flushed mouth. His mouth as always looks soft, and as it breaks into a smile now when he sees you, it feels like the entire world might spin out of control. 

“Have a good nap?” Yoongi questions. His voice is so much deeper, raspy, and soft, and nothing at all like what you remember. But it’s been how long since you’ve seen him? At least four years. Maybe five. 

“Huh?” you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your brain unable to connect the dots and form anything else.

Yoongi chuckles and ducks his head a bit, pink in the cheeks. He picks up the glass dish of potatoes that your mother asked for, rounding the island and putting it on the dining room table. He moves in your childhood home with ease, returning to the kitchen and popping up a drawer for a serving spoon.

“Jet lag, much?” that teasing tone of his is still there and you suddenly remember being in the ninth grade, hiding your face in your hands because he was poking fun at you for something innocent. “I don’t bite.”

“Why are you here?” Again, you’re unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. This time, however, you have enough sense to realize how rude it sounds. Swallowing past the rapidly forming knot of anxiety, you move toward the table. “You don’t have a headache from all that hammering you’ve been doing?”

Yoongi shrugs and sits down at the table across from where your mother has seated herself, pouring a glass of red for herself. “You seem to have slept through it fine.”

“Yeah, well.” You sit down next to your mom, suddenly feeling defensive. “A five-hour flight will do that to you.”

Yoongi hums, agreeing as he glances up at you again. You’ve had dreams about those damn eyes, written about them in childhood diaries. Wondered about them late at night, when your ex was fast asleep next to you.

Thoughts and memories of Min Yoongi paint several parts of your life. Childhood crush. Close friend. The subject of your dreamy sighs. The crush had worn off around college, but there was always that something when you looked at him. Perhaps the acknowledgment that he was impossibly beautiful and charming. 

Or maybe the inescapable fact that you might always harbor something extra for him.

Averting your gaze, you clear your throat and grab the bottle of wine from your mom, pouring a healthy amount. “Why are you ripping out the cabinets anyway?”

“There was mold in the back of them.” He accepts a plate of meat from your mother. “I came over to help your mom pull down that bone china she keeps hidden away and found it.”

You glance at your mom. “You couldn’t use a ladder?”

“You try having old hips,” she huffs. “Yoongi isn’t that far. He’s a doll and he’s always a phone call away.” 

There is nothing wrong with Yoongi helping your aging mom. At least, that is what you tell yourself as she asks Yoongi about a TV show both of them have been watching. You fill your plate and listen to them, hovering on the edge of a conversation you can’t contribute to.

“And then she had the nerve to act like she was holier than thou,” your mother agrees, shaking her head. “The Greens are going to get theirs, now that Alicent was exposed for a snake.”

Yoongi snorts. “I don’t know, no one ever gets punished the way we want on that show.”

“Who is Alicent?” you ask, dubious.

Both of them look at you. Your mom waves you off with a roll of her eyes at Yoongi. “She doesn’t watch TV. I’ve been begging her to watch for weeks now. Thankfully you caved in.”

“I just don’t have time for TV.”

Your mom pats your hand delicately. It doesn’t feel comforting like it should. “I know. Thankfully I can gossip about it with Yoongi.”

They seem comfortable. Your mom laughs as Yoongi rants about some character arch you have never heard of. You watch as your mom cuts into her steak alongside him, handing him sauce for his diced pieces. He thanks her easily, not missing a beat as he uncaps it.

Suddenly, you feel like a stranger in your own house. All this time you’ve been living on the other side of the country, Yoongi has been here doing... whatever it is that he does. Making himself comfortable in your home. Filling a space for you. And now that you’re here, it’s like you don’t exist.

No one asks you how you’ve been. No one asks for a single detail about your life. Whether it’s out of pity because they know you’ve been left out in the cold with no home, no fiance, and leave from work because... well they felt bad that you were cheated on and booted from your apartment.

It's like you don’t exist anywhere. You don’t exist in your mom’s life. You don’t exist in Yoongi’s.

And it drives you mad.

You get up abruptly from the table, startling both of them. “I’m feeling ill,” you mutter tightly. You’re moving away from the table as your mother sputters, surprised. “I’ll try to eat later, I’m going to lie down.”

“Do you need help up the stairs?”

Yoongi’s question and concern seem genuine. It makes the sudden gnawing feeling inside of you even worse. “No,” you snap. “Enjoy your dinner and conversation.”

They both call after you as you turn and hightail it out of the kitchen and toward the steps. Everything feels blurry and the tightening of your threat is the only warning of sudden tears. It feels silly and pathetic, to suddenly be worked up into a frenzy over – well you’re not really sure over what. But it doesn’t sting any less, whatever this sense of feeling left out is.

Crawling into your bed, you pull the covers over your head just like you used to when you lived here last. The tears burn hot down your face and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, as though you can grind the tear ducts to dust. 

You hate being home. You hate that it doesn’t feel like home. But most of all, you hate that at the height of your misery and embarrassing life, Min Yoongi now has front row tickets.

Somehow, you manage to sleep.

-

The sound of thunder wakes you up in the morning. No, it’s not thunder. Thunder comes and goes in slow rolls of sound, fading, and building in a gentle percussion. This is the constant booming of something bang bang banging in a repetitive pattern. 

Irritation drags you from sleep. You peel the covers from over your face, blinking and groaning in the morning light that filters through the curtain. Crust forms in the corner of your eye. You rub furiously until you see colors explode behind your lids.

Blinking until your room swims into view, you stare up at the ceiling a little longer until you remember that you’re in your childhood room. And that the loud banging sound coming from downstairs is probably Yoongi.

The sticky, nasty feeling from last night curls inside of you again. Less potent, but still there. Looking back on it, you feel a little dramatic. Watching Yoongi and your mom exist in a space so easily without you while you were there triggered a sliver of guilt you had been nursing since you decided to move home. 

Even now, you ignore the feeling as you slip down the stairs and toward the kitchen. The hunger is demanding and ever-present, and though you’re unsure you want to face Yoongi again after last night, you can’t ignore the dizziness from lack of food. 

Sunlight filters in through the kitchen window. Dust motes float in the air, suspended in gold light. There are pieces of wood and metal piles of hinges and knobs, screws rolling across the counter, and plastic-wrapped pieces of hinges and bolts, but it’s still your kitchen.

There’s still white backsplash against the sink with a yellow duck soap dispenser. There’s a black fridge with chip-clip magnets holding up pictures of your family, your graduation photos, and drawings that you created as a child. The island countertop is buried in Yoongi’s supplies, but you imagine that if it weren’t, there’d be fake fruit in a basket with mugs full of tea gone cold.

Today, Yoongi is in a black, oversized t-shirt, and a beanie. There’s a small speaker next to him, Michael Bublé singing clearly through the kitchen as Yoongi slides a shelf into one of the newly constructed cabinets. 

“You really like Bublé.”

Yoongi flinches, turning around to see you hovering and hesitating near the kitchen counter. He grins a little, wiping his hands on his pants. His blonde hair just barely peaks out from underneath the beanie and his face is flushed red as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the counter. There are dark circles under his eyes, but he otherwise looks beautiful first thing in the morning.

“I like Christmas music,” he offers with a shrug. “Tis the season.”

“Hmm.” Your eyes scan the kitchen. “Is there a way to make coffee in this mess?”

He nodes and moves a cabinet, revealing the coffee maker. “Ta-da.” You huff once in laughter before going to your fridge in search of creamer. You sense Yoongi’s dark gaze on you as you do. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm?”

“From last night? Feeling better?”

“Oh.” You shut the fridge and avoid his gaze. “Yeah.”

He hums. You flick the lid on the coffee and pause, looking around the kitchen for one of the pods to make the coffee. Yoongi leans over with a chuckle and pulls open a drawer, revealing rows of neatly placed Keurig cups.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. 

“Mhmm.” You pop it in and turn the machine on. “How long is your cabinet project going to take?”

“I’ll be finished by tomorrow. Why? Want me gone that bad?”

“You’re loud.”

“Comes with the nature of the job. Sorry, usually no one is here in the morning. Your mom is at the park.”

“Since when does she go on walks?”

He shrugs, dubious of your confusion. “She always goes on walks. Jeez, you have been gone a long time.”

“So what?” You snap, arms crossed. “You know everything about my mom now?”

“I spend a lot of time with her. I help her around the house and she brings me lunch and makes dinner sometimes. I keep her company.”

Tension creeps into your shoulders and neck. Pressing your mouth into a firm line, you turn your back to him, unable to make eye contact as the little sliver of guilt in you strikes at him, viper quick. “Cause I wasn’t here to do it, right?”

“That isn’t at all what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your name leaves his mouth with a sigh. “Have I done something to upset you? You haven’t seemed keen on me being here since last night. I was excited to see you after all this time and catch up.”

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“I mean it’s been five years-”

“Sorry I left town because I had a life. I get it, I left home and left my parents here and my mom has been lonely since my dad passed. You’re a knight in shining armor, I get it.”

“What?” You ignore looking at him, despite shuffling closer to you as you pour creamer into your coffee. You feel a nasty tension in your throat. Somewhere, you know that you’ve launched a hate campaign against Yoongi within twenty-four hours of being home. And yet you don’t look at him. “I - wow. Okay, I didn’t think that of you at all. We seem to be on wildly different pages, why would I ever think that?”

Before you can answer, the front door opens and closes. Your mom's arrival has you slithering toward the kitchen’s exit, throwing Yoongi a glance. His frown is deep and genuine concern flickers in his eyes. “I don’t think that,” Yoongi ventures again, trying to keep you in the conversation. “I think a lot of things about you, but that isn’t one. This conversation has really gotten away from me, can we start over?”

“It’s fine,” you mutter. “Sorry for assuming.” 

Your mom waves, shrugging off ice-covered boots and a jacket at the door. You wave and rush out that you’re going up for a shower to wash off the airport funk. She waves you off and grins, heading down the hall and launching into a conversation with Yoongi. 

A nasty feeling trails you up the steps. You don’t even make it to the top of the stairs before you already know you’ve been irrational, emotional, and completely out of line. But seeing Yoongi after all this time, seeing the way he’s there for your mom in ways you aren’t, and nursing wounds of moving home against your will and plans… it’s a lot to swallow. 

In your room, you sit on the bed with your coffee on the nightstand, head dropped into your hands as you cry. It’s been coming all night. It’s been coming since you caught your ex in the apartment with another person. It’s been coming since you were no longer what they wanted in mind, body, and soul. It had been coming since you were asked to leave the apartments because you had moved in - not the other way around. 

The pain festering inside of you for the last two and a half weeks isn’t Yoongi’s fault. In fact, part of you is surprised that your grief and guilt at dedicating the last five years to someone who you didn’t even like that much and who has now cheated on you has surfaced in the face of Min Yoongi. 

It isn’t his fault that you rarely came home to start. It isn’t his fault that after Christmas two years ago, you didn’t want to come home at all. Didn’t want to be in a home without your dad. Didn’t want to be in a home that wasn’t in your new city, away from old failures, away from old hurts. Didn’t want to be in a home down the street from the Mins.

“Jeez,” you laugh at yourself, no mirth evident. “What better way to kick off seeing Yoongi again?”

-

Yoongi finishes the cabinets the next day and you manage to avoid seeing him again, unsure how to fix the weirdness. 

A few days later, you come down to see your mom on the couch, tucked into a flannel-patterned blanket, and watching Hallmark movies. You cringe at the thought of poorly budgeted, badly scripted movies. Your mom, however, has always loved them. And your dad always watched them with her.

Something softens inside of you. You can’t remember the last time your ex willingly watched anything they were uninterested in for your sake. Perhaps because they had long been fucking someone else. 

Shaking the thought from your mind, you trail to your mom, slipping wordlessly onto the couch and pulling an extra blanket over your legging and socks. Your mom shoots you a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the edges. She reaches over, patting your hand and squeezing it before settling in, keeping her hand on yours. 

Though you turn to the TV, your eyes sting as you try to focus on the plot of a newly single woman who has moved back to her sleepy hometown during the holidays. Naturally, there is a storied past with the beautiful but sensitive male lead who owns a failing bookshop. It’s unsurprising when the female lead takes a job there unwillingly, and you watch 

“These are very cheesy,” you observe, watching as the two leads fall in love over clumsily spilled coffees, one full of Christmas cheer and one that hates Christmas. “Why do you like them so much?”

Your mom shrugs. “They always have a happy ending, they’re easy to follow along, and they fuel that little hope that the holidays have something a little special.” She looks at you when you grunt and she sighs. “I know you haven’t had very good holidays the last few years. But you used to really enjoy them.”

“They’re just… too much. It’s just another day.”

“Hmm. They mean a lot to some people, though. Take Yoongi for example - he’s doing extra work at the shop selling wares, making pieces for Christmas, and trying to finish making toys for the children’s home this year. He hardly sleeps.”

You think about the dark circles under Yoongi’s eyes that morning. “That’s a lot.”

“He could use the help.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You know where the shop is.”

“Yeah.”

Morning fades into afternoon. You find yourself shaking your head around a mouthful of a sandwich with crunchy chips in the middle as your mom settles next to you, placing a glass of iced tea on the table. Your legs are crossed and you lean forward to press greasy, chip fingers into the paper towel you’re using as a napkin.

“She is so stupid if she doesn’t believe him,” you mumble around your mouth full of food. “Like hello? He has no reason to lie to her.”

Your mom's laughter fills the room and she shrugs. Somehow, you’re on your third Hallmark movie, and you haven’t managed to move or do anything productive with your day, like unpacking your bags or looking at the computer room full of the shit that the movers delivered to your mother’s house now that you don’t have a house. 

“If she believed him,” your mom says with a sip of tea, “Then there wouldn’t be any drama. And without drama, there would be no movie.”

“Ugh, all of these movies are the same.”

And yet you make no move to turn it off or leave. 

When you finish your sandwich and settle back, full and bloated, you realize that you’re rather enjoying just a day watching cheesy movies with your mom. Even if they hit a little close to home on the narrative of your current situation. 

But no - you’re different. Your life is real, and you’re stuck without a home and without a place to go. Clenching your jaw, you force the memories and the words to leave. You don’t want to think about the way your ex gently asked if you had somewhere else to go. You don’t want to think about the words I’m sorry. I love you but I’m not in love with you anymore. 

I mean, you weren’t either but… marriage still seemed like an okay option. A good social move. Something you’d be content with, even if you weren’t head over heels in love.

“Here,” you hold your hand to her for her empty plates. “I’ll do the dishes.” 

Getting away from the TV gives you a second to breathe. The rush of the faucet drowns out the sound of the TV, warm water rushing over your fingers as you run the plates underwater.

Outside, the world is a blanket of snow. You can see Mr. Park across the street shoveling the drive as his wife gets into the car, the taillights kicking on. The grass is frozen, a sea of ice and frozen Christmas decorations.

In the drive, your car is parked next to your mom’s sedan. She hadn’t mentioned that it was delivered, but you don’t know where you would go anyway. You don’t really have any friends to visit. At least, not anyone you’ve kept in touch with enough to call up and go to lunch.

The absence of Yoongi’s truck reminds you that he had been working on the cabinets, drawing your eyes to his craftsmanship as you flip the sink off. With dried hands, you brush your fingers over the lightly stained wood. It’s smooth and cool to the touch, the curves and indents artfully done. 

Yoongi had always been an exceptional artist. His passion has been in buildings and even interior design, but you’re not surprised to see that he’s as easily a handyman and woodworker as he is anything else. 

You think back to what your mom said about him, alone for the holidays and working hard. A sour taste sits heavy on your tongue as you think about your barbed words. 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you lean against the counter and pull your phone out, flipping through social media until you find his page. There isn’t much in the way of family and friends, but there are plenty of photos of new projects and a beautiful black cat. 

I was excited to see you after all this time and catch up. 

Heaving a sigh, you push off the counter and announce that you’re going to get dressed to run a few places, telling your mom to make you a list if she needs anything. 

Getting dressed is harder than you expect. The urge to crawl back into bed and go to sleep almost wins out, but you somehow manage to pull on the jeans and thick sweater, followed by a scarf and jacket.

There is something empty and strange about the motions. It feels like you’ve forgotten the movement, the slide of clothes foreign to your skin. After two weeks of making phone calls and arrangements for an over-priced hotel bed, you supposed you haven’t gotten dressed much recently. 

Picking up the list from your mom and giving her a kiss, you’re out of the door, glancing down at her slanted script. You huff, laughter cut short by the bite of cold wind. Of course everything she needs is from Min’s Hardware, though you had been planning to go by there anyway.

With a deep breath and squared shoulders, you get in the car and think about how the hell to apologize to Yoongi.

-

Min’s Hardware had its first building expansion when you were in tenth grade. You remember how excited you were when Yoongi told you that his parents bought out the recently emptied arcade next door to add a lumber department. Even in tenth grade, Yoongi had sketched out aisles and systems for the store, layout after layout of the most functional way to accommodate the expansion. 

Before opening day, the two of you and some other kids in the neighborhood had run through the aisles, the smell of cedar and pine and fresh sawdust so wonderfully potent it made you dizzy. Yoongi specifically had shown you the different types of wood and pliability, explaining what he would use each for. 

By then, it was summer heading into eleventh grade and he had already decided he wanted to be an architect. He had insane drawings for new shopping centers the next city over, and wild renderings of his dream buildings full of avant-garde but functional structures. 

From the parking lot, you can see that Yoongi still occupies the same two spaces Min’s has stood in since tenth grade. Except now it shares a parking lot with a Starbucks and Chipotle building, melded together. The line for coffee snakes around the building into the empty parking lot in front of Min’s, a mismatched creature of metal and purring engines. 

Icy ground makes you slip a bit before you steady yourself on the door handle, gasp stuck in your chest before you can breathe out slowly, confident that you won’t slide and bust your ass. 

From the outside, Min’s looks both the same and different. There is a new sign above the store, now with its own light humming in the dark, gray winter sky. Tinted windows prevent you from seeing inside entirely, but you can see the faint outline of racks as you approach. 

Standing in front of the double doors, you suddenly feel the urge to spin on your heel and run in the other direction. If the inside still looks the same, though, the counter is right next to the door, which means if Yoongi is there, he can see you.

Standing. Staring. Looking at the cold, metal handle of the door and not doing anything. 

“Rip the bandaid off,” you mutter to yourself. 

Yanking the door open startles you, the bell on the door chiming wildly with the force of your pull. It’s the same bell that was here when you were a teen, and a tingle slithers down your back at the memory. 

It's warm. The smell of mixed wood hits you, soothing and fresh. To your left is a counter with an elderly gentleman reading a book. He looks up behind the POS system, grinning at you. He’s dressed in a long sleeve shirt with a festive sweater to match the Christmas soundtrack playing over the speakers. 

Your eyes flicker to his badge and you fold your lips to stop the giggle that threatens to escape when you look at his name tag: Elf Ian. 

“Good afternoon, miss!” he greets, shuffling behind the counter. There’s no one else in the store as you crane your head away from the register, looking at the rows and rows of hardware and things for sale. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi?”

“Mr. Min is back in the carpentry section. I can take you there.”

You wave him off with a smile. “No, that's okay, I know the way.” 

“Really? You’ve been here before? You look like a new face.”

“It’s been a while,” you admit, admiring the layout of the store, each of the towering metal shelves marked with aisle numbers and departments: electrical, flooring, lighting, hardware, paint, heating and cooling, and so on. It’s not as comprehensive as a Home Depot or a Lowe’s, but Min’s has everything that a small town needs. “Back and to the right?” 

He nods with a smile. 

The Rockettes play overhead as you wander toward the back of the store. You take the paint aisle, admiring all of the colorful paint swatch papers. Your shoes scuff on the floor, speckled with some paint splatter near the spray section as though some kids got into the supply. 

You distinctly remember Yoongi accidentally spraying a bright pink into the air once. 

All of the pricing is written in neat, slanted handwriting on thick brown pieces of paper. You pause at the end of an aisle, reaching out to press a finger against one to trace the letters. You recognize the font from years worth of scribbled and pressed flat architecture designs. 

The carpentry section has rows and rows of wood of different shapes, sizes, and variety. Behind all of that is a sizable desk for specialty services, and you know that the door leads to a room that houses Yoongi’s woodworking shop. It had once been the bowling alley section of the arcade before Old Man Min bought out the unit. 

No one mans the tall, L-shaped desk. There are several binders with types of wood, types of stains, project ideas, samples, and frames. You smile when you see some you recognize, the peeling plastic of the front evidence of old age. 

A large counter behind the desk has a few wrapped items that Yoongi must have to be shipped or picked up. There’s a cup of coffee that looks like it’s gone cold, a jar full of wrapped mints for the taking, and a small button that says ‘push for service’ next to the POS system. 

Swallowing thickly, you press the button. An automated chime echoes from behind the wooden swing door that leads to the woodshop. Before Yoongi took over, his father used to make furniture, fill custom orders and make repairs. It’s no surprise that Yoongi has opted to take over this portion, especially if he’s making custom orders for the children’s home. 

The door swings open, breaking your trance. Yoongi pulls up short, eyebrows raise as he wipes sawdust from his apron. He’s in a sweater and jeans today, the sleeves pushed up to his elbow to help him work and his blonde hair shaggy and a little unruly. The pink sheen on his cheeks and nose is all you need to know he had been working pretty hard.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively, looking you up and down. You hate that he looks so guarded. “Coming to custom order a rocking horse?”

You grin. “Actually I was wondering if you did chairs?”

“Hmmm.” He shuffles toward the counter, dropping his hesitance as he leans on his elbows, a sideways smirk on his face. Despite everything, it makes your stomach flip. “We do all kinds of chairs. Rocking, dining, bar stools, even church pews.”

“Wow, Min’s really is the best and where expectations are beyond the Minimum.”

Yoongi groans and covers his face with his hands, flushed pink as you laugh at him. “That’s not even our jingle anymore, okay? I was a kid when I came up with it.”

“I thought it was cute!”

“Yeah, you thought Jackson was cute in the fifth grade too.”

“Isn’t he on his third kid?”

Yoongi gives a loud laugh. “Sixth, Miss I Failed Algebra Twice. He and Jiah have their hands full, I just dropped off a new crib yesterday.”

You whistle, crossing your arms over your chest. Yoongi looks at you, eyes glittering as he smiles. It does something to you, to see your childhood crush here and happy. It’s at such odds with where you are in your life that you don’t know what to make of it. Even Jackson is married and happy with kids. 

“Impressive. You do a lot.”

He hums in agreement and stands up to stretch. “Holidays are always a demand. I’m just trying to keep up to make everyone’s Christmas magical.” You scrunch your nose at that and he frowns. “What?”

“Why does Christmas have to be extra special? It’s just another day.”

He beckons you to come around the counter and to the back as he turns to head for the swinging door. “Come on, Scrooge. Let me spread the magic of Christmas and lead you on your journey to redemption.”

Ignoring the ‘employees only’ sign on the waist-tall swing door that leads to behind the counter, you scoff and roll your eyes. Yoongi stands in the doorway leading to the back, propping it open with a foot for you. As you pass him, the bright light of his shop and the smell of wood stain and chemicals hits you instantly. 

“What do I need to redeem myself for?”

He lets the door swing shut and follows you in, taking the lead as he heads towards a table filled with goods. “For whatever you feel like you need it for.”

Yoongi’s words feel ominous and tug at your heartstrings. You suppose you do feel the need to make up for picking a fight with him. Which is why you ended up here in the first place, despite your mother’s list. 

The shop is a little different than you remember it, but some things are the same. There are giant slabs of wood to choose from in neat shelving, massive wood-cutting machines and saws with warning labels and plastic cards over serrated metal, tubs of chemicals to cleanse wood and shelves of bottles of different liquids for all of Yoongi’s processes. 

At a young age, you were never allowed back in the woodshop. The first day Old Man Min had finally let you come around the corner was just as magical as it feels now. It’s large and daunting, with all of the unfamiliar machinery and the loud hum of an air compressor near the back of the shop. 

A wireless speaker stands on a cluttered counter, blaring holiday tunes over the whine of the compressor until the machine kicks off and it’s just the echo of Grandma Got Ran Over by A Reindeer. 

“It’s weird being back here again,” you murmur, eyes sweeping the toys and pieces of furniture Yoongi has on a table with a laminated sign: children’s home. “You’re really making all of this yourself?”

“Mhmm.” He leans against the table, crossing his arms. “Someone has to. They needed extra toys this year but specifically, some serious upgrades to the rooms of the residents. I’m doing what I can, free of charge, of course.”

“You’re a saint.”

He puts his hands together in mock prayer and bats his eyes before you break out into laughter. He shrugs and murmurs, “Just someone who wants to help. They deserve good furniture year-round, but especially on the holidays.”

“Since when do you like the holidays so much?”

“Since I’ve started spending them alone.”

The answer hits you in the gut. Hard. You stop admiring the shop to look at Yoongi. There’s a soft openness to his face that unnerves you. Brutal honesty offered in exchange for nothing. No expectation for you to share, but proof that he has enough trust for you - however unearned - to just admit what he feels out loud.

That kind of introspection and understanding of self terrifies you. So instead of sharing something of yourself or offering a gentle word to communicate that you get it, or you’re sorry, you gesture to the table where he has carving knives and pieces of wood. “What are you working on?”

If your shift in conversation bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Yoongi rolls with your stilted punches, turning and walking to the table. “Working on carving some designs into the drawer faces for these nightstands I made.” 

“They’re beautiful.”

And they are. Flowers and vines curl on the edges of the wood, perfectly placed in the four corners of the slab. You reach out a hand and hesitate, looking at him to ask permission. He nods and you press your fingers along the grooves he’s carved, following the rough cuts, careful not to get a splinter. 

“You’re still artistic as hell.”

“Thanks. It’s hard on my hands and then I have to sand them all with paper to get into the small details which is hell.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. His words about redemption echo in your head: for whatever you feel like you need it for. 

“Need help?” He looks at you, surprised by your offer. You’re a little surprised too, but the way that you snapped at Yoongi haunts you and there’s something… else that is gnawing at you and has been since you saw him in your kitchen that first night on your return. “I’m serious.”

“If you want to sand some of these down…” 

You nod. “I think I remember how. Do you still keep the sandpaper in that Husky drawer?”

He gives you a crooked grin and nods. “Oooo she remembers. I’m honored.”

You feel warmth in your cheeks. “Tell me what needs to be sanded. I’ll do my best.” 

With a smile larger than what you probably deserve, Yoongi quickly rehashes how to hold the sanding paper, the technique he wants you to use, and assigns you a pile of drawer faces. With your project in front of you, Yoongi goes back to his own thing, the steady hammer against his carving tools drowning out any thoughts swirling in your mind.

At first, it’s slow going. Your shoulders are tense and you keep glancing at Yoongi, a little nervous and wondering why you offered to help. It wasn’t what you had intended to do when you walked into the store, but it feels like the best way to say sorry.

It also means you don’t have to audibly admit that you were being weird and embarrassing with him in your kitchen. 

Time passes and the tension in your shoulders begins to bleed out. The scritch scritch scritch of the sandpaper in your hands is soothing, the repetitive motions creating a soft buzz in your ears as you zone out on your task. 

Focusing on small things has always been a good thing for you. Even when you were little, having something that you could throw yourself into and let your anxieties and thoughts drift away to somewhere far away where they could not hurt you was paramount. 

Now, as the time passes without you noticing, thoughts of your cheating ex-fiance and old apartment melt away like ice on a snow drive. it’s just the pressure in your fingertips, manipulating the sandpaper into different folds to get into the creases of the design. 

Yoongi’s presence stirs your stomach and heart as you look up. He looks over your shoulder at your work before leaning in close to pick up one of the slabs of wood. He’s removed his gloves and runs his fingers over the designs. 

A shiver brushes up your spine as you zero in on Yoongi’s fingers. You have no idea if it’s your newly single status or the fact that it’s Yoongi that makes you stare open-mouthed and hypnotized. His fingers look a little callused from working wood, but you wonder how they’d feel if-

“Not bad,” he hums, giving you a grin before setting down the wood. “I’m pretty impressed. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Please,” you mutter, looking down at the table and picking at splinters. “I helped you for hours when we were kids.”

“That’s cause I helped you with your math. It’s getting late and I’m a little tired. You hungry?”

You realize that you are. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you flip it over to see a few texts from your mom and realize that it’s almost seven at night. A sound of surprise escapes you and Yoongi laughs, tapping your elbow gently before walking away.

“Come on,” he insists. “We close early on Sundays. Help me turn all this shit off and close up and we can get food. My treat for helping out.”

“Yes to food, but you don’t have to-”

He waves you off. “Let me do something nice for you, yeah?”

Closing the store feels oddly familiar. While you have never watched Yoongi do it as the owner and operator, there were times as a kid when you finished your homework at the woodshop counter with Yoongi while you waited for his dad to get off and take you home after school. 

The Min’s don’t live far from your home and based on your mom calling Yoongi for every little thing, you assume that he lives in his childhood home now that his dad is in a home for elders. 

Outside, the world is winter-dark and bitter cold. it’s not snowing, but it’s that dreary in-between that makes everything feel heavy and cold-wet. Yoongi shuffles you toward his truck, both of you shivering and cursing as you slide into the cab and he turns it on, cranking the heat and turning on the seat warmers.

“Nice truck,” you comment. And it is nice. “New?”

“New-ish. Being the owner of Min’s Hardware really has its perks.”

You hum. “So you do own it? Just you?”

He nods, putting the car in drive and heading toward an unknown destination. Yoongi keeps his dark eyes on the road as he says, “Bought it from the Old Man when he decided to go into a senior living facility. He’s up at Retger’s - he loves it - but he wanted to put everything in my name before his mind started slipping.”

“I see.” You pick at the hem of your jacket, something heavy settling in your stomach. “How is he?”

“Happy. They have a great staff and a lot for him to do. His memory is on the downside of things. He always remembers me but he gets confused about his days and when I last saw him or what we talked about.”

“Is that hard?”

You almost kick yourself for the question. It slips out before you can ask, and you think of course it’s fucking hard. It’s his dad.

“It is,” Yoongi admits with a drawn-out sigh. Dead air hangs between the two of you as he navigates the backroads of your home, little streets and turns stitching into your very being. “Not sure what’s worse, though,” he adds, glancing at you. “Knowing that the days are numbered and being able to prepare, or losing him suddenly.”

It’s like a constrictor squeezes your windpipe as you look out the window. You can’t see the stars through the tops of the trees, but you get a glimpse of a swollen moon for a second. It’s beautiful and bright, your new point of focus as you nod. 

“I think we can agree that losing a parent is hard,” you offer. “Doesn’t matter how much notice you had.” You hesitate, then go for it. “I haven’t really figured out how to navigate life post-dad. It’s part of why I never come home. I think… I think my mom suffers from it a little.”

For a few moments, Yoongi is silent. You sink further into the seat. Though the admission weighs heavy on you, pressing you down down down into the leather seat, it also feels… good to admit it. Like running a burn under freezing cold water, the sting poignant but soothing at the same time. 

“I think that it’s okay to have your own life.” His voice is very quiet and he looks at you sideways. “And that we all deal with grief in a manner of ways. No one begrudges you for it, least of all your mom. I think you should cut yourself some slack.”

“Hmm,” is your only reply. 

Orange parking lot lights come into view. You chuckle a bit when Yoongi turns into Mars Diner. It’s something out of a Jetson’s episode, with large metal pieces like Saturn’s tilted rings arching over the building and a sun-bleached rocket blasting into the sky.

The lot is full and through frosted windows, you can make out shapes of people in booths. A few kids hang around outside, leaning against their cars and sitting on tailgates, breath misting in the cold. 

Yoongi parks the truck and hops out. You’re quick to follow, shutting the door with a firm click and hiding your hands from the cold in your jacket pockets. The door opens and the bell dings, sound pouring out as a family deposits themself onto the sidewalk.

“Hey there Yoongi,” one of the men says, backing up to hold the door open as the two of you approach. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Scott, it’s going well. How are those new stairs treating you?”

“Sturdy as can be. Thanks again for swinging by to help out.” The man - Scott Ledgfield, you realize - looks at you and squints before he says, “Holy shit kiddo, I haven’t seen you since you were a teenager.”

You look at the town’s local pharmacist with a tight grin, immediately feeling the eyes of his family and friends turn on you, ears pricked by the sound of someone old-but-new returning to the neighborhood. You give a small wave to the people you know.

“Uh,” you stammer. “Just got back. It’s nice to see you, Mr. Ledgefield.”

Your mom’s friend opens his mouth to perhaps ask more but Yoongi shuffles you toward the door and throws a hand in a farewell wave. “Jin will kill us if we keep this damn door open.”

Just as you step into the restaurant in full,  the door clanging shut behind you, a familiar voice hollers behind the counter. “Yoongi, don’t keep that damn door open!”

Inside the diner is exactly how you remember it. A round kitchen sits at the core of the building with two large serving windows facing the door. A full, 360-serving counter circles the kitchen with red vinyl stools in front of them, and booths with planet chandeliers over them are full of people looking over laminated menus.

At the helm of it all is Kim Seokjin standing at the register as he rips a receipt out of the machine, grinning as he hands it over to the woman he’s ringing out. There’s a chrome-color apron tied around his waist and he has a rocket ship name tag that says: Captain Kim.

“Wow,” you mutter as Yoongi waits patiently for the couple in front of him to pay. “Jin running this place with his parents now?”

“Mhmm. Kim Senior is in the back still making everything and his mom does all the billing and admin now. Jin does… well, what doesn’t he do?”

“Yes,” Seokjin agrees as the couple leaves and he leans on the counter, a plastic grin on his face. “What don’t I do?” His eyes slide to you. “Huh. I heard you were coming back to town and thought they were bullshitting me.”

“Who is they?” 

He waves his hand, before telling another server to jump on the register before he opens a swinging piece of counter open with his hip. “You know, the collective they everyone uses when they’re referencing the entire town.”

“I see.”

Seokjin looks the same as he did in college - broad shoulders, narrow waist, beautiful face and dark eyes that shine with trouble or mirth, depending on who you ask. He gestures to you and Yoongi to follow and you do, heading to the back corner near a frosted window that still has plates and baskets on the table.

“How have you been?” Seokjin asks as he begins collecting the previous diners' things. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you back here.”

“I’m okay. I think it’s just temporary, I haven't worked it out yet.”

“Hmm, we always say it’s temporary and now look at us - Yoongi is running Min’s and I’m one burnt hash brown from being spatula’d by a customer.” 

The vinyl covering sticks to your jeans as you try to slide. You’re forced to hop your way into the booth as Seokjin places the dirty plates and dishes on a round platter and grabs a bottle of cleaner from behind Yoongi’s side of the booth.

“Well,” you venture awkwardly. “There’s nothing wrong with being home, right?”

“No,” he agrees and gives you a look that you can’t read. “There’s not.”

Awkward silence hangs in the air at his tone. You chew on your lip and can’t help but feel like somehow you’ve offended him. You weren’t really friends with Seokjin growing up, but he was a friend of friends, and you knew him well enough to attend birthday parties growing up.

Now, you reach for a menu and busy yourself with it as Yoongi clears his throat and asks how business has been with the holiday only a few days away. Seokjin’s tone with you melts away as he answers Yoongi’s question, slinging a towel over his shoulder while chatting. 

A girl who looks in her late teens comes over with an order sheet and pen, sending Seokjin back toward the register where someone has a gift card that no one knows how to ring up. He leaves with a roll of his eyes as the server takes your order before scurrying away.

“Don’t let Jin make you feel weird,” Yoongi says airly, looking over the menu. The dim light from Saturn and Uranus reflect in his dark eyes when you peek at him over your menu. “He thinks you have a chip on your shoulder.”

You smack the table with your menu. “Why on earth does he think that?”

“Have some respect for the decor. We’re not on earth, we’re in space.”

“Yoongi.” 

“Look,” he sighs, putting his menu down. “When you graduated, you were very hellbent on letting everyone know that you didn’t want to come back. Then you got a very nice job in the city, and did just that and never turned back. Which is fine, I respect the hell out of you for it. But you didn’t talk to anyone, and now that you’re back under… whatever circumstances, you act like being here is going to hurt your reputation.”

“I’ve barely seen anyone while I’ve been here.”

“It’s… the posture and the way you look at everyone.” You frown and he grins, reaching over the table to poke the space between your eyebrows. “It’s that,” He insists. “You look at everyone with a very intense scowl and like you have better things to do. That’s all.”

“Do you think that?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

He looks up at you, expression soft. “I think a lot of things about you. Having a chip on your shoulder isn’t one of them.”

Before you can unravel the weight of his words and the rush of something you feel in response, the server returns with your glass of hard cider and Yoongi’s dark beer. You mull over his thoughts while he places his order and you rattle off your favorite, which you’re pleased to see is still on the menu. 

Quiet settles over the booth as you sip your drink, averting your gaze. He thinks you have a chip on your shoulder. 

When you think about it, you realize that you sort of do. 

Back when you had graduated high school and went to college just an hour away, you swore you wouldn’t go back and take up a job just to stay close to family and what you always knew. Coming from a small town, you felt like you had yet to see the world or experience anything real.

Even in college, it always felt like you were too close. All the same kids you went to high school with became your apartment neighbors and your university classmates, and everyone went to the same parties and fucked the same people.

It was like watching high school repeat all over again. Bringing home drama from college to the holidays, and then hearing what so-and-so did while they were home from school. 

The thought of ever coming back was suffocating. So you took the first job you found that felt like it was lightyears away, stuck right in the middle of corporate America in a screaming city that you could hardly sleep in for the first few months because you were overwhelmed and a little afraid.

City life had become addicting though, and seeing all your little hometown friends go back to mom-and-pop jobs while you climbed the corporate ladder, got engaged and sent really nice presents home as an apology for going to Aspen for Christmas instead of seeing your parents felt powerful and liberating. 

And then your dad died on Christmas. While you were out with friends at a resort. That had been the first blow, the first reason to start thinking that the holidays weren’t for being cheerful, or for celebrating or for… anything, really. 

With that mindset, you spent the next Christmas with your fiance tucked away in your apartment, just the two of you. It had been your anti-Christmas, doing everything that was the opposite. You watched horror movies and ate popsicles, you decorated your house for Halloween and Valentine's day, you did everything possible to forget that you weren’t home opening presents with your parents - no just your mom now - and it worked. 

Now, you’re sitting in your hometown diner across the table from the one person who has always been the exception to the rule, with Christmas music blaring over the speakers and every person wishing you a happy holiday that walks by the table. 

A pit opens up inside of your stomach as you stare at the bubbles rushing to the top of your cider. The same, nasty feeling that made you snap at Yoongi in the kitchen rises up instead of you, a hydra ready to grow more heads and become an untamable beast.

“Where did you wander off to?” Yoongi’s question startles you from your thoughts and you look up at him. “You were so caught up I thought you might make your cider explode like Professor X.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. “Did you just make an X-Men reference?”

“Yeah, I still like comics, okay?”

You hum. “I was thinking that…” You take a large swig of your cider to press the tightness in your throat back. “I was thinking that maybe I do have a chip on my shoulder. I just… the holidays honestly bring out the worst in me, and I think I was already sour about being home.”

Like your admission of guilt on the way over, you feel lighter admitting your thoughts to Yoongi. There’s a pause in the conversation as your server puts down a burger in front of him and your chicken sandwich in front of you. 

“I think,” Yoongi says slowly as he pops a fry in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “That it’s really easy for the people here to write off anyone who dares to do a little bit better than what they grew up with. For people like Jin, he always knew he’d come back home. I think it’s equal parts jealousy and wanting respect.”

“I don’t mean to make anyone feel disrespected,” you murmur. “Honestly, my distaste for coming home is more to do with the time of year than anything.”

“How so?”

Between bites of your dinner, you tell Yoongi about how your holidays have been over the last few years. How you stopped going home for them because it felt suffocating to be in a house with parents who didn’t understand anything about your love for being somewhere far away. How you stopped going home because if you stayed away with your friends and coworkers, you didn’t have to see how much they missed you.

All this time, you’d been running from guilt. Especially after the passing of your father. Even the sound of holiday music and the pressure to make plans to visit and buy gifts for people you were now somewhat unfamiliar with was enough anxiety to make the thought of Christmas and all of its bullshit unbearable. 

Once your dad died, the thought of the holiday season was even worse. It meant going home and crying on Christmas because it was just you and your mom. It meant getting thinking of your pity text messages instead of well wishes and happy holidays. It meant forgetting a pair of scissors to open gifts because that was your dad’s job, and it meant that there was an inescapable void in your home. 

Yoongi settles against the booth, looking at you with sad eyes. But what’s more, there is empathy there. Understanding. You don’t feel pitied or judged by Yoongi and the relief that washes over you as you spill your guts out at your favorite dinner is overwhelming.

You get another round of cider and you tell him about your cheating ex. How you were kicked from the apartment that hadn’t been yours from the start. How it’s one more negative feeling associated with Christmas, and how it was forcing you to go back to a place you wanted to see least of all, during a time you hated. How you… didn’t even care so much that the relationship was over. That you were just angry about having to find somewhere else to live and a little embarrassed that everyone saw it coming but you.

Sipping his beer, Yoongi sighs. “I’m going to say something that I want you to consider, and not take personally.”

You push around a cold french fry on your plate. “No promises.”

His smile is fleeting. “The holidays didn’t steal these things from you.” 

The words hang heavy in the air between the two of you. 

Elsewhere, the music has turned down a bit. It’s getting later and the dinner rush has faded to a soft hum in the background. The bell on the door chimes less and there are more empty booths than there are full. Seokjin disappears to the back for a much-earned break. 

It’s a simple concept that Yoongi has given you and yet you want to fight him on it. 

The holidays didn’t steal these things from you. Well no, they hadn’t. But it seemed that your bad luck was recurring, cycling back at the same time every year. Doomed to make your dread stronger and stronger with each passing Christmas. 

“That might be true,” you admit. “But it’s not like I’m the only person who hates the holidays. I mean, at least I have a reason and it’s not some sort of anti-corporate America speel.” He opens his mouth but you cut him off. “Which, by the way, is a very valid point. Hallmark makes all of its money on being a Christmas vampire feeding off the people like me who have trouble going home for the holidays. Except I reject it.”

“There is another alternative.” 

“And what’s that?”

“Embrace that life fucking sucks but eventually we can figure it out. If we want to and if we have the means.”

“What if we don’t have the means?”

Yoongi gives you a severe look. “Does your insurance cover therapy?” You nod. “Good, you have the means. If healing from this anxiety and guilt is something you’re interested in. Come on, I want dessert.” 

-

Later that night, when you have had an overwhelming amount of fudge and talked to Yoongi about anything and everything that doesn’t involve Christmas or any of the horrible feelings you’ve spilled to him all day long, you lay in bed flicking through your phone on one hand while you hold a thin, plastic card in another.

Squinting as the phone brightness increases when a new webpage is loaded, you manage to find what you’re looking for, typing in your insurance information and answering a few questions before you hit send. 

Once done, you set the phone on the nightstand and settle in your bed, heart pounding as you stare up at the ceiling and wonder how fast you’ll hear back on a request for a therapy consultation. 

All the while, Yoongi’s words circle round and round in your mind: Embrace the fact that life fucking sucks, but eventually we can figure it out. 

You roll on your side and squeeze your eyes shut and dare to hope that maybe Yoongi is right.

-

A routine nestles its way into your life before you’re aware of it. You get up and go downstairs for breakfast.

Once in the dining room, you have breakfast with your mom, trying not to get queasy over the fact that your dad’s chair remains empty at the head of the table. Sometimes, Yoongi is there in the morning and has breakfast with the two of you. Those days are much easier to fill the silence.

After breakfast, you shower and pick through your belongings, trying to rearrange your old room and make it somewhat adaptable to the lifestyle you had at your apartment. Adjusting to the fact that your mom is up at six in the morning on the dot and is ready for lunch by eleven nearly drives you to the edge, but you manage.

Most days you find yourself wandering to the back of Min’s Hardware and asking if Yoongi needs help. He always seems surprised to see you back, no matter how many days in a row you find yourself there, chewing on the corner of your lip. 

The silence that comes with helping Yoongi has become an addiction. You notice that he no longer plays Christmas music in the shop when you’re around, opting for just general pop. You’re both thankful and a little embarrassed, but you say nothing as he gives you projects to sand or stain. 

When you’re both tired and your fingers are cramping and worse for wear, you break for lunch. Sometimes you go to your house where your mom has fixed you both a meal. Other times, you pop by the diner where Seokjin gives you lunch on the house.

Seokjin comes around, the more he sees you with Yoongi. You’re still a little extra nice around him, trying to prove that you don’t think you’re better than him. You just… don’t know how to be him. Don’t know how to settle into life like everyone else so easily has. 

It’s two weeks in that Yoongi upends your carefully crafted routine by leaning against your workstation - you don’t know when it became yours - and says, “What are you doing for Christmas Eve? I know your mom is volunteering and she said you weren’t but I don’t want to assume you’re… not doing anything.”

Today, Yoongi is in a green sweater and jeans, the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his hands as he works. His hair is unstyled, showing just how long it’s gotten. It’s darker at the root where his natural color grows in, but even so, he looks beautiful as ever. Unsettlingly beautiful. The kind that makes you a little shy when he puts his full attention on you these days, especially when he shows you how to do something by gently touching your elbow or your wrist. 

“Ummm.” You race to think of a response, but the words are sticky in your brain with his proximity. Usually, he does his own things, but every time Yoongi comes close these days, your brain gets a little out of sorts. “I was going to do like my little anti-Christmas thing and watch Halloweentown, I guess.”

“Maybe one day I’ll join you on that. For now, I wanted to see if you wanted to um - join me.”

“Join you what?”

He presses his lips flat and raises his brow at the poorly articulated question. “For Christmas Eve. It isn’t very exciting or anything, but I usually have dinner at the home with my dad. They make a great honey ham and then Seokjin has a party at his house after everyone leaves their family dinners. Alcohol is encouraged.”

“Oh.” You blink once. Twice. “You want me to have dinner with you and your dad?”

Blossom-pink blush spreads over Yoongi’s cheek and nose. You chew your bottom lip as you watch him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he picks at stray splinters on the table. “I just thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone.”

Yoongi’s words from a few days ago echo in your mind when you asked when he started being such a fan of the holidays: when I started spending them alone. 

The thought of spending time with Yoongi with his dad, tucked into a corner of an elderly home with cheesy holiday decorations and staff that talks too gently, and putting on a show for those who feel alone and sad is dizzying. It terrifies you. It makes you want to run. 

Which is why you swallow past the stone in your throat and say, “Um. Sure. Yes. I would like to go with you.” 

He bites his bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. You clench all over, seizing up at how cute he is when he does that. “Really?”

“Yeah, Min. Really.”

“Wow, you haven’t called me Min in… a min.”

“God that was so cheesy.”

“Mhmm. We’re closed tomorrow because I’m helping out at the children’s home but I’ll pick you up at five Saturday. They serve dinner really early there.”

“Okay.” 

Yoongi grins, all gums and round cheeks and shining eyes and for a moment, you forget that you’re supposed to be heartbroken and sour and pitiful. His smile stops everything and you immediately want to say something clever to make him do it again.

Instead, you just nod awkwardly and say, “Okay.”

-

Piles and piles of clothes litter your floor as you yank on an oversized peacoat and rush to the bathroom to check your outfit. You’ve been through at least fifteen different combinations and messed up your neatly place hair, and you still are unsure what the fuck you’re supposed to wear to a Christmas Eve dinner at an elderly home with the Mins.

You are very out of your depth.

When your phone dings and you see that Yoongi has arrived to get you, you scream in frustration and decide that wide-leg jeans paired with black combat boots, a black turtleneck and an oversized coat will have to do. It’s something you would have worn back in the city, but you’re unsure if it’s a little too casual for this.

Outside, the wind snaps against your face, stinging your nose and lips. You fight the urge to lick your lips and remove the very faint, pink lip stain there as you rush to the truck where Yoongi waves enthusiastically. 

Yoongi’s gummy grin warms you more than the heated interior of the cab when you jump into the passenger seat, shuffling the crinkling gift back in your lap as you shiver and stick your hands in front of the air vents to warm them. 

“You look nice,” Yoongi says as a greeting, putting the truck in reverse and looking in his mirrors. “What’s the gift?”

“Um-” Embarrassment heats your cheeks immediately. “I uh, got your dad something? I felt sort of weird showing up without a gift. I don’t know. Is that stupid? I can leave it-”

Your name is soft on his lips as he pauses in the middle of the street to look at you. You stop your rambling, staring at him. His eyes are dark pools, glittering in the dying afternoon sun as he smiles at you. His hair is shaggy again today like he air-dried it and the tawny colored coat makes his hair even more vibrant. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Yoongi says gently, smiling. His lips look soft and pink today - well they always look like that, but you notice a little extra today. “That’s not stupid. It’s incredibly kind.”

“It’s - um - I know he used to really love reading all those mythology books and he was fond of the stuff with Odin and Thor? So I got him a Norse mythology one? It had a cool tree on it.”

For a few moments, Yoongi stares at you, unblinking. The truck is in drive, but he has his foot on the brake so it just sits in front of your house collecting little bits of snow. The weight of his gaze threatens to make you melt into the seat. You drop your gaze to the red and green package in your lap, trying to figure out how to explain that the idea was dumb.

“You are incredibly thoughtful.” Yoongi’s voice is so soft you’re almost sure you imagined him speaking at all. You glance up and he has a look you can’t unpack on his face, but it’s something like fondness, perhaps. “He will absolutely love that. I got him an Egyptian one.” 

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi takes a hand off the wheel and reaches over the center console to squeeze your hand where it’s gripped tight on the present. His fingers are calloused and rough from the years in the shop, but his touch is soft. Reverent. Your hand feels like it’s tingling even after he lets go and says, “I promise. Thank you. It’ll mean a lot to him, but it means even more to me.”

Still a little nervous and dizzy from the simple touch of his hand, you nod. 

Finally, Yoongi pulls into the road and starts driving, quiet as his eyes focus on navigating to the center of town. Music plays softly in the background and you glance out the slightly frosted window. 

Outside, families unpack themselves from cars, hurrying in bundles of jackets and loaded with presents to the doorsteps that are cast open for other family members and friends to help them in. Your heart squeezes at the thought and you look away from all of the houses and lights, instead focusing on the lines painted on the road. 

It feels like forever ago it was your family casting open your doors to house Christmas Eve with your extended family. But your uncle and his wife had long since moved away, and their kids had their own kids to celebrate with, and though the invitation was probably there for you and your mom to visit, it felt weird being with your dad's family when your dad was… not around. 

“Dad may or may not remember you,” Yoongi hums as he drives. “I think he will because he’s good about people from the past, but he might not get your name right. I don’t correct him because it can confuse and frustrate him, so just go with whatever if you can.”

“Of course. I’ll just follow your lead.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he drives with one hand on the wheel, one hand hanging off the center console where he leans on his elbow. “He has a little trouble with train of thought, just let him get it out. He hates when you try and finish sentences for him.”

You smile. “He’s always hated that. You were the most impatient son ever.” 

“Well, practice has made perfect. I’m a changed man.”

“Uh-huh.”

The home is covered in holiday decor as you expected. Cars line the lot of what would look like apartment buildings if the sign out front didn’t indicate that it was a senior living center. Honestly, they look better than most of the apartments you’ve had in the city, a single reminder that everything is so much more affordable when you step out of your self-made comfort zone.

Ice and snow crunch beneath your boots in the parking lot. The two of you hurry along, shivering and laughing in the cold. Yoongi surprises you when he pulls you in by the waist, pressing you to his side to walk in a quick, albeit warmer, huddle to the main building. 

Warmth hits you in the face and melts back the cold as you step inside, a shiver racking up your spine. There’s a massive Christmas tree in the lobby with a ‘donated’ sign in the front thanking a local company for the tree, and there are hand-crafted ornaments that from another sign, inform you they were made by the children in the orphanage on the other side of town.

Christmas music tinkles lightly overhead as Yoongi leads you to a counter where a woman with a Christmas vest and a bright smile greets him enthusiastically. It’s obvious that she’s familiar with him as she rattles off how his dad has been doing, scribbling his name on a tag with a candy cane heart and handing it over to him. 

Tag in hand, Yoongi awkwardly shuffles to the side to reveal you to the woman behind the desk, whose name tag says Esther. Her eyes go round and her mouth forms a small ‘o’ when she sees you, surprised that Yoongi has brought a guest. You hate to admit that you feel a little pleased if it’s not common for him to bring other people here. 

Ignoring that, you give her your name and she hesitates, glancing at Yoongi. He nods his head with a tiny frown before she scribbles your name onto the tag and hands it over to you, an unreadable expression now on her face. 

“Enjoy.”

Sticking the tag on your jacket, you glance at Yoongi as he leads the way toward the common room where they’re having dinner. “Well, I don’t think she likes me.”

He hums noncommittally and you say nothing more, following his twists and turns until you’re in a large common area nearly bursting at the seams with Feliz Navidad and tinsel. There are people of varying ages inside sitting around pop-up round tables and folding chairs. Red and green plastic table clothes cover the tables, little gift-wrapped boxes act as centerpieces. There’s another tree donated in the corner by Min’s, making you poke Yoongi’s side and gesture to the tree.

Shy, Yoongi shrugs and scurries away from you, spotting his dad sitting on a sectional looking up at the glittering tree. You hesitate to follow, a little lost as you watch Yoongi call his dad’s name gently, catching his attention. They look so much alike that it’s dizzying to watch as his dad stands up, bringing Yoongi into a tight hug.

You clench your jaw, willing the sudden burning in your eyes to go away. You feel your palms sweat and your throat constricts, making you look away from them as they hold each other by the shoulders, exchanging greetings that you can’t hear from the middle of the room.

All around you are people with their moms and dads. The room is crushed with holiday cheer, held hands, kisses on cheeks and tight hugs. You start to realize this was a terrible idea, excuses and ways to leave flipping through your mind like a Rolodex when Yoongi calls your name. 

Turning to face them, you feel like a deer in headlights. Eyes wide, mouth agape, frame tense. Yoongi gives you a nod as he leads his dad to you. Old Man Min walks well enough, and is a little shorter than Yoongi with peppered hair, kind eyes and a knitted scarf that looks like something perhaps your mom made. 

“You look just like your father!” His dad greets, throwing open his arms when he sees you. Your stomach drops to your ass at the declaration, but you force a smile, bending down a bit to hug him quickly. “I haven’t seen you since… I last saw you!”

That makes you laugh. “It’s nice to see you.”

“I’m just glad Yoongi finally brought you! I’ve been asking to see his girlfriend for two weeks!”

“Dad,” Yoongi admonishes giving you an apologetic look. “She’s… not.” 

Old Man Min waves him off as he heads towards the serving line where there is an array of holiday-themed catered food. “I’m starving. I’ve been waiting here all damned afternoon!”

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispers as he goes by you, upping his pace to keep up with his dad who has his sights set on food. “He does remember you very well, by the way.”

Ignoring hot coal burning in the pit of your stomach at the comparison to your father, you shuffle in line behind Yoongi. All of the workers behind the table serving recognize him immediately, brightening and greeting him with dazzling smiles and heart eyes. 

Next to him, you raise your brows and watch as he shyly interacts with them all, answering the same questions over and over and thanking them for putting on a wonderful dinner. They bask in the shower of his praise until he leans over to you and insists you get the mac and cheese. Yoongi doesn’t notice the shift, but you do, the staff immediately stiffens and goes quiet when they see you interact.

At a table tucked in the corner for just the three of you, you dig into your meal, answering all of Old Man Min’s questions he throws your way. They’re easy to answer: what do you do now, how is your mom, when did you come back. Some of the questions he repeats on accident or drifts off when asking, but you don’t mind, chewing around mac and cheese and waiting for him to get it out, or repeating your answer with the same vigor as before.

Yoongi seems nervous at first, neglecting his food to look back and forth between the two of you. You nudge him gently under the table and his dark eyes fall on you. You give him a face, trying to convey that you’re okay and he grins sheepishly, looking down at his meal and deciding it’s safe enough to start eating. 

“So how did my son finally start dating you?” his dad demands, sipping his sweet tea. “I thought he would finally ask you out in high school and then… uh college, but he never did!”

“Dad,” Yoongi starts gently, but you’re quick to cut him off, touching Yoongi’s arm gently as you smile at his dad. “Recently,” you explain. You glance at Yoongi with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t know he had a crush on me in high school, though.”

“Ha! Of course he did! Why do you think he always wanted you over at the shop? Sure were over there than uh… what’s that girl's name? Jan’s daughter.”

“Jessa,” Yoongi offers softly, not meeting anyone’s eye as he becomes interested in pushing honeyed ham around his plate. “Dad you’re embarrassing me.”

“Yeah, Jenna! She was never at the shop nearly as much as you. Nice girl, not you though.” He stabs a piece of ham and shakes his head. “Always knew you’d be the one. Your dad and I were always sure of it.” 

Yoongi tenses but you smile at Old Man Min. “Really?” 

“Mhmm. Your dad was a hell of a guy! I remember back when we were in high school…”

Yoongi’s dad launches into a tale of when he and your father were kids and you’re shocked to discover that the unsettling feeling in your stomach starts to fade. You listen, chin in your palm and elbow propped on the table as you sip on cider to the adventures of your dad in his youth. 

The wound stings a little but… it’s bearable. And it’s nice, to see Yoongi’s dad come alive and recall so many things from his own childhood. The color on Yoongi’s face and the way he keeps trying to hide his smile in the collar of his jacket says everything about how pleased he is to see his dad happy and healthy. 

Almost without thinking, you reach over under the table and take Yoongi’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He looks up at you, brows raised. You can’t help but smile, really glad that he brought you here. Somehow, it is exactly what you needed. 

Yoongi squeezes your hand back, making your heart pick up. As you start to pull away, he snatches your hand back, lacing your fingers and squeezing. You stare at him, surprised and flustered and feeling a little breathless as he settles in his chair, refusing to look at you as he holds your hand in his lap, engrossed in the tale his father is weaving. 

With a nervous exhale, you lean back in your chair, content with the warmth of his hand and whatever the hell sparks with his touch.

-

Seokjin is very drunk and very happy to see you when he throws open the front door to his incredibly nice home in the new, gated community just beyond your old high school. The two-story home is full of warmth, people from your high school and college, and a lot of booze. 

Immediately you’re uneasy, smiling awkwardly at the shocked faces of your old peers. Yoongi is heedless, though, keeping a hand on yours as he leads you through the party. You’re distracted by the firmness of his hold on you, the way it makes your head spin, the way that you don’t know what holding his hand means, but it’s nice. 

And then you’re in the kitchen, pressed close to his side as you field questions from old friends that aren’t as much friends as they are nosy people from your past. No one asks about your handholding, but the way they glance down to where Yoongi has your fingers laced with his is enough to know it’s all anyone is going to talk about in whispered circles and for the next two weeks. 

If Yoongi is bothered by this, he doesn’t show it. You however, are very in your head. The loose, happy feeling you had at dinner with his dad is replaced with stiff movements, quiet murmurs of hellos and asking how are you to people you don’t really care about, and cringing when a group of people pass by caroling room to room.

Yoongi senses the way you freeze up, the way you press yourself into the pantry as though you could melt into the wood and remain unseen. He tugs you toward a glass sliding door where there is a patio filled with smokers, all of them shivering and breathing smoke and steamed breath into the string lighting. 

Going past them, Yoongi tugs you down into the back of the yard and to a gate. People whistle behind you and Yoongi throws a middle finger over his head, uncaring. He throws the latch and squeezes through the gate, so you follow. 

Behind Seokjin’s house is a lake with a lit fountain, frozen and off for the winter season. He trudges toward it and sits down on damp grass, patting the spot next to him. Tentatively, you sit down and look over at him. 

“Sorry.” His breath fogs in the cold. “I didn’t think about how shitty that might feel for you before inviting you.”

“It’s okay. I just… don’t really know how to answer their questions.”

“What do you mean?”

You pull at frozen grass to distract yourself from having to look at him. “I mean, I just broke up with my fiance a few weeks ago because I caught them cheating and now I show up to a party where everyone thinks I’m a stuck up holding your hand.”

“Not everyone thinks that.” You give him a look and he amends, “Okay, a lot of people do but not everyone.” 

“Great.”

“If they saw you the way I do, they definitely wouldn’t think that.” You shoot him a questioning look as your heart beats a little bit faster. Your nerves start to tingle as you watch him figure out how to phrase what comes next. “You have no idea how nice it was to have you with me tonight. I’ve been doing that alone for years and I love spending time with my dad, but having someone else there to take the pressure off and to see him happy was… fuck it was really nice.”

The icy core around your heart that began to scrape itself together once you entered the party melts just a little bit. You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure what to say. Thankfully, Yoongi continues. “I know you don’t like the holidays because it reminds you of being home and everything you want to get away from, and of the bad things that happened to you. I didn’t like them for… fuck, for years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They sucked without my mom, but it wasn’t so bad because we’d come to spend time with you guys or go over to the Kims. My dad made it work, and even though it felt like a fucking gut punch those first few years after my mom died, I sort of adjusted.”

“And then?”

He sighs heavily, looking up at the moon. “And then dad’s old age happened. The man you got tonight was… man, it was good. He was great tonight, happy and present and vibrant. It’s not always like that though - it’s usually not. There are a lot of times when he might forget my mom is gone or might forget that he sold the shop to me and thinks he has to go to work and… it was really hard at first. Trying to make that adjustment.”

“You’re so patient, though.”

“I wasn’t always. Around the holidays I was trying to run the shop and visit him so he wouldn’t feel alone and deal with my own grief about how fucking alone everything felt. There wasn’t anyone to relate to and I was just…” Yoongi shrugs and runs a hand over his brow. “Honestly, I wasn’t very nice for a bit. It was really frustrating to learn new ways to talk to him and I just… hated everyone.”

Fuck you know how it feels. You look at Yoongi as he stares out at the frozen lake. You would never guess that Yoongi, who makes so many different things in his spare time for the holidays could be mean. Yoongi, who eats something different every time you go to Jin’s diner. Yoongi, who chased a stray cat around your backyard until he could bring it in and warm it up inside before taking it over to the shelter. Yoongi who has been unwaveringly kind, and invited you to Christmas Eve dinner so you wouldn’t be alone. 

When you were teens, you could have bought that story. He had always been a little standoffish and hard around the edges. You were always in his inner circle, a rare witness to the way that he could melt for the people that he cared about. But the Yoongi of now does not seem like someone who hates the world like Yoongi of then had the potential to - and did.

It doesn’t make sense, this Yoongi that he talks about in the past and the Yoongi that you see in front of you. The Yoongi in front of you is gentle, kind, and soft with those around him. He never raises his voice, he is gentle with customers, and he often pulls more weight than he should at his own store to take the pressure off his employees.

“What changed, then?” you ask, desperately seeking an answer. In him, you see what you want to be. The calmness, the confidence in who he is and what he’s doing. He’s not drowning in his grief, or trying to reconcile a cacophony of feelings. At least, it doesn’t seem like it. 

“Therapy, for starters,” he laughs and gives you a look as he lays back in the grass. You join him, feeling the cold sink into your coat, but you don’t care. You like laying here with him under a blanket of frozen stars with the muted sounds of the party just beyond the wooden gate.

He continues, “But also a lot of introspection and a lot of self-hate. This version you have of me now? It’s gone through a lot of pain and suffering and reconciling with myself. It’s not an easy process, but it is worth it. And it started with me not blaming Christmas for things  that were just… beyond my control.”

“Fuck, so I have to apologize to Santa? I’m not even religious.”

Yoongi’s breath turns to fog as he laughs. You watch the way his eyes crinkle, shining with mirth under the gray light of the moon. He glows under the night sky – cheeks frozen-blush, lips chapped a little from the winter wind, nose cherry read. Droplets of dew cling to his long hair, a crown of diamonds on a prince spun from moonbeams.

At least, that’s what it feels like as you watch his laughter settle. Yoongi smiles up at the sky and that tight feeling constricts in your chest again. This version of him is so much softer than the teenager you remember. Warm at the edges, melted with a lifetime of experiences that have thawed that hard exterior.

Something like envy slithers through you. Envy that Yoongi has long healed from his hurts. That he seems to have settled here he is now, in happiness and knowing his path. He doesn’t have everything but he has enough, and as he turns to look at you, dark eyes sparkling, you can’t help but avert your gaze.

You don’t want him to see the inside of you.

“It’s more about Christmas as a concept,” Yoongi sighs, looking back up at the sky. Marshmallow clouds drift across a midnight canvas. You can only make out the brightest of stars here, the light pollution dimming the effect. “I’m not religious either, but the effect that the holidays can have on people is touching. Heartwarming. People love others a little extra.”

“Yeah, well they should do that year-round.”

“Small steps, small steps. Maybe it’s an open conversation at a dinner, or maybe it’s someone seeing family they haven't seen in a while. There are so many opportunities for love and warmth and chances to open your heart.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Make fun of me all you want,” he chuckles. “I know it sounds idealistic and a little bit naïve. But I’ve experienced too much sadness to keep thinking that’s all there is, and I’ve seen people’s lives change around the holidays. It’s special.”

You hum. “Why wait until the end of the year for all of that so-called happiness, then?”

“Life is hard - like really fucking hard. Sometimes when the end of the year is staring you right in the face, or when you're realizing it may be your last Christmas with an aging loved one is the push people need to brave that first step to being happy.”

“You’re celebrating procrastination.”

Yoongi sighs. He rolls over on his side and props his head up with his hand. You feel a flush of warmth curl through you under the weight of his full attention. Suddenly the cold hard ground you’ve opted to lay on doesn’t feel so bad.

“I’m celebrating people being moved to do something.” His tone is gentle. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He seems thoughtful, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “I’m celebrating that sometimes the holidays are the worst time for people. But something small will happen to make them feel even a moment of happiness. Just one small second of relief from the fucking madness.”

You think about everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. A tightness constricts your throat and you try to swallow past it. It takes you a few moments, but you imagine what it would be like to have just a fucking second to catch your breath. To have a moment of pure, unfiltered happiness.

“I just…” Yoongi’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I want people to be happy. And it feels like maybe this time of year has more potential than most. So that’s what I celebrate. Not the gift and the capitalism and the hypocrisy of it all. But the little seconds in between.”

A long, slow breath of air leaves you. You watch it steam and curl toward the sky before fading. “Well, Yoongi. I wish I was nearly as optimistic.”

“Maybe you can be.” You glance at him and see him smiling. “Just give me a chance to persuade you, yeah? My work seems to be paying off so far.”

“It is. I have an appointment to talk to a therapist in three weeks. It’s just an introductory thing, but…”

“That’s great, honestly. I don’t want to say I’m proud of you because that’s pretentious and you’re not doing this for me, but I really hope it helps.” Silence settles between you. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you are cold, despite the warmth that blooms when he studies your face. “Wanna go inside and drink a fuck ton of wine and then Irish exit?”

“Fuck yeah,” you laugh, letting him help you to your feet. 

Back inside of the party, you do just that. Yoongi plies you with sweet, red wine until there’s a cotton-soft buzz in your body. You’re a little bit nicer to people who still whisper when you walk by, and you even let Seokjin drag you into a single karaoke performance of Baby It’s Cold Outside. 

It’s already embarrassing to show how horrible you are at singing, but to make matters worse, you cannot stop glancing over at Yoongi who leans against the wall of the living room, a plastic wine up in his hand, dark eyes focused only on you. 

Heat pools in your lower stomach at his gaze, watching it darken by the minute. You do not miss when Jessa - who Old Man Min has dubbed Jenna - approaches Yoongi tentatively. And yet he is dismissive, the overly-warm and kind exterior replaced with something sharper. Hungrier. 

And his focus is entirely on you.

When you finish the song and wander over to him, breathless, he keeps his eyes pinned on you. Fathomless pools that draw you in until you feel like you’re falling falling falling, weightless and breathless. No one has ever looked at you like that. Not even your fiance. 

“What?” you ask, voice shaking as you lean against the wall, face tilted up toward him. You feel warm and wine-slow all over, limbs heavy and comfortable. Your lashes flutter when you slow blink at him. His lips are stained red from wine. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way?”

Embolden by sweet wine, your talk on the lawn and your innocent hand holding, you huff. “In a way that makes me want to be stupid and kiss you.”

“That would make you stupid?”

You drop your gaze and press the rim of your plastic cup to your lips. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I kind of want to do it, but I don’t… know?”

His voice is lower and deeper, soft against your sense as he leans in a little. “So you want to kiss me?” You nod. “But you don’t know if you want to kiss me?”

“I don’t want you to think it’s… I haven’t been single for long. I don’t want you to think that of me. It isn’t because of that. I’ve wanted to for like years and - yeah.”

“I already told you. I think a lot of things of you. That isn’t one.” His gaze flickers around the party. You don’t realize how close he is until he turns back to you, warm breath fanning against your head. “How about we do our exit now and talk about that kiss where there’s not so many eyes, hmm?”

Mutely, you nod at him. Now you definitely want to kiss Yoongi. He’s gone from the soft, gummy-grin man full of holiday cheer to a darker, calm version of himself that is new. Confident. And quite frankly toe-curling. 

Yoongi wraps his fingers around yours and leads you to the exit, saying nothing to anyone that you pass by. Then you’re out in the cold and he’s unlocking the truck, popping open your door and pulling you toward it.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“Very,” he promises, voice raspy. “I only live across the stoplight, remember?” 

“Ohhh.” You get into the passenger seat, leaning your head on it and looking at Yoongi, who is momentarily propped against your door. “You’re taking me home?”

He leans forward, eyes dropping to your mouth as he mutters, “Uh-huh.”

And then he’s kissing you and the entire world fades into the background.

Yoongi’s lips are just as soft as you imagined. You sink into the kiss, leaning forward into the heavenly press of his mouth. Everything shifts, the dizziness of the wine mulling into dizziness of Yoongi - the way he smells like cedar and rose, the way he presses your mouth open with his, the way he tastes like sweet notes of wine. 

The soft brush of his tongue against yours makes your thighs squeeze together. He’s slow as he kisses you, taking his time to suck your tongue into his mouth, rolling his over yours languidly and fuck you’re going to die from just a kiss. 

Yoongi pulls back and you whine, hands going to the collar of his jacket and pulling him back, missing the warmth of his mouth, the gentle pull of your lip between his teeth. “More,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his.

His chuckle buzzes through your mouth, a gentle tingle as you pull at his bottom lip with your teeth playfully. He groans as he kisses you, a little sloppier, with a little more tangled tongues and spit. The wet smack of his mouth against yours is interrupted when someone’s dog starts barking in one of the yards, startling you. 

“Fuck,” he laughs, voice husky. “In your seat, come on. Let’s go.”

“Meh.”

He grins and pushes your leg back into the cab of the truck. “Greedy.”

Yoongi shuts the door and rounds the hood. Your eyes are glued to him as he gets in, your heart pounding in your chest as he starts the car. It occurs to you that you just kissed Yoongi. Min Yoongi, the one person you’ve been spending time with since you got back. The one person who you thought about late at night when your fiance was asleep and you were chasing thoughts of your past. 

The one person who seemed to be willing to look a little deeper. To see that the poison inside of you wasn’t because you didn’t like anyone, or because you thought that you were better. It was because you were afraid and sad and didn’t know how to deal with anything. 

Wordlessly, he reaches over the center console, placing his hand on your thigh and giving it a squeeze. You shut your legs, stomach clenching at the feeling of his fingers brushing gently over your jeans. When you look at him, there’s a sideways smirk on his face and you know he knows that your stomach is flipping over the simple touch. 

It feels like the drive lasts a thousand years. You’re squirming in the seat as Yoongi’s thumb brushes back and forth, giving you a squeeze now and again accompanied by a grin. You can’t help but smile back, heart in your fucking throat as you see all of the familiar houses pass you by. 

The Min home is exactly like you remember it but with less cars. Yoongi parks in the drive, popping open the garage with the press of a button to reveal a workshop of tools, shelves for storage and a flickering overhead light that has been faulty since you were in middle school. 

Outside, Yoongi reaches for your hand, pulling you close as you pass under the garage and toward the door that opens up into a white-tiled kitchen. The hum of the closing door follows you in as he flicks on a light, revealing a large kitchen with oak cabinets and a counter full of mail, a catch all, and various containers of sugar, and coffee and other items. 

Yoongi chucks his keys and shuffles out of his jacket, tossing it on the counter and turning to you. He gives you a cunning smile and beckons you. There’s no denying his summons, your feet pulling you toward him automatically as he catches you by the waist, pulling you into his chest as he brushes his mouth against yours again. 

Somehow, it feels normal to be doing this. To press your palms against his chest as he lounges lazily against his kitchen counter, one hand on your waist and one hand on the side of your neck as he tilts your mouth to his, kissing you hungrily. Like he’s waited an entire lifetime to do this. 

The thought makes you pull away suddenly. You look up at him, his face flush and lips kiss-bitten and spit-slicked. His eyes flutter open, looking down at you half-lidded and dazed. “Hmm?”

“Did you really have a crush on me?” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, tilting his head backward until it hits a cabinet. The hand on your neck is firm, a steady weight that sends your thoughts wild when his thumb brushes back and forth across the skin of your over-warmed throat. 

“Of course I did. You paint so much of my life, you have no idea.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Cause I was terrified. I wasn’t very honest with myself back then, there was no way I could be honest with you. Then after college you got that nice ass job and I realized I was coming back home and I couldn’t go with you.”

“Even in college?”

“Yeah,” he whispers to the ceiling. “Even in college. I had this big idea to maybe tell you when we graduated. I was going to work at that new startup I told you about - it was only thirty minutes away from you. And then that didn’t happen and…” He shrugs. “I realized we weren’t on the same path. It seemed pointless.”

You stare at him for a few moments, thoughts flicking through your mind at a blinding pace. Yoongi had liked you in high school. In college. Had put off telling you because he didn’t think you’d be interested enough to stay, or to figure it out or to-

“I’d have dated you anyway,” you murmur. Carefully, you move a strand of blonde hair from his eyes when he looks down at you in surprise. “Yeah,” you laugh when you see his face. “Yoongi, I was totally head over heels for you in high school and in college. And then you dated Jessa and I just figured it would be embarrassing to tell you later so I just didn’t say anything.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Those first few months when you never texted me that you had settled in at your new job I figured you had new friends or just didn’t have time for me. I didn’t even…” You sigh. “I didn’t realize you didn’t move there. I was too nervous to look at your social media.”

“I barely update it anyways.”

“I know. It’s all your cat.” That piques your interest and you pull away from him, looking around. “Where is your kitty? I want to see.”

“I love that you are excited about my cat, but I would like to request that we look for him later. I have other things I wanna do.”

“Oh?”

Yoongi’s gaze is dark when you look back at him. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, going still under the razor-sharp look he gives you. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I want to show you how fucking bad I wanted you - do want you. And I don’t want you to think I’m just saying all this, or that I’m using a moment of weakness. Since you walked into the kitchen that night, I have not been able to stop thinking about every second of my life that I liked you. That I wanted to kiss you. That I wanted to fuck you until all you could think about was the way I felt.”

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm?”

“I would like that very much.”

Yoongi’s smile is dazzling, completely at ends with how he just said he wants to fuck you but you don’t care.

Especially when he gives you a chaste kiss to the mouth. Once. Twice. And leads you through the home that you already know. His bedroom is on the opposite side of where his parents slept, and when he opens the door to reveal a room lit by a single salt lamp, you almost expect it to be covered in drawings of buildings and filled with canvas prints of famous buildings around the world and sheets designed like graph paper.

Instead, you’re surprised to see an elevated room with newly painted, limewash walls, a heavy desk tucked into the corner with leather portfolios and neatly stacked papers, dark linen sheets folded neatly on the bed with several pillows - including decorative - against a beautiful headboard with a keen design you know is his.

The room looks lived in and elegant, and it smells like the sage and jasmine reed diffuser in the corner. 

“You’re fucking hot,” you blurt, startling yourself and Yoongi. “Like your room is - adult. And you made that desk and headboard right? Fucking-” You look up at him and shake your head. “It’s really hot that you do all of these things.”

“Wow. Just the room does it for you, huh?”

You shove him playfully and he falls back on his bed, sitting with a soft bounce. He opens his legs and leans back on his palms, eyes drifting up and down your frame. He smirks, cool confidence making your hands shake as you take a step forward, suddenly feeling far more nervous than you ever have around him.

“Come here,” he purrs, lifting a hand and patting his thigh.

In a trance, you compy. Carefully you crawl into his lap, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his waist as you settle your ass between his legs. His hands wrap behind you, pressed into the small of your back as he leans forward, catching your mouth with his. He pulls your coat from your shoulders, dropping it to the floor as you settle your hand around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair.

Kissing Yoongi makes the world stop. Here, in his bedroom, in his lap, nothing else matters. It doesn’t matter that you’re living in your mom’s house again. It doesn’t matter that you have to figure out what to do about a new place to live. It doesn’t matter that a teeny-tiny part of you was relieved to find your fiance cheating. It doesn’t matter that you were more mad about being kicked out of the apartment than anything else.

All that matters is that something slides into place when Yoongi leans back, letting you fall onto his chest. You giggle into his mouth, letting the slide of your tongues and lips lull you into a sense of longing that you’ve harbored for years without realizing it. 

You’re drowning in Yoongi. Your lungs are full of him, sending you gasping into his mouth when he rolls your hips against his, the friction sparking a fire in you. You’re completely lost in him, drifting further and further his mouth places hot, wet kisses on your jaw and neck.

It never occurred to you that you could want someone - Yoongi - this badly. You tremble on top of him as his fingers pull your shirt from the waistband of your jeans, fingers seeking the warmth of your skin. 

Breathing becomes difficult, your lips ghosting across the tender skin of his neck, nipping lightly as his calloused fingers brush across your hips, digging in as he rocks you against him. You can’t help but shiver at the feeling of arousal in your stomach, fingers quaking as he lets out a soft moan next to your ear. 

Gently, Yoongi rolls the two of you over, slotting himself between your legs and pressing his clothed hard-on where you want him most. You look up at him as he pushes his hair out of his eyes, skin flushed and full of warmth and want. He is beautiful.

Something in you blooms, hungry and feral. You grab his hands and pull them to your chest, squeezing his palms under yours. He grins, getting the hint as he gives your tits a gentle squeeze, working a light moan from you. 

“You always had great tits,” Yoongi admits, thumbs circling the gentle hint of nipples through your shirt and bralette. You squirm under his touch and his grin grows wider. “Yeah? Sensitive, hmm?”

“Yes.”

With a pleased hum, Yoongi removes your shirt. It’s cold in his room, but he’s quick to bend down, his hands rubbing up and down your sides, chasing away the goosebumps as he looks up at you, mouth hovering over a peaked nipple. 

Slowly, Yoongi flicks his tongue over your nipple. The sensation makes you kick against the mattress, the stimulation something but not nearly enough. You want more, your hands shooting to his forearms and digging your nails in. 

Yoongi huffs, warm air gusting over your skin as he gives you what you want, lowering his mouth and wrapping it around your nipple, soaking the fabric of your bralette. Your eyelids flutter shut, one of his hands holding himself up and the other ghosting along your ribs back and forth, making you shiver repeatedly. 

Pulling away, Yoongi plucks your nipple playfully with his teeth, making you squeal from a pinch of pain but a flood of pleasure. You feel lightheaded, teetering on the border between present and somewhere far away and he’s barely even touched you. 

“You okay?” Yoongi asks. You realize his lips are ghosting against your chin. “You look a little dazed. We can stop.”

“No.” You shake your head, trying to dispel the fog and blinking down at him. “No it’s - it feels good. It’s hard to think when you touch me I just-” The words are stuck in your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut.

He kisses your nose gently. “You just what?”

“I’m just really into it and it makes me feel all floaty and out of it but present. I don’t know. It’s overwhelming but good.”

“Do you want to keep going?” You nod. “Okay. You can stop at any time, okay? You ever used safe words?”

“No.”

He kisses you sweetly on the forehead, mouth drifting south until he’s nosing you lightly. His next words come out mumbled against your mouth, the hum sending a soft buzz through your lips. “Tell me a word we can use if you need to stop. No matter what we’re doing, the moment you feel uncomfortable, you use the word.”

“Christmas?”

He snickers and presses his forehead against you. “Fine, Christmas is fine.” He pecks your lips. “Okay.” He pulls your hand from your face, giving you a gentle, innocent kiss to the lips. It helps settle you a little. “Tell me what you like.”

“Umm.” Yoongi places butterfly kisses along your jaw, teeth nipping you lightly. You curse and feel your eyes roll back in your head as he sucks at your skin greedily, one of his hands coming up to brush a thumb back and forth over a nipple. “I don’t know.”

“No?” He pinches your right nipple and you moan loudly, earning a smile against your kiss-slicked neck. “You must like something. Do you like it slow? Rough? Messy? Do you like being choked? Hands above your head? Or in control?”

You shake your head. “Want me in control?” You nod. “Got it.” His hand drifts up to your neck and gives the sides a gentle squeeze. A thrill shoots through you and you lean up into him, nodding. “Yeah? Like having my hand around your throat?”

“Yes. I like…” Your words trail off for a moment as you think through the haze of Yoongi’s rasping voice and mouth. “Umm hard but sort of slow?” 

“Mhmm.”

“And messy. Messy is good.” 

Yoongi gives a satisfied hum. His hand leaves your nipple, brushing down your heated skin toward the apex of your thighs. He presses his fingers firmly over your clothed pussy, not nearly enough friction with underwear and jeans in the way. “And what about being eaten out? Do you like that?”

“Yes.”

You feel his smile against your throat. “Thank fuck. I’ve been dying to taste this fucking pussy.”

Suddenly you’re glad you have a safe word. Yoongi’s words send a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core, a moan leaving your lips as he worships your skin with his mouth. It feels like you could fall headfirst into him and never stop falling. The tension in your stomach is so tight you nearly snap when he unbuttons your jeans, everything he does is so overwhelming that there is almost an urge to cry. 

It’s hard to piece together why you feel like this. Why there is an inferno screaming inside of you, begging to be let out. Why the press of Yoongi’s fingers over your damp panties nearly sends you into a blackout, why when he circles your clit through the fabric you let out a strangled noise.

But you think… maybe you know what it is. 

Instead of thinking too hard about it, you focus on the way you’re short of breath. The way that your entire body is vibrating with energy. You look down to where Yoongi is on his knees between your legs, dark eyes looking up at you intently. His hands skate up and down the soft flesh of your inner thighs, squeezing periodically. 

Way back when, you were always nervous letting people between your legs, letting them see the most intimate parts of you up close. It was anxiety-filled and you were constantly nervous about being wrong - or just. Anything. 

But when Yoongi drops his gaze down to where your underwear sticks to your folds and lets out an appreciative curse, there’s no anxiety at all. Just a desire for Yoongi to make you his. For you to dig your fingers into him and make him yours.

Flashing you a wicked grin, he leans forward and gives a slow, wet lick over your panties. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, back arching and thighs twitching shut a little. The stimulation is more, but not enough. “Please don’t tease me.”

“Hmm, no? Want my mouth on this perfect pussy?”

“Please.”

He tucks his fingers under your underwear and pulls them down slowly, pressing a kiss to your knee absently. “You’re so much more pliant than I expected. Just want to be taken care of?”

Something inside you squeezes sharply and you shut your eyes, nodding. Realizing he can’t see you nodding, you whisper, “Yes.”

Firmly but slowly, Yoongi presses his palms into your thighs, spreading you wide. The stretch pulls your muscles but it’s a pleasant burn that is immediately forgotten when you feel his hot breath skate over your aching hole. 

You have never wanted someone’s goddamn mouth this bad. Yoongi laughs and you realize that you’re squirming, wiggling your hips a little toward his mouth. You immediately stop, hands covering your face as you groan, realizing that you are pliant for him. 

Embarrassment morphs into surprise and white hot pleasure when Yoongi licks you slowly from dripping hole to clit. Your breath gets stuck in your chest at the sensation, his tongue languidly rolling around your clit before he slow-drags it back down, dipping into your hole teasingly. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasp as he repeats the motion, the flat of his tongue dragging upward. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

He hums contentedly, flicking his tongue back and forth over your clit playfully. Your thighs tighten and shake, and you’re only able to let out the breath you’ve been holding when he pulls away and gives a soft chuckle.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, shuffling and sliding his hands under your ass. His fingers grip you firmly and he pulls you to his mouth, using the grip on your ass to anchor you to him. “Can you look at me, baby?” 

The new endearment makes your fingers clench in the sheets. It’s dizzying when you shift to your elbows, barely able to prop yourself up. The room tilts as he grins between your legs, lips glossed with your arousal. 

“Want you to watch,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. It leaves a sticky mouth print. “Such a sweet little cunt.”

Yoongi’s words have no time to land. He leans forward and you watch with acute fascination as he sucks your clit gently between his lips. Your nerves turn to molten lava and though he wants you to watch, your head falls back and you feel your eyes roll, a whimper escaping your mouth as he suckles greedily. 

Everything Yoongi does has always been art. He eats you out no different, alternately between eagerly tonguing every inch of you and sucking gently on your clit. You somehow manage to lift your heavy head, swimming with no thoughts but Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi to watch as he closes his eyes, humming delightedly as his greedy tongue slips into your clenching hole.

“Holy fuck,” you squeak. Your legs threaten to close as the knot in your stomach tightens. You know you’re going to come soon, knees squeezing his shoulders as he hums and sucks and licks, not letting a drop go to waste. “I’m gonnnaaa-” 

You can’t finish the sentence. He knows you’re going to come, his tongue firmer, his mouth hungrier. His mouth is loud and wet against you, which might gross you out if you weren’t babbling, twisting your hips under him as the pressure in your stomach shot upward. You’re panting and nearly delirious when one hand slides from your ass to your hole, his thumb applying just enough pressure to relieve a bit of the ache. 

“Fuck,” you squeak.

You come hard, eyes squeezed shut, Yoongi sucking your clit harshly and humming, the hum of his mouth sending you over and his thumb dipping into your hole to apply pressure. Under the force of your orgasm, you collapse to the bed, full-body twitching as his gluttonous mouth sucks at you, not letting up.

A numb-like tingle settles into your veins. You feel drunk, and not from the wine. Something headier that makes your thoughts white noise and your limbs heavy-soft. Yoongi gives your clit a kiss before squeezing your ass playfully, kissing his way up your stomach to your chest. 

“How are you doing?” he asks gently. 

“I think I just saw god,” you croak, voice hoarse from overuse. “Fuck. Fuck.”

He hums and licks into your mouth. You taste yourself on him, sticky-sweet and heady. He moans, dropping his hips to press against your slick thighs and still-dripping cunt. “Let me,” you mumble against his mouth, hand dropping between you and squeezing him over his jeans. Fuck. Your eyes flutter open, your hand feeling the full size of Yoongi’s cock. “Oh my god, do you have a big dick?”

Yoongi bursts into laughter, groaning and burying his head in your neck. He busies his mouth with placing sloppy kisses, more tongue than anything, against your pulse point. “I mean, yeah.” 

“I mean, yeah,” you mimic in a high-pitched voice. He laughs and you squirm. Even his laugh is hot. “Well show me. I wanna suck you off.”

“Can I be honest?”

“You just made me come from tongue alone, so yeah.”

“If your mouth comes near my dick I might come. I was close to busting in my fucking jeans like a teenager just now. I’d love for you to suck me off another time, but I am living my dream right now and I might bust a nut immediately.” 

You look at him owlishly. “Living your dream, huh?”

“Shut up,” he growls playfully. “Roll over on your stomach for me and put that perfect ass into the air, hmm?” 

With sluggish limbs and your head spinning, you do what he asks. He snaps the back of your bralette and you let it fall down your arms before tossing it aside. Leaning on your elbows, you put your ass in the air, wiggling it for effect. He huffs out a laugh behind you and you turn your head to watch him pull his shirt off.

Underneath his clothes, Yoongi is flushed pink and smooth. You watch, dazed and appreciative as he undoes his jeans swiftly. There is something alluring about watching the way his hands work his pants off. His strong thighs flex when he straightens, tucking his thumbs underneath the waistband of his briefs to slide them down and -

“Holy fuck,” you blurt. Yoongi looks up at you, blonde hair sticking to his forehead and cock bobbing heavily against his stomach. He does have a big dick - thick and long with a flushed tip leaking precum that makes your mouth water. “You’re joking.”

For a moment, the confident Yoongi from a second ago wavers, face red as he shyly gets on the bed. “If we have to stop we can-”

“Please fuck me,” you beg. You don’t even hesitate, shuffling your knees so that your ass is higher. “I don’t care if it hurts. Please.” 

His hands are on your ass, making your heart hammer in your chest. You think it might give out as Yoongi shuffles behind you, his thighs brushing against the back of yours. You feel the sticky crown of his cock against an asscheek, making you press backward to apply pressure. A sharp smack lands on your ass, earning both a cry and a moan from you. 

“Don’t fucking start,” Yoongi growls. Both of his hands grip your ass as he slides his shaft between your sticky folds. Your forehead rests on sweaty sheets as you pant, feeling how hard and long he is. “Gonna fuck you open with my fingers a little.”

“Yoongi.” 

“You said you wanted me to fuck you, baby. So let me.”

Yoongi’s hands drift from the apples of your ass to your fluttering hole. There’s a pit in your stomach, butterflies going wild as his fingers brush around your ring of muscles, hole twitching. His cock is pressed against your ass as he slides a finger in, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as he presses against your front wall, the smooth glide of his fingers addicting. 

“More,” you whisper. “Please.”

He hums in agreement, sliding in another finger. It’s a stretch, but it’s good. Pleasure whites out everything else. There’s just the tight glide of his fingers, pressing against that soft spot in you. Everything he does, your stomach lurches, the pleasure turning you boneless as you continue to melt into the mattress, letting Yoongi slow-fuck you with his fingers until he decides you can take him. 

Slowly, he removes his fingers, a line of arousal sticking to your ass as he uses both hands to spread you open. He moans, shuffling so that his cockhead catches your entrance, holding the blunt tip there for a second, letting your hole clench and unclench at the pressure. 

“Holy fuck, please.”

“What was that?”

“Min Yoongi, plea-”

Your words turn into an embarrassing sound as he sinks deep into your pussy, so wet that he slides almost to the hilt. The wind gets knocked out of you and for a second, you lay there in white light, unable to think about anything but the painful stretch of his cock reaching deep deep. 

There’s nothing else but the feel of him, hips pressed to your ass, hands rubbing up and down your back, letting your walls flutter around him as you adjust to the girth. And you do have to adjust, remembering to breathe through it. When the slight sting fades, you swivel your hips, making both of you sigh. 

Taking the hint, Yoongi pulls out, using his hands on your ass to control both of your movements before he sinks back in, finding a smooth, steady rhythm that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. You’re gone in seconds, thoughts replaced by the livewire feeling in your stomach and the way Yoongi fucks you hard and deep, though his movements are slow. 

Yoongi makes sounds behind you that make you fall apart that much faster. His hands are reverent and careful as he pulls you onto his cock, fucking you like you asked. Slow. With purpose. Every thrust is weighted, Yoongi putting his entire frame into each stroke as he fucks you into the mattress, punctuated by his stilted breaths. 

“Fuck,” he swears. “You have no fucking idea the way I dreamed about this. Fucking-” he breaks off with a growl, fingers gripping you with bone-shattering strength. “Wanted to do everything with you. For years.” 

Something inside of you snaps and you let out a muffled cry, realizing that you're near tears. Because yeah. You know what he means. You knew it when you saw him standing in the kitchen making a home with your mom. You knew it when you saw him carving rocking chairs and brushing sawdust out of your hair. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp as he adjusts the angle, hitting your spot on the upstroke. It nearly sends you into space. “But me too.”

He smacks your ass, the sting almost sending you headfirst into your orgasm. “Yeah? Thought of me even when you weren’t here, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Thought of me even when you were lying awake at night in a city without me?”

“Yes.”

He slaps your ass again and you feel your orgasm, so tight and intense that you think you might die if the pressure doesn’t pop. “Come on,” he grunts, a hand sliding around your waist and reading down to press tight circles on your clit. Your vision goes white. “Come for me, then. Fucking show me.”

It’s all you need. You come around Yoongi, squeezing him so tight and screaming viciously into his sheets. He grabs you tight and curses loudly behind you, immediately coming deep in your cunt, shivering against you as he pants through it. You’re barely aware that his weight is on top of you, your entire being somewhere else far away.

For a while, there is just gasping breaths and tangled limbs. You’re unsure how to string together words, your mind and bones melted. Your body twitching with post-orgasm tremors. 

Strings of thoughts begin to pull together. The twine to make coherent ideas. Memories. Things. You feel the weight of Yoongi, who is only half on top of you as he tries to catch his breath. Tries to piece himself together, both of you collapsed and tangled in something beyond just bodies. 

Whatever it is that just happened is more than just fucking and you know it. Know that Yoongi knows it. You’ve been dancing around an inevitable thought for weeks, while watching him hunched over his workstation, painting stain on a cabinet with his sweater sleeves pulled over his hand. Watching him shuffle boxes of dreidels that he hand-carved for the synagogue down the street. 

The dread of coming home during the holidays was always about the association to your family. To your dad being gone. To the guilt gnawing at you for leaving your mom. But now, as he pulls the rest of himself off of you and rolls onto his back, hands grabbing you and pulling you to his sweaty side, you think that maybe being afraid of home was a little bit about him too. About the memory of him. About the little inkling of a crush that you never got over. 

“Your mom is gonna give us so much shit in the morning,” he mumbles, words a little slurred. You curl into his side, tucking your face in his neck. He smells a little like cedar, a little like sex and sweat. “She might never let me in the house again.”

“Untrue. She loves you.”

“Hmm. It’s a start.”  He sighs, words drifting off. “And no safe word needed. I could barely choke you out if I wanted. I thought I was gonna come as soon as I put it in. Holy fuck.”

“Fuck Christmas,” you laugh. “I want you to do that again. However you want to.” He snorts. “Also, I want to suck your dick in the morning. I didn’t get you a gift.” 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “Sleep, yeah?”

You hum. “Yeah.” 

You DTF? | pjm | (m)

☾ Pairing:  Jimin x female reader 

☾ Summary: You’ve never had a one night stand. Jimin has had countless. You’re trying to experience new things. Jimin loves doing the same old shit. So when you meet the man going around the club inviting people to touch his ripped abs, you think perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to try new things. It’s Labor Day weekend at the shore - what can go wrong? 

☾ Word Count:  10,233

☾ Genre: Smut, pwp, strangers to one-night stand

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Recreational drinking, Jimin being a total tool, cringe-worthy dialogue, explicit language, fuck boy Jimin is it’s own warning, 2009 slang should be a warning because it is literally so cringey, Jimin is quite literally doing the jerk and reader is totally buying it, literally these two are so cringe, sexually explicit content including oral (f. and m. receiving), some nipple play, a lot of spit description idk, big dig Jimin, throat fucking, unprotected vagina sex, Jimin bein an idiot and combing reader not to use a condom, reader is equally stupid cause she wants to get fucked, Jimin accidentally cumming inside, hittin' it from the back, cringe dirty talk, finger blasting (lmfao), Jimin occasionally hitting reader's cervix, they're like a little toxic idk, this is like the most hilarious thing I've ever written, Jimin does coke right on reader's counter cause he has to keep his stmania okay, Jimin is insensitive a lot

☾ Published: September 4, 2022

☾ A/N: This is both the best and the worst thing I have ever written. There are some light-toxic themes and some ignorant dialogue and behavior between the two of them because they're both bimbos drunk in 2009. The writing is supposed to be a little cringe but I may have gone overboard. Also I wrote this in two days idk what kind drugs I was on (amoxicillin and mucinex) but here is the wildly ridiculous and hilarious fic for a collab that no one asked for but we did anyways. Very very happy to share this trash idea with Jai and M 🥺

Special thanks to @here2bbtstrash for helping me edit because I was in a rush and at one point wrote that reader's head opened in the middle of sex. We don't know what I was talking about but happy halloween, reader's head was about to be posted splitting open in bed adkjadjdkja

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Jeju Shore Collab

“So are you actually going to try and get fucked in that outfit or is it going to go to waste?” Tiffany asks as she sprays several pumps of Bath and Body Works Japanese Blossom all over herself. You cough as the sweet-smelling mist chokes you. She already has the lotion on. “You look hot, capital h-a-w-t.” 

The mirror of the hotel room is a little dirty - there is backsplash from the faucet staining the glass and some tiny dots of toothpaste. And you can definitely see Nicole’s fake tan staining the bottom corner after spraying her St. Tropez all over. 

You see Tiffany’s point about the outfit being wasted on you in a way. Low-rise, light-wash Lucky Brand jeans sans button, with the zipper pulled down just the slightest at Nicole’s behest. A shirt that was harder to get on than you think it will be to get off, made out of skin-tight pink fabric that only reaches your midsection, and even then, has a massive cutout over your abs. 

“Not this again,” you sigh, nervously playing with the belly button ring you had pierced the year before. A cute little Playboy bunny swings back and forth, hot pink rhinestones matching your shirt. 

“Yes, this again. You look so fucking hot tonight. A one-night stand will not kill you. It’s Labor Day. Please live a little.” Tiffany decides she has contributed to pollution enough, snapping the cap on her perfume bottle to turn around and face you. “You’re not in a relationship anymore. It’s time to be a slut.” 

“Yeeeeaaah be a slut!” Nicole yells, running into the room and grabbing you by the hips, slamming your ass into her crotch several times to crudely depict being fucked from behind. Her jean shorts are impossibly tight, red thong peeking out the sides. “It’s so much funner.”

“Funner isn’t a word.”

“God shut the fuck up for two seconds and be a hot idiot like Paris Hilton.”

Pushing your friend away, you nod. You love them and you know they’re right. You’re single and hot, and there are countless clubs all over with hot, single guys. You’ve never had a one-night stand, having been in a long-term relationship all throughout college until recently, and now you’re where single people come to get laid and you… have a night left to do it.

Tiffany’s iPod blasts in the living room of the hotel room. There are empty cups all over the counter, sticky and sweet smelling from the liquor and mixers spelled on most surfaces. You go to the fridge, pulling out a can of pineapple juice. 

Nicole gasps when she sees you reach for the bottle of Malibu on the counter. “WAIT! We need the song!” 

She rushes to the iHome, bending over the counter. She flips the song to Caribou Lou, wiggling her ass back and forth before she stands straight and points at you and the bottle of Malibu in your hands.

“151 rum, pineapple juice and malibu caribou get them all numb!” she screams, making you smile. 

Despite their earlier jesting, you relax as you mix drinks, singing along to the throwback while shaking your ass. The zipper on your jeans moves a few times, but you’re careful not to let your vagina make a surprise appearance. With how low-cut the jeans are, Tiffany had convinced you not to wear underwear.

Which was more of a reason to get laid. 

The drink is sweet and easy to drink. You scroll through your messages on BBM but otherwise give your attention to playing flip cup with your two best friends, determined to get just a little bit tipsy before you head out to the bars. 

The hotel isn’t very far away from all of the live entertainment. It’s within walking distance which saves a ton of money on cabs, but it is a nightmare for your feet the last three nights you’ve stumbled home in wedges. Nicole even broke one of her heels, walking home on uneven feet like a seesaw. 

When you’ve decided that you’ve pregamed enough, you and your friends teeter to the elevator and down through the lobby. Outside, the balmy air kisses your skin. A creamsicle sky has faded to black and you can see the lights of the entertainment district and hear the faint thunder of music from clubs with open doors and windows. 

You scrunch your nose when Nicole lights a cigarette on your walk. You smell the crackling menthol of her Newport as she takes a drag, hoarsely laughing at a group of men who catcall you from a sports bar as you walk by. You flick your hair over your shoulder, rolling your eyes. 

As if it were that easy.

Labor Day is in full swing around you. The street has barricades to open up to foot traffic only, and they’ve relaxed open container laws. There are a few food vendors on the road, people lined up to grab a quick slice of pizza or hot dogs to settle their tequila-churned stomachs.

A breeze makes your hair dance. It smells like fried food and a hint of salt from the ocean. It carries something else on it - a taste of something wild. You’re here with your friends on a vacation that you had originally planned to take with your boyfriend.

You can recognize now that it would have been a disaster. The two of you in a partying scene meant for singles would have signed your doom. But the end had come sooner than that when you found him with his dick down some girl's throat when you came home early from work. 

In hindsight, you always knew he wasn’t ready for a relationship. But you liked the way he called you baby, the way he peppered you with kisses to make you a little less angry at him, and the way that he made you feel when you weren’t fighting.

And you definitely like the way he drove his Escalade, and the fact that he could afford to take you places like the restaurant in the St. Regis and you stayed in lofty rooms at the Ritz Carlton while vacationing. 

Still. There had been a lot missing, namely in the bedroom, which is exactly why Tiffany and Nicole have been on your ass about at least trying to experience a one-night stand. They wanted you to expand your horizons, to learn what you do and don’t like, and to maybe stumble on someone who could actually make you cum more than two times out of ten. 

The first bar makes you lose a little hope. House music thumps loudly over the speakers. Jean-clad partygoers surround you, some on the dance floor shuffling their feet while maintaining a grip on sweating glasses and nodding their heads as the DJ thrusts a fist in the air. It’s not your type of club, but Nicole hits it off with someone in a larger group of people.

You exist on the edge of the conversation, picking at the slice of wilted pineapple in your drink as you watch the way Nicole plays her game. She’s excellent at flirting - a coy smile as she leans in to say something over the pumping music, balancing herself with a hand on his arm, swagging at his chest when he makes a funny joke.

It would be easy for you too if you thought any of the men were worth your time. They all look the same: bright polo, khaki shorts, hair gelled up. You want to tell them that Connecticut casual isn’t an outfit to the bar, but you say nothing, examining your nails for a while instead. 

One of the guys starts talking to you - Ben, you think his name might be. You bob your head to the music, listening as he explains what he does as a private financial advisor. Your eyes slip over every detail of his outfit: fitted Abercombie polo with the collar popped, khaki pants paired with brown sandals, a white shell necklace wrapped around a sunburned throat, and a tattoo of his former fraternity peeking from his sleeve on his bicep.

Whatever Ben is saying, you’re not listening. You’re almost positive that Ben fucks the way he dresses: generically. 

If you’re looking to experience something different, Ben - maybe Brian - isn’t it. You fucked Ben-Brians in college and they were as boring at sex as your ex-boyfriend was, except they couldn’t afford stone crab claws.

Everyone shifts to a new bar. You’ve molded your groups together, Ben or Brian - you’re starting to think maybe it’s Brad - is still by your elbow. You can sense he’s having a good time and you wish you were too. So you down a few shots at the next bar, loosening your limbs a little and making you a little less judgmental. 

Brad is okay. Not your type and he smells like Crest Whitestrips, but he’s more bearable now that you’ve switched from Pina Coladas to Tequila Sunsets. You nibble the stem of a cherry, enjoying this club much better than the last. The music is more hip hop and pop, familiar songs making you bob your head and sway your hips a little more.

Sweat makes your skin sticky. You shift to stand underneath the air vent by the bar a little more, but you misplace your wedge, knocking yourself off balance. Ben-Brian-Brad catches your arm and steadies you. Slides in closer. His mint breath fans your face and you blink up at him. For a split second, you consider if you were too harsh on his judgment earlier. Maybe he could surprise you. He seems easy enough to please and like it wouldn’t be hard work, and he’s already trying to win you over…

Your eyes slide past him for a second and your gaze stays fixed on the man you see coming down the stairs into the club. 

It’s nearly impossible to tear your gaze away once you see him. He runs a hand through his dark hair, laughing at something the man next to him says. He’s in dark jeans with bleached patches highlighting the material, a fitted Love Kills Slowly shirt by Ed Hardy, and even from a distance, you can see the glittering earrings in his ears.

He’s beautiful. Full lips pulling into a smirk as he winks at people he walks past. Brad rights you, asking you something but you don’t hear him, staring at the man across the bar who leans on the counter. He’s helped immediately, two bartenders drifting to a siren as they stare at him. 

As though he senses your gaze, the man looks at you and your face goes red. His eyes are seductive, narrowed a bit as he checks you out shamelessly. Dark hair gelled back perfectly. A jaw that is both elegant and dangerous. He stands out among the rest of the partiers, his features an exquisite blend of feminine and masculine. 

Your line of sight is cut off when Brad leans forward on the sticky countertop to order more drinks. You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. Your hands are a little shaky. Whoever that man is looks more your type, but the Ben-Brian-Brads of the world are much easier.

So you accept the new drink, sipping it and turning your back to the bar. And when you’re coaxed onto the dance floor, all disjointed limbs and sweating bodies, you forget about the Love Kills Slowly man and focus on the way you feel - dreamy and soft with the buzz of tequila in your veins. 

A song you vaguely recognize plays in the background. You sway your hips, ass pressed against Ben’s crotch with his hands gripped tightly on your sides. He sways you back and forth, less like a dance and more like an erratic pendulum that can’t find its rhythm. Ben’s dancing is less than impressive, and you start to think that your earlier thoughts about his skill in bed might be right. 

Tiffany laces your fingers with hers as she dances in front of you, pulling you away from Brian’s greedy hands to press your front against hers, letting you grind against her. You tilt your head back. Fog fills the air, lights dancing across the ceiling. It smells like the sticky-sweet of the machines used to make the fog, a tinge of sweat. 

Nicole interrupts your dancing. Your legs ache a little, pieces of hair stuck to the nape of your neck as she bounces up and down yelling, “You have got to see this guy.”

You and Tiffany laugh as Nicole pulls you, the press of bodies jostling you back and forth as you try to catch a rhythm to move through the crowd. When you break the barrier and come out on the other side, your brows shoot up at the scene in front of you. 

The Love Kills Slowly guy is posing next to a girl who points at his exposed six-pack and holy shit his body is insane. Perfectly cut abs, a solid v-line dipping into pants that fit his narrow waist. He holds the shirt up with a thumb, sticking out his tongue as the flash on the camera goes off. You can’t help but think his tongue is devilishly long. 

Up close, he’s even hotter than you thought. You stare at him as the girl who took the picture flirts with them. There is a gaggle of men and women surrounding him, a flock of geese looking upon the swan longingly.

“He is the hottest fucking person I’ve ever seen,” Tiffany giggles. “We should totes get a picture with this dude.”

“Why, is he famous?” You ask, watching as he nods and lets the girl touch his abs. God. What a tool. “He loves being the center of attention, it looks like.”

“So? He’s probably a model. I mean look at that. Come on.”

Tiffany yanks you and Nicole. You resist, stumbling over as she inserts herself into the conversation. He smiles at her, dazzling as he raises a brow at whatever she says. You pull your hand away from her and take a step back. You will not throw yourself at the Adonis in front of you. 

You pivot away from them, staring out over the open crowd. You don’t enjoy the way Tiffany and Nicole giggle, sweet as the simple syrup on the bar over this new stranger. They make it too easy, and you don’t enjoy the idea of melting for someone just because they’re hot. Even if they’re model hot.

And what kind of model wears Ed Hardy?

At first, Tiffany and Love Kills Slowly chat animatedly. That makes sense - she has a way with people and she’s an excellent flirt. When your name is called the first time, you think you imagine it so you stay bobbing your head to the Ke$ha song, minding your business. When it’s said a second time, you glance at them from the corner of your eye.

“You’re being rude,” Tiffany asserts, glaring at you. You feel your eye twitch as she touches an open nerve. You’re not rude - you’re bored and your drunk friend cannot tell the difference. “This is Jimin. I was right, he is a model.”

“That’s nice.”

Jimin’s eyes are on you and your stomach flips. You pick at the french manicure on your freshly done acrylics, thinking that the attention will pass you any moment now. But you feel Jimin’s eyes on you and you sense when he leans forward past Tiffany, ducking his head to level the most intense pair of brown eyes you’ve ever seen at you. 

“What?” He asked. “Don’t like models?”

“Not one that wears Ed Hardy,” you answer honestly. Your words come out a little stiff. You feel your arm tighten, squeezing your clutch that’s wedged in your armpit. “Shouldn’t you be in like… Armani or something?”

“You’re uptight.”

“Thanks.”

He frowns. “Loosen up.” He looks at your empty hands. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”

“Why?” Jimin moves past Tiffany entirely, offering a hand and a smirk that almost makes your mouth pop open. Your heart does a tiny flip - you can’t help it. He is stupid beautiful. “I am drinking.”

“Your hands look a little empty to me.” He grabs one of your hands, linking your fingers and tugging. “Okay, one hand full. Let’s put some goose to make you loose in the other.” 

You’re speechless as he tugs you along. Tiffany squeals a little, she and Nicole both on your heels. 

People make room for Jimin at the bar. You watch the way people look at him. He drops your hand to dig a hand into the pocket of his skin-tight jeans for a credit card. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he looks at you.

“What’s your drink, baby?” 

“I’m not your baby.”

The quip comes out before you can stop it. Tiffany smacks your arm and makes a noise behind you. You ignore her, staring at him pointedly. 

“Mmm she’s a brat. I like that. Your drink?” Jimin prompts again with a smile, undeterred. 

“Um. Anything with Tequila.”

“A girl after my own heart. You wanna do shots?”

“Yes!” Nicole and Tiffany both squeal. He smiles at them briefly, but his eyes drag back to you.

You stare. Jimin has a dark lash line, making his eyes more enchanting. He bites his bottom lip, letting his eyes drop down to your exposed midriff before dragging his eyes back up again, raising a brow in a question. 

He’s only buying shots if you want one. 

You shrug a shoulder, nonchalant. He grins and asks the bartender for chilled Patron shots with training wheels. With his back turned, you smirk, feeling a sliver of satisfaction as you look away from Jimin and spot the group of men you were with earlier looking in your direction, murmuring amongst themselves. 

Turning quickly before you can make eye contact with Ben-Brian-Brad, you find yourself face to face with Jimin once again. He leans on the bar with one elbow, head tilted as he studies you. His attention makes you feel warm and drunker than you already are. 

“You didn’t tell me your name,” he points out as the bartender sets four glasses of blanco tequila in front of you, rimmed with salt and garnished with a lime wedge. He picks up two glasses and hands them to Nicole and Tiffany’s hands as you give him your name. “Cute. You’re cute.”

“Thank you.” 

Jimin lifts his glass in your direction. “Salude.” 

You watch, mouth parted slightly as Jimin’s tongue curls out of his mouth, licking the rim of the shot glass slowly. His eyes don’t leave yours, even when he’s finished the rim and tosses the tequila back before biting into the lime. A tiny bit of lime juice runs down his chin, your eyes following the trail. His tongue darts out to snatch it. 

“Come on,” he purrs. “Your turn.”

Your mouth is dry. You quickly lick the salted rim, barely making it around before tossing the shot back and squeezing your eyes shut as it burns down the back of your throat. You bite into the lime wedge, the sour taste helping ease the burn. 

Juice runs down your chin. Before you can wipe it, Jimin’s hand darts out, a thumb brushing across your skin to catch it. He removes his hand, lips twitching upward slightly as he absently sucks the juice from his thumb and turns to the bartender to order two tequila sours. 

“Are you on vacation?” he asks and you nod your head, a little dizzy from the shot and from him. The group of men from earlier has shuffled back toward your group, Nicole and Tiffany reluctantly shifting attention from Jimin to the men they were talking to previously. “Same. I have no idea where my friends are, I think they left me.” He slides a drink toward you. “You won’t leave me, right?” 

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re nice or not. I like nice guys.”

He sips his drink, leering at you over the rim of the glass. “I’m a nice guy. At least, for you.” He nods his head toward the group of guys. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Would you care if I did?”

He throws his head back to laugh, throat covered in a light sheen of sweat. He looks at you over the glass, the first genuine smile not filled with something lingering on lust that he gives you. “No, but you told me to be nice.” 

That makes you smile a bit. You bite your lip, trying to hide it, and decide to sip the drink. It’s good - strong - but good. “You seem like the type who wouldn’t care.”

“Awe don’t hurt my feelings. You’re like one of the hottest girls in here and I’m into it. If I had to ignore a ring or a boyfriend, I would. Is that so bad?” You shrug, sipping on the drink. You don’t know what to say. 

Thankfully, Jimin doesn’t really seem to care. You think perhaps he likes hearing himself talk. It works out. Jimin fills the conversation with the normal what do you do and what do you like? You don’t miss the way he leans in toward you, or the way he glances at your mouth. 

Still, you’re a little rigid. Your sentences aren’t as smooth and practiced as his. He doesn’t seem to care, shuffling a little close to you as the bar fills up with people. He smells like Axe Essence and the 5 gum he’s popped into his mouth between drinks. 

“Trying to quit coke,” he snickers when he sticks another piece of gum in his mouth. “Got some bad press for it during last fashion week and my agency keeps threatening to drop me even though it's obviously a pre-fucking-requisite to walk for McQueen.” 

“And chewing gum helps with that?”

“Not really, but it gives my mouth something to do and it soothes the muscle memory of hand to face.”

“Smart.”

“You look incredible by the way.” That makes you blush, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and ducking your head. Jimin chuckles, tapping your chin lightly with a finger to make you look back up at him. “Cute.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re a bit of a spoiled brat, huh?” That makes you frown and pull away. He whines, hands chasing your shoulders to draw you closer to him. “Stop. I like that. It means you have high standards and good taste.” 

You hum, finishing the rest of your drink. You’re properly drunk now, the room tilting a little bit as a giggle escapes you when Jimin looks at you. He laughs back, sliding a glass of water over to you after he takes a few sips. 

The water is refreshing. Your skin feels warm all over and you move a little slower, looking around. The club is more packed than you remember and there are more bodies on the dance floor. You watch the way people move together, pressed up against one another and grinding to the music humming through the air. 

Jimin follows your gaze, leaning closer to you and popping his gum in your ear. “Wanna dance?” 

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes. He grins and pushes off the bar, sliding a hand around your waist to shift you in front of him. You look at him over your shoulder with narrowed eyes and he smiles, tucking you to his chest and sliding his chin on your shoulder. 

“Coming through,” he calls, walking you both through the group behind you. Ben-Brian-Brad glares at you and you avert your eyes as Jimin guides you toward the dance floor, pads of his fingers pressed firming into your hips and scouring marks into your skin. “Tool in the polo definitely has a small dick.”

You giggle as you peel apart, Jimin catching your hand as you turn to face him, pulling him with you. “What makes you say that?”

“His fucking collar is popped, baby.” 

“I think he’s mad at me,” you admit.

“You’re way out of his league.”

“That’s true.”

Jimin wraps his hands around your wrist and yanks you to him. You gasp, stumbling as your chests press together. He slots a thigh between your legs, making you freeze for a moment as the music slows a bit. Jimin’s hands are confident where they settle on your waist, moving your hips in a soft rhythm as he begins to move. 

Instincts take over. You wrap your arms around Jimin’s neck, letting him press his forehead against yours as he stares you down. He’s no longer controlling your hips but letting you move against him naturally, both of your bodies in sync. 

Jimin is an amazing dancer, never forcing you to sway too much or trying to control your movements awkwardly. He rolls his hips into you experimentally once and you gasp lightly, noses brushing together. 

“You’re fucking hot,” he mumbles, his breath fanning your face. 

“So are you.”

Your fingers slide through the dark, sweaty strands at the back of his neck. He lets out an appreciative noise, making your insides melt. Your eyes drop to his lips, slightly parted, slicked with gloss from his pink tongue darting out to wet them. You wonder how soft they must feel, and the way he used his tongue to lick the salt from the rim of the tequila glass makes you wonder what kissing him is like.

You don’t have to wonder long. Jimin notices you staring. Gives you a wolfish grin. You think he looks wicked in the low light, all sharp eyes with a cunning smile. 

And then he’s kissing you. 

You make a sound of surprise, but it’s swallowed in his warm, minty mouth. Your fingers tighten in his hair as he presses the small of your back so that you’re impossibly closer. 

It’s easy to forget you’re in the middle of the dance floor. Jimin’s mouth moves slowly against yours, sucking your bottom lip greedily as he pulls away for a split second. Before you can chase his lips with yours, he’s kissing you again, with a little more vigor and a curious tongue that swipes the seam of your lips.

You open your mouth to him and Jimin consumes you. You’re spinning, holding onto him for dear life as he sucks your tongue into his mouth. Fuck, you knew his tongue would be good. It makes you light-headed as he licks into your mouth, fingers clawing at you as a whine escapes his throat. 

Suddenly the kiss breaks. You blink up at him, stars in your eyes and cotton-fuzz thoughts, lost in him. Jimin isn’t looking at you though, he’s looking at the DJ and yelling, pointing over your head as he detaches from you. 

“This is my fucking song,” he yells at you, as though he hadn’t been tongue fucking your mouth a moment ago. You look at him, dazed and confused. He notices and pops a kiss on your mouth. “God, you're needy. Don’t pout, I’ll kiss you more after.” 

“What makes you think I want to kiss you more?”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans forward and kisses you once. Twice. It’s sweet and leaves your mind scattered as he guides you backward slightly before smacking your ass lightly. 

“Watch,” he instructs. “And try not to be a brat about it, yeah?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Jerk by New Boyz is on in the background. Jimin sweeps his arms, backing people away before he starts walking quickly in a circle, bobbing his head to the music and making room for his little show. 

A circle clears in the middle of the dance floor. You cross your arms with raised brows, Michael Kors clutch tucked in your armpit as you watch Jimin wave people back as the song plays. All eyes are on him, cheering as he nods and smirks at the crowd, turning to blow you a cheeky kiss.

You roll your eyes but smile anyways.

Jimin decides he has enough room and right as the chorus starts, he begins to hop and shuffle his feet backward then forward. The crowd goes wild, clapping their hands as he manages to execute the jerk without slipping on the beer and liquor-stained floor.

He spins and drops low, going down to the floor. The crowd yells for him, clapping and cheering him on as Jimin slowly works his way back up. His devious tongue is tucked against his plush upper lip, the hint of a smirk on his mouth.

More guys join the dancing, showing off their moves. Jimin, not one to be outshined, sticks his tongue out all the way, rolling his eyes back as he shakes his head and hooks a thumb in the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to reveal a flawless set of abs, shining in the glittering lights.

The women go crazy as he laughs manically, gesturing to his impressive physique to the other dancers, who roll their eyes and back off. You’re jostled from side-to-side, rolling your eyes when Jimin drops his shirt and dances his way over to you, eyes looking you up and down.

You give him an unimpressed look, yawning and looking the other way as he grips your hips, fingers digging into your flesh through the jeans. “Come on,” he purrs. “Spoiled brat not impressed?”

You are. You just don’t want to be.

“Nope,” you say.

He crowds your space as the circle closes and the song changes. Jimin presses his hips against yours and your stomach drops. Your eyes snap back to his as his hands brush backward, squeezing the sides of your ass.

Jimin’s hot breath touches your lips. He smells like tequila and his cologne. He’s sweating through the Ed Hardy shirt, making it cling to the firm body underneath. Your toes curly slightly as you bite your bottom lip, looking up at him through your lashes.

“If that’s how good I dance,” Jimin murmurs, so close that his nose is touching yours. “Imagine how good I lay pipe.”

You cringe at the way he phrases it, but you’re intrigued. Your friends taunting you for your lack of sexual experience earlier replays in your mind. So you play along, raising a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You wrap your arms around him when someone knocks into you. He noses the line of your jaw, breath warm in your ear when he whispers. “So like… you DTF or what?”

“What?”

“You know, down to fuck. I’ve been wanting to fuck the shit out of you since I saw you staring at me across the bar.”

“I was not staring.”

“Shit, I would stare if I were you too, baby.” 

You smack his shoulder, pulling away from him slightly. Your heart pounds in your rib cage as you stare at him. His eyes are expectant, waiting for your response. 

Before your ex, you would have never thought to sleep with someone you just met at a bar. You know very little about Jimin besides the fact that he likes to hear himself talk, that he’s a little arrogant and that he is wildly, ridiculously hot. 

Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip, squeezing your hips to tell you he’s still waiting on an answer. The way your stomach flips and you already feel arousal at the cocky way he asserts himself tells you what you want to say. 

“I think so…”

“You think so or you know so?” Your mouth is dry and you don’t know what to say, so you shrug. He seems to read you. “You never went home with a guy at a bar before?”

“No.”

“Come on,” he whines, sliding his hands in your back pockets. “I’ll be really sweet.”

“Yeah?”

He leans down, nudging his nose with yours. You laugh, leaning back a bit but Jimin is persistent, chasing the intimate contact. “Yeah. I’ll even make sure you cum first.”

“We’ll see.” His hands squeeze your ass through your pockets. “My place or-“

“Yours. My friends are stupid fucks.”

Sliding your hand in his, you pull Jimin along. He presses himself close to your back when you walk, sticking the hand not holding yours in your pocket to give your ass an experimental poke. You hiss at him but end up giggling when he wags his eyebrows up and down.

You find Tiffany and Nicole dancing with the original group of guys. Ben-Brian-Brad is glaring at you openly now, and Jimin is pressed behind you so close that you can feel the cool metal of his zipper on your lower back. 

Tiffany and Nicole assure you they’re going to another club and will go to the beach house that the guy group is staying at. With gloss-stain cheek kisses and goodbyes, you leave them dancing as Jimin wraps a hand around your waist, gluing you together as you stumble out into the night.

The strip of bars is full of people. Cool air kisses your skin, making you moan in relief a bit as you begin walking toward your hotel. Your steps are uneven, you and Jimin pushing one another back and forth as you try to navigate your way home. You stumble a little too far when he presses a kiss to your neck, leaning on you too much for your drunk weight to bear and sending you several steps. 

“Owww,” you whine. “That hurt my ankle. I’m in heels and my feet hurt, Jimin.” You drop his hand and look up at him, sticking out your bottom lip in an animated pout. “Give me a piggyback ride.” 

“Hmmm. What do I get in return?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you ride my back, I need to… ride you.”

You roll your eyes. “I already told you I’ll have sex with you, idiot.”

“Yeah but I could really use a good blow job.”

You scrunch your nose. “Fine.” 

Jimin grins, letting go of you to squat and look over his shoulder at you, eyes glittering. “All aboard the Park express. Next stop: pound town.”

Huffing, you place either hand on Jimin’s shoulders and jump a little. He catches you easily, hands gripping your thighs firmly. You shiver at the feeling of his hands. Jimin straightens and you wrap your arms around his neck, settling your chin over his right shoulder.

“You’re kind of a jerk-off, huh?”

He grins as he starts to walk. “A little. But you’re kind of a bitch, so I think it works.”

You hum - he has a point.

The piggyback ride is just as dangerous as the walk. Jimin walks crooked sometimes, only for you to yell and smack his shoulder to send him back in a straight line. He gets distracted by a pizza stand which makes you flick his ear. And when you’re finally in front of the automatic double doors to your hotel, he is gasping for air and immediately sags against the elevator wall.

“You’re fuckin’ heavy.”

“That is so rude.”

“Baby, I am wasted and I haven’t done coke in like a week. It’s not you - it’s me.”

“What a cheesy line.” 

“Speaking of.” His hand feels around his back pocket before dipping into the fabric and removing a tiny Altoid tin. “My sobriety will not come at the expense of me cumming early. I’m going to need a little extra to fuck you right.” 

“Thought you were quitting?”

“I mean, do you want me to get my dick up?” The elevator opens and you try to hide your laugh behind your hand. “And now you’re laughing at me? Baby you’re going to hurt my feelings.”

“Sorry, it was just funny. Do whatever you want. You promised to make me cum first.”

“Never had a guy who did that?”

“Nope.”

Jimin makes a disgusted noise as you swipe the hotel key card in the reader. It flashes green and you swing the door open into the freezing room. It’s a little disheveled, but it’s at least not an embarrassing display of the room. You’re suddenly thrilled that it’s a suite with two rooms. 

The door clicks behind you and Jimin slides closer to you, pulling you by the belt loops. You’re prepared for his kiss this time, opening your mouth the second his soft lips meet yours. It’s sloppy and wet, Jimin sucking your bottom lip hungrily as he pulls your belt loops a little harder.

Carefully, Jimin walks you backward. He taps the side of your thighs and dips down as you jump. He catches your legs, hauling you the rest of the way onto the island counter where you spread your legs for him. 

Jimin slots himself between your thighs easily. At this height, you’re more on his level, but Jimin leans into you, pushing you back slightly as he controls the kiss. It’s more eager and demanding than the one in the club, Jimin sucking on your tongue and licking the rough of your mouth experimentally. 

Planting his hands on either side of your ass on the counter, Jimin trails kisses along your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling, and you become breathy. His mouth is noisy and wet against your skin, sucking at the tender flesh under your ear gently before biting lightly. The pinch of skin makes you moan, the sound lost in the lighting above the counter.

“So fucking pretty,” Jimin murmurs, continuing his assault with his mouth. His tongue is just as dangerous, licking over each bite he places as he drifts to your collarbone. “You want a line?”

You shake your head no. He presses closed-mouth kisses back up your neck until he’s straightened out to be eye-level. He brushes your nose with his. Sticks his tongue out and watches you expectantly. You tentatively stick yours out too, making a squeal when his tongue licks at yours.

“Weirdo,” you murmur, cheeks heated and shivering when he pulls away from you to pop open the Altoid tin. There’s a tiny plastic bag inside, sealing the white powder. “You like using tongue.”

Jimin hums in agreement as he stays between your legs, untwisting the bag. “I have a good tongue,” he says as he leans over, dumping a little onto the counter. You watch wordlessly. “I like to eat pussy too.” 

You nearly lay back on the counter and ascend to heaven right there. No one has been so open and bold with you when speaking about sexual acts. And the fact that he says it so casually as he looks around for something flat with an edge makes you dizzy. You produce the room key and he grins, kissing your nose once before he takes it and cuts the powder into two, thin white lines. 

“Do you need a bill too?” you joke. He shakes his head and pulls out a dollar bill that looks like it was once crisp but has been rolled over and over and over, making it look soft and pliant. “You don’t use hundreds?” 

“I’m a model,” he grunts. “Not a Kardashian.” 

That makes you laugh. 

Jimin’s fingers are practiced as he rolls the bill. You can’t help but stare at the rings that you did not notice before, each one placed on a delicate finger. He has nice hands, veins jumping as he places one hand on the counter to hold himself up as the other holds the rolled bill. 

Your knees squeeze his sides a bit as Jimin does the first line. It’s loud in the apartment with just the sound of his sharp inhaling, so you lean a bit to hit the iPod on the iHome dock, flicking through the touchscreen to find a song you like. 

You settle on a playlist Tiffany has loaded in called Party Jamz. She Wolf starts playing loudly, drowning out the sound of Jimin finishing his second line as you hit the volume button a few times to lower it. 

Straightening, you come face to face with Jimin as he wipes his nose a bit, taking a few sharp inhales. He runs his tongue along the edge of the room key before swiping his finger through the residue on the counter. There’s not much coke on the pad of his thumb, but he holds it to your mouth, watching.

Obediently, you open your mouth. He slides his thumb under your upper lip, rubbing gently on your gums. You taste how bitter the drug is, making a bit of a face that makes him giggle as he removes his finger from your mouth, sucking the thumb into his mouth briefly. 

“You want a glass of water?” 

You nod and he vanishes from in between your legs. He sings to himself as he grabs glasses and goes to the fridge, the ice machine loud above the music. You watch him with heavy eyes, your body feeling a little like liquid from all the tequila. 

He reappears, holding a glass of water to your lips. He tilts it carefully as he drinks his own, dark eyes watching you. You sip carefully, the water cool and refreshing as he continues to tip the glass. A bead of water runs down your chin and neck. 

Jimin is fast. He sets down both cups of water and surges forward, tongue chasing the bead of liquid as it runs down your throat. You lean backward, keeping yourself up with your palms planted on the cool counter as Jimin kisses and bites your neck. A moan escapes your mouth and absently, you’re glad you chose Jimin to go home with you.

You grab Jimin by his face, pulling kiss-bitten lips to yours and devouring him whole. He grunts in appreciation, mouth cooled by the water as his tongue dances with yours. His handles are not idle, rubbing up and down your jean-clad thighs, alternating between the gentle press of fingers and pointed drag of nails. 

Jimin’s kissing is like nothing else you’ve had before. He’s skilled, leading you between fast, hungry clashing of teeth and tongue and slow, languid movements. You’re dizzy with him, a buzz of electricity under your skin and heat pooling in your stomach long before his hands dip to your zipper, pulling the metal down. 

Eager hands slide to your hips where Jimin gathers the fabric. Your kiss breaks momentarily, a single line of spit connecting you for a second before you lift your ass off the counter, letting Jimin pull harshly at your pants. The fabric slides, making him cuss out loud when he realizes you’re not wearing underwear. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tossing your jeans and pressing your thighs open. You shiver as the cold air hits your pussy. Jimin’s eyes are hungry as he drags a thumb up the center of your glossy folds, a high-pitched sound leaving you. “Spoiled brat wearing no underwear? You’re just dying to have this pussy fucked, huh?”

“Please.”

“Hmm.” Jimin presses his thumb into your clit. Your eyes roll back in your head. The pressure sends a shiver through you, sparking every nerve in your body as he barely wiggles his thumb back and forth. “Shit you’re so sensitive. Gonna scream while I eat you out?”

“Maybe.”

His thumb slides lower, teasing your clenching hole. You open your eyes, head heavy as you look at him. He’s slid down to his knees, looking up at you through long lashes with a smirk on his face. Your shirt is still on, but you don’t even care. Jimin’s hot breath is on your inner thighs as he bites your flesh softly, making your legs try to close.

“Don’t suffocate me,” he chastises you. “Wanna fuckin’ taste though.”

Everything turns to white noise as Jimin leans forward, running his long tongue from your dripping hole to your throbbing clit. You seize forward, gasping for air and clenching your fists as he pins your legs harder. Your muscles strain, the stretch a little painful but the good kind paired with the way he licks you slowly. 

Your blood turns into melted metal. You go boneless, laying back on the counter, knocking over cups, sending them scattering. You knock into the iHome, the iPod coming disconnected and cutting off the music. It doesn’t matter. Now you can hear the way Jimin sucks at your clit, making you moan loudly. 

From the moment you saw his tongue, you wondered what it would be like. You pictured nothing like this. Jimin eats you out slowly, tongue curious yet lazy as he circles your clit in a steady rhythm before sucking your bud into his mouth and squeezing with his lips lightly.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you whisper, voice hoarse from disuse. One of your hands falls across your eyes, blocking the light from the ceiling as Jimin splays you open for his mouth to explore. You’re panting, the other hand threading through his hair, gel making it easier to grab onto. “Feels so fucking good.”

And it does. 

“Tastes so sweet,” he mumbles, pulling away with a lewd, loud suck on your clit. “Your pretty little hole is just fucking dripping. Gonna fuck you open with my fingers to get you nice and stretched for me.”

You can’t come up with a verbal response. Something like a whine and hum of agreement slips out. Your hips twitch as his mouth turns firmer, tongue flicking over your clit quickly followed by his lips sucking at your wet hole.

There has never been a time someone enjoyed themselves so much while paying attention to your pleasure. Jimin is skilled and focused on bringing his fingers into the action. You feel him slowly trace the rim of your entrance with his fingers, applying just enough pressure to make you curse and squirm but not enough to slide in. 

It fucking aches. Your fingers tighten in his hair, begging him to make you feel fuller. Jimin chuckles, the vibrations going straight through you, your muscles spasming. 

Slowly, Jimin adds a single finger, the slide relieving some of the tension directly in your pussy. You let out a soft breath, sagging on the counter as he matches the gentle in-and-out of his finger with the steady licking of his tongue on your clit. 

The tight feeling of your orgasm is winding like a spring in your stomach. You can feel it, the pressure building and so compact that you struggle to breathe, finding yourself gasping for air when Jimin adds another finger to the mix. He applies pressure right against your front wall, pressing that spot that has you seeing stars.

You might be babbling now. You don’t know what comes out of your mouth. Stars are dancing behind your eyes and you struggle to remember not to hold your breath, to try and regulate your breathing as he increases speed. He’s messy now, sucking and licking and rubbing his nose against your clit. Jimin uses his entire face to get you off and you’re spiraling. 

It all happens at once. A deep breath in. Held tight in your chest, muscles seizing and your body going rigid. Jimin’s fingers push against your g-spot hard as he sucks your clit into his mouth and you scream.

Your orgasm snaps in half, everything going loose at once. You feel yourself clench around his fingers, so tight that Jimin pauses his movements, tongue licking at your sensitive pussy gently as you shake. Your hands cover your face now, breathing rapidly into your palms as the room fills with white noise. 

After a moment, your muscles start to relax. Jimin gives an experimental thrust with his fingers and you whine, making him laugh. 

“God, you came so fucking hard,” he growls from between your legs. He gently pulls his fingers from you, making you protest and drop your hands from your face. You open your eyes as the room spins, lifting your head to look where Jimin now stands between your legs. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, smirking around them. “Mmm. You’re a creamer. I like that.” 

You have no response for him. He doesn’t need one. Jimin lifts you from the counter and for a moment, the world tilts dangerously on its axis and you think you might vomit. The spinning is short-lived as he carries you to the bedroom, tossing you on the bed hard enough to make you bounce. 

“Jesus Christ, Jimin,” you mumble, righting yourself in the sheets. He laughs, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it. Your eyes zero in on his body and your mind goes blank. “Jesus Christ, Jimin.”

“Jesus had nothing to do with this.” He smacks his abs with a hand. “This is creatine, determination, and seven days a week at the gym, baby.”

Jimin flexes his stomach. His chest and abs are toned and well-defined. The low lighting of the bar had done him an injustice that is rectified in the lamp light of the bedroom. There’s a black tattoo on his ribcage that you can’t read, but think looks really good on him anyway. 

Jeans slung low on his hips, Jimin shuffles over to the bed. You can see his dick straining against his pants. When he leans over to catch your lips with his, your hand immediately goes to his crotch, gripping gently through the material. He moans into your mouth, the kiss full of spit and your essence. 

From the way your hand presses against his straining cock, you can tell Jimin is big. With nervous hands, you pull at his zipper. He pulls away for a moment, leaving you frowning and confused.

“How do you get this fucking shirt off,” he mumbles, sliding a finger under the strap going across your stomach. “It’s confusing.”

“Like a normal shirt,” you giggle. 

“Like a normal shirt,” he mimes in a high-pitched voice. “Off. Wanna see those fucking tits.” 

Leaning forward, you help Jimin pull your shirt off, followed by the pink bra with a little bow in the middle. He doesn’t seem to have an appreciation for lingerie, immediately pushing you down by your sternum once you’re fully naked so he can lavish your chest with his mouth. 

Jimin’s mouth is always hungry. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, making you gasp and forget that you had been trying to get his pants off. You go limp as his tongue flicks over your pert bud experimentally, his other hand tweaking the opposite peak. Both bring out a response, eliciting a grin from him.

Remembering that Jimin is still in jeans, your hands surge forward, pulling at the zipper. You can see Calvin Klein briefs peaking just out the top of his jeans. With the zipper undone, there’s enough room for you to slide your hand in and grip Jimin’s cock firmly over the fabric of his briefs. 

“Shit,” he moans, head resting in the valley of your breasts. “Come on, take my cock out. Wanna stuff that mouth of yours full.” 

You don’t hesitate. You help Jimin out of his jeans, momentarily distracted by his powerful thighs and the way they flex as he bends to pull his briefs down. Your mouth goes dry as his heavy cock bobs against his navel when he’s free of his briefs. 

Jimin might be a lithe model, but his cock is anything but. 

Smooth, heavy, flushed-brown tip, and thick. Your hand goes for it as he crawls up the bed, straddling your waist and looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. Your hand wraps around the velvet shaft, making him twitch a bit. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, watching you give an experimental stroke. 

Jimin moans. It’s such a pretty sound. You shift under him to give yourself a better angle. Your hand drifts upward, collecting the pearly precum gathered at his tip. You spread it on his shaft on the downstroke, watching as Jimin’s eyes close, head falling back. 

You gather spit in your mouth, letting go of his cock briefly. He looks down as if to chastise you, but before his comment can escape, you spit into your palm and bring it back up to his cock, giving a smooth stroke, grip firmer and more precise as you twist at the head.

“God,” he moans as you watch his muscles spasm in his abs. “Don’t just jerk me off like a middle schooler, put me in your mouth.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m trying. Just suck me off a bit first.”

You huff at his impatience. 

Sliding further down the bed, Jimin meets you halfway, lowering a bit so that you can pull the tip of his cock into your mouth for an experimental suck. He curses and you grin, the saltiness on your tongue spurring you to take him in a little further.

It’s a vulnerable angle. Jimin can control the pace and fuck down into your mouth if he wants. Instead, he’s patient as you let the spit collect in your mouth, lifting your head to take a little more in your mouth each time.

Your tongue runs along the bottom of his shaft, providing a smooth glide as Jimin helps you out, sinking into your mouth a little more each time. He’s cursing and moaning above you, lost in the way you hollow your cheeks to provide better suction. You’re fascinated by the way his long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and you realize he has a few freckles that are… endearing. 

It’s a weird thing to notice, so you suck harder, trying to focus on the task at hand. 

Jimin grows more needy, fucking into your mouth so that he’s controlling the pace. You adjust, letting your jaw go slack to accommodate the stretch - and it’s a difficult stretch - making sure to guard your teeth and to let your drool help the glide.

“Your mouth takes my cock so well,” he hums. “How about that throat? Can I fuck that too?”

You nod, which is difficult with a mouth full of Jimin’s precum and cock. He grits his teeth, grabbing the bottom of your jaw gently to adjust the angle and start fucking into your mouth in earnest. 

Breathing is difficult - you remind yourself to try and breathe through your nose, letting out little sounds of euphoria around him that rile him up. You can feel your essence dripping down your thighs, turned on by the way Jimin growls every time the tip kisses the back of your throat. 

Once or twice your throat seizes up around him. He’s careful to pull out and let you breathe for a moment, spit and a little cum leaking down the sides of your mouth and down your chin, tears pooling in your eyes.

With one hand, Jimin slides the glossy tip of his cock through the mess on your chin before tracing your lips a few times, smearing the mess over your swollen mouth. 

“Lipstick,” he murmurs, nearly ruining the moment.

Before you can reply, Jimin slides his cock back into the heat of your mouth, sighing in relief as he starts to thrust in earnest again.

Just as the crown of his cock starts to brush the deeper part of your throat, Jimin pulls out, cursing. “Need to fuck this messy pussy of yours or I’ll bust,” he growls. “Turn over for me. Let me see that pretty ass.” 

Crawling from underneath him, you do as he says, too eager to care that he’s bossing you around. Your limbs are trembling as you prop yourself up on your knees, ass in the air and chest and head pressed to the bed. You look at him sideways, cheek on the mattress as he settles behind you, hands kneading the fat of your ass, giving you experimental squeezes.

It feels nice, the way his hands soothe your muscles and skate over soft flesh. He gives you an experimental slap and you squeal, making him grin. 

“Gunna rearrange your fucking guts,” he murmurs, grabbing the base of his cock. 

“Wait - condom?”

He gives you a look. “What? Are we in middle school? I’m not fucking you with a condom, I won’t feel shit.”

“What? How do I know if you’re clean?” 

“Um, does it look like I have something?”

“You can’t always tell.”

“Well, I don’t have a condom.”

You pause, glaring at him. Neither one of you moves. “Okay, well then pull out.”

He scoffs. “Obviously I’m going to cum in your mouth like a gentleman.” 

You roll your eyes. Even though he is wildly attractive and can pull an orgasm out of you with oral, Jimin is still a fucking ass. But he’s an ass who is good at what he does, so you shut up. 

Not that you can speak as he runs his cockhead through your wet folds. You moan, hearing how wet you are for him. He pushes the tip of his cock in slightly, just enough to make your hole flutter around him. You gasp, fists twisting in sheets as he sits there, letting you clench and unclench around him.

“Jimin,” you moan. 

“Ask nicely,” he teases. “Or you’re just gonna get the tip of my cock. I can feel your pussy fucking begging for it. Now you need to ask.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

“Yeah? Want me to split you open?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to fuck that cervix until you’re screaming?” You pause. He pauses. “Okay that wasn’t very hot, was it?”

“Not really-”

Jimin cuts you off, thrusting in hard on a single upstroke. You gasp, mind going blank and forgetting about his terrible fumble at dirty talk as his cock does hit something inside of you that sends you into a torrent of heat and trembling limbs.

He sets a fast pace, not letting you adjust to his girth. Jimin’s hips piston perfectly against yours, your ass snapping back into his hips with each thrust. You can barely breathe, panting into the sheets as you bounce backward, sharing the effort to meet him for each powerful stroke.

It feels amazing.

You close your eyes, getting lost in the way his cock fills up every part of you, the slide smooth and velvet against your walls, the tip brushing gently against your g-spot every time he thrusts in. 

Your stomach feels like it's flipping over and over again, each one of Jimin’s thrusts so deep you swear you feel it in your chest. Your thoughts start to slip away, your front half sinking further into the mattress as Jimin’s fingers dig into the meat of your ass.

“Fuck,” he pants. “This pussy is so fucking tight. You're just fucking taking it and this ass-” he slaps your flesh sharply, making you squeal. “You hear that? Fucking getting clapped.” 

You don’t have it in you to be annoyed at him. And he has a point - the slap of hips against ass, balls against pussy is loud. 

The same feeling coils in your stomach again. You squeeze your eyes shut, barely able to breathe around the pleasure and the feeling of Jimin fucking you so full. It winds and winds and winds, and as it’s about to snap, you hold your breath.

Jimin gives a hard thrust followed by another, and you cum with a scream. You go from frozen, clenched muscles to boneless limbs in a moment. Jimin presses his hands into the small of your back, pushing you so far into the mattress that you can barely breathe as you bear his full weight.

With a few disjointed thrusts, Jimin cums, grunting and digging nails into your back.

For a few moments, neither of you moves. You can barely remember where you are, much less ask Jimin to pull his weight off of you to give you air. He’s still pressed into you, the heavy weight of him sinking you further into sweat-soaked sheets.

Jimin relents. He slowly pulls his cock out of you and you feel the mess slicking between your legs. It’s sticky and wet, more than you have ever felt before. He falls unceremoniously to the side, nearly wheezing for air.

The room is filled with heavy breaths and the smell of sweat and sex. Strands of hair and sheets stick to your skin. You shuffle, trying to roll over a bit to look at him. Your limbs are sore and stretched from the press of his hands and the force of his hips spreading yours, but it’s a good sore. 

Jimin is flushed, sweaty, and half-asleep. His hand is on his stomach, sticky with cum. 

“OH MY GOD YOU DIDN’T PULL OUT!” You scream, sitting up with sheets stuck to your back and hair all over. “YOU ASSHOLE!”

“Please stop screaming,” he groans, covering his face. “I’ll buy you Plan B in the morning.”

“You’re the fucking worst!”

“Well,” he sighs. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll fuck you again to make you feel better.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, heart racing. You stare at Jimin for a moment. Two moments. You drop your arms and lay back on the bed. “Yeah,” you huff. “Fine, whatever.”

Who were you to turn down another round like that? Your ex and his Escalade are long forgotten now.

Bust | KTH | (m)

☾ Pairing: Heistman!Taehyung x f. Reader

☾ Summary: Seeing a beautiful man in the middle of a bank robbery is unusual. Seeing him again afterward is even more unlikely… and yet not unlucky. 

☾ Word Count: 2,211

☾ Genre: Criminal, Smut, PWP

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Bank robbery, light depiction of fear/anxiety, mentions of poor financial situations and money-related stress, recreational drinking, ‘good girl’ petname, explicit language, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), biting, spanking, implied body worship kind of, a hint of overstim, bodily fluids and cum-eating. 

☾ Published: Monday, January 15, 2024

☾ A/N: This is an idea I randomly spoke about forever ago in a TikTok DM with @gimmethatagustd and this is strictly written to ruin their entire life tonight. I hope it works idk osifodigjoijg. 

☾ A/N 2: Tonight is number four for my 100 Drabble Challenge and I rolled number 24 for criminals! I hope you enjoy my depraved thoughts of Taehyung in that GOD DAMN SQUID GAME OUTFIT AT PTD. MY MASK KINK DOESN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE BUT BE FUCKING SURE IT WILL ONE DAY. HE MADE ME INSANE. 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration ☾

Sweat beads down your back, the trickle of it slower than the clock ticking above your head. Time seems to slow as you sit on a carpet that hasn’t been steam cleaned since the 80s and push yourself against the wall, eyes glued to the open vault. 

It had happened so fast and yet now, it’s like it can’t be over fast enough. Each second that ticks by feels like it takes a year. You cannot hear the chatter of the men inside the vault, but their harsh whispers raise goosebumps on your skin.

At least they haven’t noticed you. Not that you would do much, anyway. You have no intention of going over to push the alarm by the door, too afraid to alert the armed man who stands just outside the vault room on the other side, and far too underpaid to risk your life for a financial institution. 

For a moment, you wish it were you robbing the damned bank. Maybe you could pay off the student loans on your degree you’re not using and run the heating in your apartment during the winter instead of bundling up in several layers. 

Your momentary lapse of delusion passes as the men rush out of the vault, duffles in hand. They’re all dressed in red, black masks covering their faces with shapes on them. You’re vaguely aware that the costume belongs to some sort of show you saw online, but you can’t place them.

Perhaps you’ll watch it now.

“Hurry up,” one of the men barks toward the vault. There had been three inside, but only two came out. “Grab the last and let’s go. Two minutes left.”

They’re gone in an instant. Your eyes dart back to the vault where you can hear the last person inside. Glancing at the clock, you watch the seconds tick by. 

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. A minute. 

A man dressed in a red suit, hood pulled over his head comes out of the vault. As he slugs it shut with one arm, the bag on his shoulder droops, spilling the contents inside out onto the floor. Bands of cash fall out, thudding around his feet. He swears loudly and bends over, back slipping more to drop cash on the ground.

In his frustration, he crouches and tips the mask up a fraction, shielding his face from the camera above but not from you, huddled on the floor a few feet away.

Your heart skips. The thief is beautiful. Dark eyes focused on his task, a wide nose that fits perfectly on a symmetrical face with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a pursed mouth. There’s a flush in his face from the heat, the tip of his nose an endearing shade of rose.

As if sensing your gaze, his head snaps up. You cower against the wall, realizing now that you’ve seen his face, you’ve doomed yourself. He stalls completely, gloved hand hovering over the cash, eyes boring into you. He arches a brow as if to ask you a question and you respond by shaking your head. 

The thief gives you a cocky grin, nodding before he finishes picking up the money and tossing it into the bag. He looks at you again, a smirk on full display before he winks and pulls the mask back down. “Good girl,” he purrs. “I like that.” 

Despite the situation, your stomach flips. He stands and rushes out, lingering by the door for a second longer to stare at you through the black mask. You can’t see his face, but you know you’ll never forget it, pretty as an angel, dangerous as a devil. 

When the group is gone, you wait in silence, only the pumping of your heart to keep you company. When the cops come and ply you with questions all you can do is shake your head repeatedly. 

I was too scared. I can’t remember. 

-

I was too scared. I can’t remember. 

It is the same thing you tell investigators for nearly two months. Just when you think they won’t keep asking what the man looked like, they finally drop it, handing over the robbery details to the FBI. They were at least a little less callous, caring a little less about how many questions you answered. 

If you had to guess, your unimpressive financial situation even after the robbery was significant enough that you weren’t involved with the robbery. 

It’s hard not to wish you had been. The straw in your mouth belongs to a drink that is far too expensive for you to not wince and it barely tastes like anything. At this rate, you know you won’t get a buzz. You’d love alcohol to take the edge off of the loud club music or loosen you up a bit, but you’re resigned to being sober for the rest of your friend's birthday. 

Around you is a gaggle of men and women, both people you know and new faces trying to pick up your friends. Anyone trying to hit on you has already decided you’re far too grumpy to waste time on, most of their backs facing you as people shout over the music about working in finance.

You wonder if they also rob banks in their spare time. It makes you grin, thinking fondly about the thief once again. You do that a lot.  

Sipping the drink, you glance at your phone. It’s been an hour since you arrived, but you’re wondering if enough time has reasonably passed to excuse yourself. Tomorrow is one of your few days off and you intend to spend it lounging on the couch watching TV instead of nursing a headache.

Someone slides into the space at the bar next to you. You don’t glance up at them, spinning your skinny cocktail straw absently as you stare at the melted ice of your Long Island iced tea. You hoped that once it melted it would turn into a second drink, but it hasn’t. Cold, bitter water it is, then. 

“Why the long face?” You frown at the vaguely familiar voice and glance up, freezing. 

Mr. Bank Robber looks down at you, cocking his head to the side with a wolfish grin. Your mouth pops open in surprise, leaning back a little as you drink him in. This close, he is far more beautiful than you remember, the edges and shadows of his face like a carefully painted fresco. Michelangelo could hardly be talented enough to capture this. 

“You,” you whisper, his grin spreading further. 

“Have we met?” he leans on the bar, dressed in all black. You eye the three-piece suit and the glinting diamonds in the cuff links. His clothes are far finer than anything anyone else is wearing and when you breathe in sharply, you smell a hint of woody cologne. His dark hair is slicked back and you catch the dainty hoop earrings in his lobes. You like the juxtaposition. 

“You know we have.” He tongues the inside of his cheek, turning his head to order with the bartender. His eyes stray to you, raising a brow. You supply him with your answer, “A long island.”

The bartender nods, momentarily stupefied by the heistman’s beauty before walking over to the POS, tapping the screen with the speed and aggression unique to bartenders. 

“Kind of a shitty club,” he mentions, looking around over the top of your head. Sweat clings to your lower back, your mouth growing dry as you watch colors splash on his face. “Your face is too pretty for a place like this.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mhmm.” The bartender puts the drinks on the counter and the man gives him cash, signaling to keep the change. The bartender raises a brow but says nothing, taking the money as he goes. “What’s your name?”

“You probably already know it.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure you looked me up to see if I was a threat or watched me to see what I’d do.”

“You watch too many heist movies.”

“Maybe I watch just enough.”

He laughs at that and your lips twitch. It’s rich, making his face intimidating as he gives you a wide smile and shakes his head. “Alright, maybe you’re right.”

“Can I know your name?”

“For the right price.”

“My silence was a pretty petty, no?”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes dipping down and back up. You sip your drink, feeling a flush of warmth unfurl in your body, most notably between your legs. “I like you.”

“You have to like me. I know your secret.” 

Leaning forward, he ducks down so that he’s murmuring into your ear, hot breath ghosting your skin and making you tremble. “Want to hear more?” Your eyelids flutter as he waits, skin buzzing at his sudden proximity. You nod, feeling lightheaded. “My name is Taehyung. Want to get out of here?”

-

“Fuck,” Taehyung growls, hands skimming your bare sides. You can’t keep still under his gaze, hips squirming and fingers twisting in the sheets. His mouth is swollen and covered in your spit, his eyes blown as a large hand scrapes down to your thigh where he gives you a good slap. “I knew you were a good girl.”

A moan trips out of your mouth. Your thigh stings where he slapped you but he soothes it with the easy back-and-forth motion of his hand, his fingers digging into your flesh. Taehyung is a man starved, having littered your body with harsh kisses and bites, nearly breaking the skin.

You don’t care. You’re feverish for him, room spinning as you sprawl on his soft sheets in a hotel room that is far nicer than anything you’ve ever been in. You burn up like a star, core raging as Taehyung leans back down, pressing your naked thighs open for him as he sucks the skin of your chest between his teeth.

Everything aches. You want him so bad that you feel a cry come out of your mouth, lips wobbling as he laughs against your skin, sinking lower and lower, mouth loud as he sucks at your skin, tongue brushing over the sting of his teeth. 

“Does my good girl need her pussy eaten?” Taehyung rasps, looking up at you where he kneels between your legs. “Is that why you’re crying, hmm?”

Taehyung looks like something out of a thriller. His eyes are dark and hungry, his shadowed face becoming some sort of demon of lust. He’s what you would imagine a dark god. A bacchanal devil, a creature made for sin. 

All you can do is nod in response, feeling Taehyung’s vicious grip on your thighs as he presses you further, your muscles stretching. The strain feels good, as does the slow drip of your cunt down the curve of your ass mixed with his breath.

“So messy,” he murmurs, leaning forward and blowing cool air on your sticky folds. You squirm, the sensation sending you into overdrive as you twist your head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He’s barely done a thing and you’re worked up more than you can ever recall. “Pretty.”

The slow, soft press of Taehyung’s tongue through your pussy makes you sag. It’s the relief that you so desperately needed, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit and drags his tongue back down. Taehyung is slow as he eats you out, tongue savoring every drop you can give him.

He taps your thigh, drawing your attention to him. He smirks as his tongue dips into your entrance, dragging back up to swirl around your throbbing bud a few times.

It’s impossible to tear your eyes away once you’re watching. Taehyung keeps his razor-sharp gaze on you, bringing his mouth fully to your cunt as he sucks eagerly. There is a rhythm to the curl of his tongue and the sharp suck of his lips, the wet smack of his ministrations driving you crazy.

“Mmm,” he hums, pressing his face in further. He’s messy with it, his jaw and nose covered in shiny slick. He laughs throatily when your back comes off the bed, thighs shaking. “Such a good pussy, just like I knew it would be.”

It feels too hot in the room. Your breaths are coming in too fast and there’s nothing you can do to catch it, Taehyung working you up to a frenzied, frenetic orgasm. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, pumping so hard that you think you might need to stop.

And then you break.

Your body seizes as you come, a scream ripping through your mouth as Taehyung slurps hungrily at your mess, spurred by your release. You can’t stop shaking as he dives in, unwilling to stop until you’re babbling, nearly lifeless as the orgasm teeters into overstimulation. 

Only then does Taehyung pull his mouth away, trailing wet, cum-spit kisses on your inner thigh, nipping your thigh here and there. 

“Think you can take more?” he asks, slurring his words against your thigh. “Think you can take my cock.” 

You nod eagerly, hand letting go of the sheets and reaching toward him. “Yes.”

“Mmm good. I’m about to bust.” He bites your knee. “And I don’t mean a bank, this time.” 

Bite Me, Jeon | JJK | (m)

❀ Pairing: vampire/ college student! Jungkook x college student! female reader

❀ Summary: Somehow you convince Jeon Jungkook to look into theories of vampirism for a research paper. What Jungkook doesn’t expect, is for vampirism to become a very real and very personal problem for him.

❀ Word Count: 19,376

❀ Genre: Friends to lovers, supernatural, a hint of angst

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Some angst, Taehyung is kinda an ass, blood play (Jungkook is a vampire, guys), ridiculous science and historical accounts that I MADE UP (I am not a scientist!!!), mentions of diseases, explicit language, verbal threats, turning someone into a vampire against their will, depictions of blood, biting, conspiracy theories, recreational drinking, mentions of recreational drug use in the past (briefly), a little bit of pining, sexually explicit content including: oral (f. and m. receiving, m. briefly receives) spitting, blood play and biting, spitting, sub-space themes post orgasm, fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex (pls practice safe sex guys). I think I got everything - pls tell me if I missed something.

❀ Published: May 7, 2022

❀ A/N: HAPPY HALFWAY TO HALLOWEEN EVERYONE AKA HALFWAY TO MY FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR. It's here! This took me absolutely forever to write because I wrote it in so many pieces. It is WAY longer than I anticipated, but as I've always said: I find it nearly impossible to write PWP because I live for plot and world building. This is the beloved sibling to Don't Read Dead Languages, the other installment of my Halfway to Halloween celly (est. post date is tomorrow) And yes - I did create characters in here with the intention of doing their stories for Halloween this year :) Please enjoy.Please keep in mind that I am not a scientist and a historian and I took A LOT of liberties with mythology and historical accounts to make my own plot. While I mention real diseases and historical figures, I quite literally made this up. It's not accurate. Pls don't come for my scientist brain because it doesn't exist.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask |

The lights in your corner of the library are dim and flickering. The air is cold and damp- though that is common for the old part of the library where your group huddles. As the least favorite academic club in your school’s college of history and humanities, the table assignments in the warmer and brighter side of the library are rarely ever given to you.

The creepy table for the creeps, the student-run desk attendants usually murmur when you arrive first to check in for your allotted study time. 

You’ve requested the higher tech rooms over fifty times, but it’s the same response every time: Are you even a real academic club? Leave the digital screens and resources to the STEM majors. 

So Old Stacks it was. It had earned that name when the library was extended to above ground with three more floors. The subterranean parts were now reserved for the original study rooms and table areas that had gone years without updating. Most of the shelving is in disarray, containing old volumes of books no longer referenced. 

Most people dread the Old Stacks. You don’t mind them. There is a comfort in knowing you will be left alone among the silence and the flickering lights. Plus, you know how to accommodate for its quirks now. You always pack sweaters, always bring snacks since the vending machines are a mile away, and you bring a portable desk light. 

Making things work is mostly what your group does. Well- making things real is the focus. 

Sure, your Science and History of the Supernatural club was originally been created as an ode to the long-running television show Supernatural, but it has since developed into something legit, with academics studying the mysteries of the world and working to apply levels of historical research and scientific methods to prove and disprove a number of creatures, stories and legends. 

It's nerd shit, as Jungkook calls it. You don’t even want to get into the argument of what you define as a nerd with him. He has enough anime posters on his apartment walls and spends every cent he earns streaming toward his ridiculously flashy gaming setup. 

Nerd shit. 

Despite him making fun of your group, Jungkook sometimes comes to meetings. Even if it’s because you needed a sixth person to be considered a legitimate academic club. Even if it it’s because you offered to do his laundry every Saturday for a single semester as a bribe to keep the club going. 

Pulling your cardigan closer, you scroll through your tablet with the proposal you carefully put together for review. It’s for your final research paper in your folklore class- an elective you didn’t need to graduate, but an important elective toward your desired dream job of working for a private curation company in charge of recovering, investigating and selling ancient artifacts. Kim Namjoon, a professor who participated in the very group you now led, had given you some tips on what you needed to apply to the prestigious position. 

The subject of your final project is courageous. It leans heavily on a lot of pseudoscience and genuine historical events and documents. You know it doesn’t necessarily matter if the experiment itself yields a factual result. You’re not a scientist, but even a negative result is something worth noting in your paper. 

Jungkook is the first to arrive at the library. He’s got a paper bag shoved under his arms, the first signs of grease ruining the paper on the edges. You can smell the fries immediately, groaning as he sets up next to you with an evil grin. 

“Got your favorite,” he announces in a sing-song voice. 

You hate the way he spoils you with food. Jungkook’s habits at the gym and generally maintaining a healthy lifestyle help him to look… well perfect. Small waist, broad shoulders and thick biceps with a heartbreaking face made to love. 

Not thinking about how lovely his face was had become a favorite pastime of yours. 

“You’re going to make me gain weight,” you growl, snatching the back from him to find seasoned fries inside. You indulge, humming as you bite into the greasy goodness. “This isn’t fair, Jeon.”

“Who cares if you do?” Jungkook kicks his feet up on the table, ignoring you as you try to shove them off. Even if you’re in the worst part of the Old Stacks, you feel the urge to be respectful. “You’re pretty regardless, Indy.”

You smirk at the nickname. He was constantly calling you Indiana Jones and Indy for short. You wished you were as cool, but you’ll never tell him that. “Tell that to my long line of non-existent suitors. And get your feet off the table.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes but moves his feet, much to your pleasure.

Your club members file in one at a time, a mix of science majors and history majors. Jungkook is the only one out of his depth, but he usually enjoys the meetings. He doesn’t always say so, but you find open articles on his computer when he thinks you’re not looking about banshees and werewolves on occasion.

Hoseok opens a bag of chips, his notebooks perfectly placed as he leans on his elbows eagerly. “You’re running your folklore project by us today, right? I’ve been dying to see what you came up with.”  

“Why?” Mari asks, flipping through a textbook with an unimpressed pout. You try to fight the urge to lean over and bop her directly on the fucking head. “It’s just another project.”

Mari will never outright say she doesn’t like you. In general, you suppose she’s nice enough. She’s let you borrow a resource or two and she’ll peer review your work if Hoseok or Elena aren’t available. But she always makes sure to downplay your successes, and there is an undercurrent of something aggressive whenever she directs comments and questions your way.

Jungkook hates Mari. You notice the way he glares over the top of his computer screen at her now, his pout tilting downward and his eyes boring holes in her forehead. She doesn’t seem to notice. Even if she did, any reaction she can draw out of Jungkook is one she enjoys. From the moment Jungkook joined your club to save it, she has never passed a moment to thank him again and again for joining.

It's a topic that is hotly debated between you and Jungkook. He doesn’t think anyone is interested in him. He knows he’s a nerd by definition. He speaks in anime jokes and he doesn’t come out of his room on the weekends when he’s deep into and Overwatch binge. And no matter how many times you tell him, Jungkook has no idea how cute he is.

“Because,” Hoseok shoots back pointedly at Mari. “She’s also submitting this paper to Namjoon who is passing it to his boss at his very secretive artifact agency. It’s important.”

“Namjoon,” Mari sighs, putting her hand over her heart. “We will never have a president of this club like him.”

Jungkook looks at her pointedly. “I think ours is just fine.”

You shoot him a grateful look, ignoring the way Mari scrambles to correct herself and assure you that it wasn’t meant to be offensive. Especially when it definitely was.

Jimin is the last to show up, murmuring apologies as he tosses his things on the table. He looks effortlessly beautiful as always, pink hair styled back and subtle designer clothing hanging perfectly on his frame. Jimin is the type of beautiful that you envy- not because he gets attention, but because he is otherworldly.

“Project time, project time!” Jimin chants, clapping his hands together. He’s an English Literature major with a keen interest in folklore and mythology. You were pretty sure he kept a copy of The Iliad on him at all times. “I’m so excited to see what you’ve got.”

The group settles in and turn their eyes to you as you flip your iPad around. The topic is incredibly out there- even for you- and your palms get sweaty as you sift through your notes and cited sources regarding the topic.

“Okay don’t laugh,” you say seriously, levelling all of them with a glare. “And remember that the actual result doesn’t matter as much as the research and documentation process.”

“Spit it out,” Jimin whines.

So you do.

Flipping through the iPad, you launch into an incredibly lengthy and thorough relationship between the history of the legend of vampires through various time periods, starting the research specifically with the rumors and lack of historical data surrounding Vlad the Impaler, ruler of Walachia, Romania.

At first, the group seems unsure. You can sense their uneasiness on the topic, but you push forward, pulling out historical accounts and journals during the Middle Ages during years when the plague burned through European countries, cross-referencing it with the uptick in supposed vampire sightings and rumors.

The interesting part of your research surrounds a disease known as Porphyria, which was detected in the middle ages during a spike in the plague. There were several variations of the disease, resulting in skin blistering when exposed to sunlight.

“Okay so you get a sunburn with pory-whatever?” Jimin asks.

You glare. “Your skin literally blisters, but let me finish. They did studies on people who got the disease and discovered that ingesting blood relieved most if not all of the symptoms related to those who had it. Furthermore, people who ingested the blood of those with porphyria immediately displayed symptoms.”

“What does this have to do with vampirism?” Mari sighed.

“Though it’s implied in most of these medical documents that it can be passed through family members, look at this specifically family tree I pulled with one of the first patients who underwent testing.”

Jungkook took the sheet of paper from you, pouting his lip and furrowing his brow as he read. You chewed nervously on the inside of your cheek as he scanned the tree and tilted his head. “Wilhelmina Dracia- an ancestor of Vlad the Impaler.”

“Exactly, Jeon!” you announce. “So it got me thinking. There were other undocumented diseases during the plague. Even now, there were small towns marked as killed by the plague but they had no evidence that they actually suffered deaths from the plague. Do you know what the neighboring towns were suspected to have?”

“Porphyria?” Jungkook asked, glancing upward. “Do you think porphyria is vampirism?”

“I think it’s a strain of vampirism.”

“Just a strain?” Hoseok asks, taking one of the papers from your notes. You’re thrilled they’re asking questions and hand him two other family trees. “Wait- I though Anne Rice’s novel was total fiction? Lestat was a real person?”

“I think he was based on a real person. Loren de Lion was a real person born in a farming village outside of Paris.” You tap the top of his family tree. “What name do you see there?”

“Mihai Dracal.” Hoseok holds out his hand to Jungkook for Wilhelmina’s family tree and looks back and forth between them. “No way. They share an ancestor. So why isn’t Loren on this family tree?”

“He produced no heirs. This is where I began wondering about strains. Look at these journal entries from Loren de Lion in Paris and then compare it to these entries by Laure de Lions in New Orleans during the 1900s.”

“I remember this,” Hoseok reads from the newer entry. “It is all so familiar. I fear I am not alone in my dear city of New Orleans. I must flee, for there is no stronger breed of sickness than jiangshi. I hope to withstand this breed, but I must flee the city.”

“Breed of sickness?” It’s Mari who asks the question much to your surprise. And sort of pleasure. “Who calls sickness a breed.”

“Right?”

“Jiangshi?” Jungkook asks. “That’s an ancient story of creatures sucking the qi out of humans. It’s popular in Korean Dramas.”

Mari gestures to another family tree sitting on top of academic papers. You hand them over to her with a smirk. She’s so focused on scanning the family tree that she doesn’t notice. “This family- you associated them with Jiangshi?”

“Yes. In fact, they have a son who recently graduated from here. He owns a popular night club in the next city over.”

“Wait…” Jimin mutters, looking up Kim Taehyung on his phone. His eyes go round and he looks up at you. “You mean he owns Nightshade? That club is not only ridiculously exclusive and membership only, but last year there was a massive story on them. One of their members was arrested for aggravated assault on his boyfriend and he claimed that he was driven to insanity by the occult practices at the club.”

You lift up the article in question. “They were going to go to trial any everything. But the Kim family is stupid rich they’re represented by Min Associates.”

“Seriously? I’ve heard that Min Associates have the best lawyers in the world. You could be caught red-handed guilty and get away with it if they’re on the case.” Mari asks, snatching the article from Jimin. “I’ve heard their son is called the Demon in the court room. No one can beat him.”

You shrug. “My point is, this guy? He was willing to talk until he wasn’t. He was sentenced to a few years and let out on good behavior. No one has heard from him since.”

“So what’s your plan?” Jungkook asks, brows furrowed as he regards you. “Please don’t tell me you plan on getting involved with Nightshade and trying to become a member to see what’s going on. Come on, Indy.”

“Jimin?” You ask and he looks up at you. “Your friend Jin is in the entertainment sector, isn’t he?”

Jimin glares. You give him a soft pout and round eyes, earning a sigh and a roll of his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

-

A week after you discuss your project with your peers, Jungkook shows up at your apartment with a box full of pizza, your favorite flavor of wings, and soda. You give him a narrowed look, letting him in nonetheless as the smell of grease makes your mouth water.

Though you live alone, Jungkook has spent most of his time at your small apartment two blocks away from school to be considered a roommate.  

“To what do I owe being spoiled?” You ask skeptically as Jungkook places the items on your kitchen counter. He moves confidently, taking out plates and setting them down before grabbing cups for your drinks. It’s entirely domestic and you chew your lip watching him. “That’s a lot of wings.”

“Can’t I just want to come watch movies with my best friend?”

“Yes, but it’s Friday. And on Fridays you usually do your Mario Party stream with viewers.”

“You know my schedule?” His cheeks are tinted pink when he asks, smiling at the ground as he places food on the plates. You don’t answer- of course you know his schedule- and take the plate offered to you. “I just wanted to hangout.”

“Sus.”

Jungkook takes a bite of his pizza, chewing happily as he levels you with a look. “Maybe I want to try and talk you out of your project.” You groan and he gestures to the couch. “Come on, we don’t have to fight while we eat.”

“So we’re going to fight?”

He gives a small smirk. “Maybe. I don’t know. Not during pizza and maybe an episode of One Piece?”

You hum in doubt but join him on the couch, pulling up the extended-top of the coffee table to set your food on top. You both cross your feet and settle in as Jungkook navigates the streaming service easily, picking up where you left off.

It’s hard to remember when exactly you let him talk you into watching the entire anime series, but it seems never ending. Jungkook won’t let you watch episodes without him, but he’s good about keeping a watch-schedule. And you have to admit- you like the show.

True to his word, Jungkook doesn’t bring up your project while you eat. It doesn’t stop you from stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what about it bothers him.

Clubbing isn’t really your thing. You gave it a good run when you were a freshman, slowing a bit when you were a sophomore. You didn’t mind drinking- wine was pretty much your preference- but being out around a bunch of sweaty strangers while someone always managed to have a bad night in your group was sort of exhausting.

So you limited your nights out to few and far between, but you always managed to have fun.

Perhaps it was the mysteriousness of the club that Jungkook didn’t like. After revealing your topic of interest, you had scoured the internet together to show him what you could find on Nightshade and its members. There was a website for the club, but the only information available was that it was an exclusive night club, and that memberships were limited. There was no information to apply. There was nothing but an address, a business license, and a small blurb on the owner- Kim Taehyung.

The infamous Kim Taehyung was easier to look up. He was a wealthy businessman in the next city over and was a wealthy contributor to your school. He participated in plenty of charity work- particularly organizations that specialized in raising money for rare blood diseases and their study.

That was interesting and on brand for your paper.

Every photo you saw of the man was nothing short of stunning. Dark hair that was usually styled back, eyes that could cut through a camera lens, and a face that belonged in high fashion. He was heartbreakingly beautiful. Even Jungkook had whistled and stared for a while.

Taehyung, as stunning as he was, had private social media and there wasn’t much beyond a few articles from business and entertainment magazines who had posted how elusive the club owner was. Even the articles containing information about the lawsuit against his club were difficult to find.

A few blogs were dedicated to uncovering and guessing what exactly went on at Nightshade, but they were thus far unsuccessful. You had no idea why you thought you were going to be the one to figure it out, but you were determined.

Jungkook leaned back and sighed. You chewed on your lip, watching as he leveled his gaze at you. You shifted nervously under his stare, unable to read his expression. Your heart and stomach fluttered- for reasons completely unrelated to knowing he was going to question you.

“I think you should turn in your paper without the investigation on the end,” Jungkook said finally. “You’re not an investigative journalist. Your class is about folklore and where it intersects with history, and I think you’ve done that. You’ve combined science, popular legends and historical documents and family trees to support your guess. I think that’s enough.”

“It isn’t,” you insist, shaking your head. “It’s a competitive job. Namjoon only started working there last year after his massive discovery in Egypt. This company- it’s the private sector, which means a lot of benefits and a lot of money. It would send me all over the world and give me assignments I’d never get at a museum or as a professor.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Your paper is good enough to get you in.”

“It’s not. What happens when they ask if I discovered what was at the club?”

“This is for a company that specializes in archaeology and history. They’re not Buzzfeed Unsolved.”

“It would demonstrate a lack of dedication for me not to do this.”

“How? You’re pulling from multiple types of sources and the Center for Disease Control for crying out loud! What about this fucking club is that important to a historical paper?”

“I need to know if I’m right!”

You shout it at Jungkook, making him flinch. You close your eyes and heave a sigh, running a hand over your face. You soften as you murmur, “What is the point of the paper if there isn’t an answer?”

“So that’s what it’s about. Proving you’re right. And if you’re wrong?” You shrug. “At the end of the day, this is folklore. You applied science and history, but… vampires, Indy?”

A sour feeling enters your stomach. You stand up and begin cleaning and Jungkook groans, knowing he’s upset you. You don’t care if he knows. You stomp to the kitchen, chucking the crumbs into the trash and shoving dishes into the sink. You’re cleaning and refusing to look at him as he calls your name from the couch.

You know the idea of vampires is… ridiculous. In reality, you know that your little club is laughed at. Ridiculed. No one takes is seriously. They won’t even let you rent a room in the library proper.

Your throat tightens as you fight the urge to cry. You don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook, especially over something so stupid. But being right is more than just… having put together a convoluted puzzle piece. It means your worth of a prestigious job and it means… well it means the museums you already applied to and failed to get in were wrong about you.

“Talk to me.” You flinch, not realizing Jungkook moved to the kitchen. He’s standing right behind you when you glance over your shoulder. You turn away and rub your face quickly on your shoulder, trying to hide that a tear escapes. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying, Jeon.”

You hear him laugh. “Okay, well I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

When you don’t answer, trying to stop the burn in your eyes and the weight of the rejections, Jungkook steps forward and wraps his arms around you, squeezeing You place your hands on his arms and squeeze back, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

“I’m sorry, Indy,” he whispers, his voice sincere. “I just care about you and even if we don’t find vampires, something about this place and Kim Taehyung gives me the creeps.”

“We?” You sniff, laughing slightly.

“Of course. You didn’t think you were going alone, did you?” He squeezes and places his chin on your shoulder. “Indiana Jones always had a sidekick. Sidekick Jeon Jungkook reporting for duty.”

A few minutes pass in the kitchen with Jungkook just holding you. And you let him. He’s warm and he smells floral, making you smile as he sways you back and forth a bit. You melt into him. You want to stay like that far more than you should.

Just when your nervous it’s going to get awkward, you murmur, “I didn’t get the apprenticeship at The Metropolitan or Louvre. They said that I didn’t stand out enough.”

“Oh, Indy…”

“And I don’t blame them. My projects and papers have been basic. Organized. Perfectly executed but… there is nothing special about them. Nothing special about me.”

“That isn’t true at all.”

The vehemence he states this leaves no room for argument, drawing a smile from you. He settles back on your shoulder as you murmur, “I just… want to do something different. Step out of my comfort zone, you know? I just want to be special.”

“You are to me, if that counts.”

Fuck. It counts so much more than Jungkook realizes. Every time he shows up to a club that he doesn’t have to be a part of, every time he brings you pizza, or lets you come watch him stream, or he talks you through an anime you don’t quite understand- you do feel special with Jungkook. Maybe not in the way you want most, but in a way that counts.

Jungkook sighs, pulling you from your thoughts. “Jimin said Jin can get you in, but there’s a shit ton of applications and documentation we have to do.”

You spin around. He drops his embrace, chewing the inside of his cheek as he looks down at you. Your heart skips as you grab his arms, nails digging in. “Seriously? Just like that?”

He laughs without humor. “Jin said that he can submit an application on our behalf. Not that it would get accepted and Indy… it’s pretty intense. We have to have background checks, blood tests-“

“Blood tests?”

He grimaces. “I knew you’d fixate on that.”

You ignore him. “This is perfect. It just lends itself to my paper. Who needs a blood test to get into a nightclub? There has to be something they’re looking for- maybe ensuring there’s no disease or latent vampire genes? This is great! Jungkook this is great.”

He winces but mutters, “Yeah. I guess.”

-

Jungkook exaggerates about a lot of things. For example, there was one time during Halloween where he swore that he was so drunk that he was going to die. Instead, he vomited in your Luna backpack two blocks away from your apartment, and then cried because you wouldn’t get him tacos after.

Or there was the time around Christmas where the two of you had edibles at a party, and Jungkook fucking swore he saw Santa Claus and his reindeer. You had a pretty difficult time explaining whilst high out of your mind that it was an airplane, Jungkook. The things that fly in the sky.

And of course, every world-ending time he lost a match or had a bad stream. Those were the days that the sky was falling and he was never going to recover from this financially- and he would send you the same Tiger King meme over and over again.

Those were all great examples of his usual reaction to minor things.

Jungkook was not exaggerating about the application requirements to potentially become a member at Nightshade.

While they did not require any up-front cost to the application, there was cost implied by the amount of blood work you had to get done- and sign a twelve-page legal agreement that you were consenting to provide medical history and knowledge.

Additionally, you were expected to provide STD results, which led you down a rabbit hole of wondering if Nightshade was a sex club- which, was currently in the lead for the most popular theory of what went on behind its closed doors.

And when the formal invitation and approval arrived, there was a very strict list of attire that required you to go beyond the realms of your closet.

Mari of all people was assisting you in the attire part. You generalyl dressed pretty simple. Heels weren’t a necessity when you weren’t working at a fancy museum just yet, and you never had formal events to attend since Jimin dropped out of his fraternity, calling them boring.

“I think the velvet is the way to go,” Mari says appreciatively, tapping her chin. “You have great legs, may as well show them off. And the red doesn’t totally wash you out like the green did.”

You struggle to take the compliment and look at the dress in the mirror. It’s skin tight and leaves little to the imagination, the hemline coming higher up on your thigh than you’re used to. The off the shoulders are a smooth fit, but the neckline dips dangerously to the top of your breasts.

It’s far more daring than anything you’ve worn before, but the entire night is supposed to be daring.

The plan is simple and stupid. Get inside the club, observe what’s going on, and report if there’s anything vampy. According to the nondisclosure and legal agreements you had to sign and get notarized after approval, there’s a probationary period until your inducted as a full-time member. You skipped over the levels of sponsorships, not intending on becoming a steady member of Kim Taehyung’s possible sex club.

A single night of investigative work. That’s what you’ve promised Jungkook, who is still set on going with you. He even booked a night in a hotel room in the next city over so that you don’t have to worry about rushing there and back.

You try not to think about sharing a hotel room with him alone. Because while you’ve done that in the past, it’s different now. You feel different these days.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turn to Mari. She’s been more interested in you as a person since presenting the paper. Though she hasn’t admitted to it, you have a sneaking suspicion she was impressed and has decided to give you a chance at being an acquaintance.

Even if she is still giving less than ideal compliments.

“You don’t think the crimson is cliché?” you ask, brushing the soft, velvet material. “I feel vampy in it.”

“You look hot.” She shrugs. “Well, if you don’t get a vampire to go all ‘I vant to suck your blood,’ you’re probably going to get laid. If not by Jungkook, maybe by some masked stranger at the sex club.”

“It’s not a sex club.” She gives you a look and you grimace. “Okay, it might be a sex club. And sex with Jungkook are you drunk? We’re best friends, Mari.”

“Yeah,” she mutters as you walk into the changing room, heart set on the dress. “Best friends who need to fuck.”

“I heard that!”

-

The red neon above the door taunts you as you walk down the sidewalk. On either side of the tinted, glass door is a security member. The one to the right of the door holds his hand out for your invitation. You hand yours over, trying to keep your hand from shaking with nervousness and excitement. Jungkook does the same, standing close behind you as they open the door to a dark hallway. 

Scarlet, crushed velvet makes up the interior of the hallway. The lights above are dimly lit chandeliers, the soft gold glow barely enough to cast light down the entire length of the hall. The line to get into the actual club starts here, hidden away from the eyes of the outside world. You realize it’s to keep member identities hidden. 

Jungkook is still close behind you, his chest almost against your back. You join the line of finely dressed patrons, sending a silent thank you to Mari for her making you choose the red dress and pair it with the sky-high heels. Jungkook sticks out in his leather jacket and ripped black pants and yet somehow when you turn to look at him, he looks right- though you’re not entirely sure about dress code.

Shadows fall over half of his face in the hall. You find yourself staring at him over your shoulder as his dark eyes scan the line, mouth fixed in what you label as his serious expression.

A lock of dark hair falls into his eyes. Instead of looking disheveled, he looks beautiful, an angel of shadow. You want to run your fingers along the recently shaved undercut. His hair was still long, but the sides were cropped short, making his choice of slick-backed hair even better.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to you and his features smooth out into softness. “What?”

“You look so serious,” you opt to say. It would be weird if you told him you were staring at how beautiful he was. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Of course I did,” he answers, frowning. “Who else is going to protect my girl?” 

The way he says it is so casual. It means nothing to him and everything to you. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, instead turning your attention to the pictures on the wall. Your eyes nearly fall out of your head when you realize the black-and-white photos are people caught in different throes and moments of pleasure.

You divert your eyes to instead look at the people in line.

It’s a wide variety of people, though one thing is the same: everyone has an invitation, the matte black of their cards absorbing the light in the hall. The couple in front of you is murmuring quietly to themselves. The woman is dressed in a floor-length, emerald dress made from silk, her hair twisted up in an elegant bun. Her earrings catch the light, drawing attention to her slender neck. 

Glancing down at yourself, you don’t feel nearly as well-dressed. The velvet dress clings to you like a second skin, the hemline dangerously short for you. It’s certainly a daring outfit, but with just a simple gold necklace around your neck with your birthstone- a gift from Jungkook- you start to feel out of place. 

As though he senses your uneasiness, Jungkook bends down and murmurs, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just wish I looked a little nicer.”

The line moves forward. You’re three away from the door, heart rate kicking up. You can just barely hear the vibration of the music, though you cannot tell where it’s coming from. 

“What do you mean?” you hear the frown in Jungkook’s voice. You gesture to the woman in front of you and he scoffs. “I think you look absolutely beautiful. Hey- look at me.”

Heart skipping, you turn around and look at him. Jungkook brushes a loose strand of hair back into your French twist, eyes searching. He’s so painfully beautiful that you look at him, unblinking. “You’re always breathtaking,” Jungkook murmurs, smiling softly. “But tonight? You are devastating.” 

Jungkook has no idea the way his words affect you. Suddenly you’ve forgotten about the line and the club. It’s just you and Jungkook in a softly-lit space, and he’s watching you with those eyes and his soft smile. The one reserved only for you.

The moment breaks into pieces when the security guard asks you to move forward. In a daze, you hand him your invitation, your expensive medical results, legal forms, and two forms of ID. He runs the IDs through a scanner and thoroughly looks over the paperwork before asking you to hold out your wrist. He places a delicate, gold bracelet around your wrist with a red gemstone charm. 

“Welcome to Nightshade, Miss L/N.”

You step forward and watch as he repeats the process for Jungkook. Instead of a bracelet, he gives Jungkook a more visible lapel with the same stone. “Welcome to Nightshade, Mr. Jeon. Please ensure that your bracelet and brooch are displayed at all times. If you are warned more than once that it is not visible, you will be escorted out and your probation period will be revoked. You will wear this entry level color until a sponsor elevates your membership.” 

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Okay.”

“Sponsors are the members inside wearing mother of pearl broaches and bracelets, and are the only members who may invite you to a private room tonight. If any full-time member wearing emerald or sapphire invite you to a private room, please report them to any staff member immediately. Enjoy your night.”

The conversation is done and the line is pushing you through the curtained doorway. The stairs lead down down down. You look at Jungkook, unsure what you’ve gotten yourself into. He places his hand on your shoulder and says, “We can leave- that’s totally okay.”

“No,” you protest. “Let’s do this.” 

“Even if it’s a sex club?”

You shoot him a look as you begin a careful descent down the stairs. The further you go, the more you can feel the music humming through the ground to your ribcage. “Even if it’s a sex club.”

When another security guard opens the door to the main club, you think that maybe you’re not far off your guess. Music pulses from the middle of the dance floor where bodies twist in a writhing mass. There’s a DJ booth situated above the crowd on a catwalk, lights coalescing on the dance floor in colors you’ve never seen. 

Jungkook is attached to you as you push into the club. The air is cooler than you anticipated, a shiver working up your spine. The bar is near the door, long and carved from dark marble. Red lights are fixed beneath the bar counter, making it look as though the bartenders are gliding through a sea of red. 

A set of stairs leads upstairs to a landing where you can see private booths roped off with velvet markers. A security member stands at the foot of the stairs, letting people pass through after they display their jewelry. Some booths are curtained off while others have people lounging openly, watching the people below. 

You have no idea where to start. Jungkook nudges you on your lower back, starling you. He gives you an encouraging grin and nods toward the bar. “Let’s get drinks.”

With a nod, you let Jungkook lead the way. You’re too nervous to feel anything besides light panic when he wraps his fingers around yours, tugging you along. Your other hand clutches his elbow, securing yourself to his side as you move through the crowd. No one shoves and steps on you. Everyone is polite, parting as you navigate toward the bar. 

You’re almost dizzy with the dark space and flashing lights when a bartender appears in front of you immediately. He’s beautiful, blond hair slick back and uncanny amber eyes flicking between you two, smiling as he looks at the stones on your jewelry and shouts over the music, “Welcome first timers. You drink for free tonight, but please ensure you drink responsibly. What can I get you?” 

“An old fashioned for me,” Jungkook answers loudly. He pulls you in closer, placing you next to him with his hand appropriately placed on your back. “A vodka soda for her, please.” 

The bartender flashes a smile. “Coming right up, pretties.” 

Jungkook leans a single elbow on the bar and gazes out at the crowd. Colors splash across his golden skin, turning him red then blue then green. The music is loud, filled with bass and following a techno sound. You nod your head, looking around those at the bar. 

You don’t really know what to look for other than the cliche: bite marks on necks, hickies that look suspicious, patrons with fangs. There’s plenty of mirrors behind the bar, reflecting the bottles and club-goers back to you. Everyone appears in the mirror- no weird missing reflection. 

Everyone looks ordinary, for the most part. There are a few men and women who look so beautiful it’s painful to look at, but there’s nothing about them that screams vampire. There’s no pale, smooth skin or burning red eyes. There’s nothing that seems… supernatural at all. 

The bartender appears again with your drinks. Jungkook hands over money to tip him, but the bartender waves it off. “No tipping here. We’re paid handsomely. Enjoy your evening. My name is Emil if you need anything.” 

Emil flashes a smile. There are no fangs, but there is something about the way he glances between the two of you that sends a cool tingle down your spine. He moves away quickly, taking another order. You stare at him a second longer before you take the cold glass from the paper coaster. 

“Something about him seems… off,” you mention to Jungkook. 

Jungkook nods. “He’s very perfect looking.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jungkook shrugs. “This feels surprisingly ordinary.”

“Come on,” Jungkook murmurs, sipping his drink and gesturing to the edge of the dancefloor. A dark alcove with a soft, blue neon sign that said private glowed next to where he was pointing. “We can observe near there.” 

It feels as if the dark hall leading to private rooms goes on forever. You glance down at it, hypnotized by the way the space seems void of light and life. You and Jungkook sip your drinks, swaying to the music lightly. You're surprised at how strong the drink is, feeling light-headed by the time you’re halfway done. 

A woman comes up and asks Jungkook to dance, glancing at you from the side of her eyes. He politely declines and she pouts before she glances at you and slinks away again. It’s hard not to smile at Jungkook as he turns his focus away from her immediately, dark eyes still searching the crowd. 

Instead of observing for your own project, you keep watching him instead. Another woman comes up to spark conversation with him- she includes you this time, welcoming you to your first night there. She asks if you need any help and you fight the urge to ask her what it’s all about, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. 

The woman wears a green jewel- so she is some sort of level higher than you. Perhaps she has a sponsor. She eventually asks Jungkook to join her for a drink and he politely declines again. She has the same reaction as the first, pouting lightly as she vanishes.

You can’t help but get a sick feeling in your stomach. You must be making a face, because Jungkook asks if you’re okay. “Let’s get a drink,” you respond. “I think I’m still nervous.”

And you are. But the inky feeling doesn’t go away when Jungkook is propositioned at the bar again- this time by a man. He’s beautiful with dark red hair and stunning green eyes. He wears a sapphire, glittering on an extravagant broach on the lapel of his suit. 

“You’re an exquisite pair,” the man calls, leaning further on the bar to address you. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen- I could just eat you up.” 

Jungkook makes a face. The man notices and he smiles- his smile reminds you of the bartender and you prickle again, straightening. “Ah, you don’t share. What a shame. I love the dynamic you two have- the shadow to her light, the darkness to her innocence. Well, I am here most weekends if you ever change your mind and want to share.” He hands Jungkook a card. “Have a wonderful night.”

You don’t know if it’s the base or your heartbeat pounding anymore. The way the man implied Jungkook doesn’t share- share what? You? 

In a way, you are his to share. He has no idea how much you are his. The thought of him not knowing as he sips his drink makes you toss yours back. He raises his eyebrows as you order another one, making it a double. 

Jungkook came all the way here with you because he’s your friend. Your best friend. Because he never lets you suffer through things alone. And instead of doing what you’re supposed to for your project, you’re being painfully awkward and letting Jungkook’s many suitors make you jealous. 

Finishing your drink with a half-gag and a spinning head, you pull his hand. “Let’s dance.”

“We already did that.”

“No. Let’s dance.”

Jungkook doesn’t ask what you mean. He follows your lead, throwing back the whisky with a sour face. You drag him onto the dance floor. A buzz has settled into your veins and you pressed yourself between people, pulling Jungkook behind you. You’re no stranger to dancing with him, but the music is in your bloodstream, humming as you become alive.

You sway your hips, tilting your head back and closing your eyes as you let rhythm and instinct guide you. Jungkook is quick to follow. He molds himself against you, hands tracing your hips to settle on your waist. Electricity shoots through you and you almost stumble. His fingers are firm, gripping you and pressing you to him so that you can feel his chest against your back.

This is different. You don’t know why, but it is. You feel the artful movement of his hips, feel Jungkook’s break on the back of your neck and shoulder, the way his fingers pull at you, greedy. Your breath shudders out for you. You can smell his cologne- floral and soft on his skin. You don’t know if it’s the cocktails or Jungkook against you, but you’re drunk and dizzy with elation.

Pulling at your hips, Jungkook turns you around. You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. He guides your hands to loop around his neck and settles his own hands dangerously low. Jungkook has never had his hands on the top of your ass before, but they are now. His forehead is almost pressed against yours as he takes the lead, guiding your hips with his. 

Your thighs are burning but you don’t care. The project has long been forgotten as his breath turns into yours. You fixate on his eyes, lips slowly curling into a smile. He grins back at you, pulling you closer, slotting a leg between your thighs and oh. 

That is different. Jungkook’s jeans rub against your clothed core and you let out a sound that sounds like a moan. You snap your mouth shut, flushing from more than the heat on the dance floor. Jungkook’s grip on you tightens a fraction as he looks at you. And you know without a doubt that he heard it. That he knows the effect he has on you.

“What was that, baby?”

The name makes you flush. He’s never called you that before. Suddenly he seems closer than he was and the urge to close the distance between your mouths is clawing at you. You twist your fingers in his shirt, ready to crush your lips to his in a sudden bout of courage- a presence appears in your peripheral, something ominous and demanding, making you look.

Your mouth almost falls open- or maybe it does. Standing beside you is one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, and you can’t help but fixate on the man in front of you. 

It finally dawns on you that this is what you picture when you hear about vampires. The man is tall with broad shoulders, his gold skin almost glowing beneath the dark collar of a button-up shirt. His hair is ebony, wavy strands falling into a pair of amber eyes that burn so brightly you feel as though you’ll disintegrate on the spot.

Looking at him scrambles your brain. Something in his gaze is pulling pulling pulling. You stare and stare. Something is screaming at you to look away but you’re fixated, the world falling away piece by piece until there is nothing but muted sound of the music and a faded canvas of bodies behind the man in front of you.

He smiles. You know that smile. It’s got the same edge to the bartender, the same sharpness as the man who gave Jungkook his card.

Jungkook. 

You blind and the spell fades a little as you turn to look at Jungkook. His hands have moved from your waist to over your shoulders, crossing in front of you and hugging you to him. He’s staring at the man, enchanted for a moment. Then he blinks and he’s frowning, muscles coiling against you. 

“I’m Taehyung,” the man introduces, tawny eyes flicking between the two of you. You can’t help but think he has the gaze of a tiger, hungry and feral. “Aren’t you two the most heavenly thing I’ve seen?”

Taehyung.

You realize it’s Kim Taehyung standing in front of you. The subject of your project and oh my god if you didn’t believe in your theory before, you do now. Kim Taehyung looks the epitome of supernatural beauty and graze, eyes flickering back to you as his rose red lips twitch in a smile. 

“Cat got your tongue, pretty girl?” Taehyung purrs to you. People have made room for him to stand unbothered, but their eyes shift to him like a magnet.

“You’re wearing diamond,” Jungkook notes, eyes fixated on the jewel settled in the hollow of Taehyung’s throat and the single glittering earring. Taehyung smiles at Jungkook, pleased. “You’ve got a keen eye. I am, in fact, wearing diamonds. I’m the only member you’ll find here who does, though. Unless Yoongi is around, of course.” 

The name Yoongi sounds vaguely familiar, but you can’t recall where you’ve heard of it. Taehyung doesn’t give you a chance to ask, gesturing toward the dark alcove where the private rooms are. Your heart thunders.

“Join me,” he says lightly. Something in his voice tells you it’s not a request, it's an order. His eyes drift to Jungkook, whose grip has tightened over you. “I play nice.”

“The bouncer said only people with mother of pearl are allowed to invite us to private rooms.”

“Good girl, you listened.” Taehyung seems genuinely pleased by this, but you squirm at the way his voice croons. “As your friend pointed out, I’m wearing diamonds. The rules don’t apply to me,” he winks. 

Though Jungkook lets go of his protective hug, he doesn’t let go of your hand. You cling to him a little unbalanced and drunk. He keeps a firm grip on you, looking down to make sure you’re okay. At least, you think that’s why he’s looking at you and you nod, following Taehyung who has appeared on the other side of the dancefloor. 

Weird. You don’t remember seeing him walk there. 

A shiver crawls up your spine as Taehyung steps into the pitch black of the hall. You pass through the threshold- your ears pop, making you wince. You open your mouth, stretching your jaw to adjust the pressure once again. 

The hall isn’t nearly as dark as you thought it was. The same velvet material lines the walls as the hall for the queue. There are no pictures, but metal sconces lighting the way with dull, gold light. Black doors with small plaques on them are lined on either side of you, varying from unoccupied to occupied. 

Taehyung moves smoothly through the hall, passing all of the doors. You can hear nothing from any of the doors or behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, the hallway is dark as ever and no sound from the club reaches you. 

“You won’t find what you’re looking for the way we came, Y/N.”

Your heart freezes when he says your name. You didn’t tell him your name. You turn to look at Taehyung. He’s standing at the end of the hallway in front of a large, wooden door. There is nothing that labels the status of the door’s occupants. You tighten your grip on Jungkook’s hand, suddenly hating yourself for coming here. To hell with your project, to hell with your theory. This was a terrible idea.

“Follow me,” Taehyung calls. He opens the door, walking into a dimly lit room. 

You glance at Jungkook. His gaze is darker than you remember and his face is taught. “You’re safe with me,” Jungkook murmurs. “He’s not going to hurt you. Plus, this seems a bit theatric.”

“He knows my name.”

“You had to provide them a name and a blood test,” Jungkook points out. “I’m sure he would know your social security number, if you asked.”

The thought is unsettling, but Jungkook’s assurance for your safety warms you. It’s not just the liquor you consumed heating you. It’s the way he takes the lead, gently pulling you down the hall to the room where Taehyung vanished. It’s the way he ducks his head in first before nodding that it’s okay for you to enter. 

It’s the way he called you baby right before Taehyung had interrupted whatever was happening on the dancefloor. 

A lounge is what waits beyond the door for you. You arch your brow at how ornate and intimate the setting is. The floor is dark wood to match the small bar built in the back of the room. It smells like cigar smoke and spice. A record player in the corner plays soft jazz, setting the mood to match the soft chaise lounges, crackling fireplace and glittering sconces. 

It looks like something out of an old 20s crawl space during prohibition. You can’t help but let go of Jungkook’s hand and wander over to a shelf with books and knick-knacks, hands hovering over signed cards from Louis Armstrong and a stunning portrait of Ella Fitzgerald with a personal message to Taehyung.

You turn to look at him. He’s leaning on the bar with a smirk, sipping on what appears to be whisky neat. 

Your heart begins to thunder as you trail away from the mementos of a time that Taehyung seems to be fond of. As though he was there. As though he is intimately familiar with it. Jungkook only has eyes for you as you near him, offering his hand silently. You take it on instinct, though you were never really hand holders before. 

“I’m a bit nostalgic,” Taehyung announces with a lofty sigh. He walks around behind the bar and tosses a mixing cup in the air before catching it. He starts to pull bottles from the shelves, glancing up at you with a distinct gleam in his eye. “I don’t keep much of my prized possessions here, but it does help me feel at home.”

“And where is home for you?” Your surprised you ask the question, voice far more confident than you feel.

Taehyung appears delighted as he makes a drink and gestures to Jungkook. “You were drinking an old fashioned, right? Sorry I didn’t use the smoker, I have a feeling you won’t really care.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Taehyung arches a brow and produces another drink. “Vodka soda,” he calls to you, mouth lifting in a crooked grin. “I insist. Drink.”

There is no fighting his words. You find yourself moving toward the bar without remembering to make the decision. Jungkook is in tow, walking slower than you, as though he’s not as confident with his decision to approach.

The glass cools off your fingers as you lift it from the varnished top, hesitating while Taehyung looks at you through his bangs. You’re struck again by how intense his gaze is. He smiles slowly and something sparks inside of you- not the same way it does for Jungkook, but at a sudden wrongness.

You think it might be instinct, but you can’t put the drink down. You’re either unwilling or unable- you don’t know which.

Taehyung lifts his own drink and murmurs, “Salude,” before sipping his, amber eyes bouncing between you and Jungkook.

Both of you sip the drink- except you don’t just sip. You take a few gulps and set it back down, surprised at how much better his alcohol tastes than his bar.

“Why don’t you sit?” Taehyung gestures to the chase lounges. “You have questions, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

He pouts as he rounds the corner of the bar, walking over to you. Jungkook steps in front of you and Taehyung gives him a single annoyed glance. That single glance is enough to make you petrified.

In a single flash of emotion, you see something else in Taehyung’s face. Something cold and ancient and absolutely terrifying. You’re locked into place as you blink at him, but he’s smiling as he pats Jungkook on the shoulder and moving to a chair of his own, plopping down.

“I admire how protective you are of your girl, Jungkook. It’s admirable, really.” Taehyung sips his drinks as you and Jungkook stand frozen at the bar. A vein throbs in Jungkook’s neck as he stares at Taehyung, working his jaw. “However, if I wanted her, you couldn’t stop me. Now sit.”

Again, the decision to sit down is not your own.

Jungkook almost sits you on top of him. You’re sitting so close that your thigh almost overlaps his, a hand going tightly around your waist to tether you to him. You haven’t forgotten the low sound of his voice when he called you baby and you certainly haven’t forgotten the way his thigh felt between your legs. 

You can barely concentrate on your fear with Jungkook’s fingers on your waist, burning through the fabric of your shirt like an exposed flame. You shiver. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, his focus entirely on Taehyung. 

“You have questions, do you not?” Taehyung asks, kicking his feet up on the edge of his chair. He looks at you specifically, eyes dancing behind the sparkling rim of his glass. “I’m intrigued.” 

“You know us.”

“That’s not a question. And if it was, you’re wasting the time I’ve carved out for you.”

You fidget next to Jungkook, plucking at the rising hemline of your dress. You stare at Taehyung, watching as his eyes dip to your exposed thigh. You fight the urge to cover yourself- Jungkook splays a hand over your thigh, covering most of it. You want to sigh in relief and thank him, but instead your focus goes back to Taehyung. 

“Why did you carve out time to let me ask questions?” You ask. “You obviously know who I am and my intention of coming here. I’m not sure how you managed, but you did.”

“Good girl, asking better questions already. Let’s just say I was intrigued. Let’s just say when Seokjin gave me the tip that someone was looking into me, I did my homework.”

You grit your teeth. Jimin had asked Seokjin to get you an in- he wasn’t supposed to tell him what you were doing it for. You struggled with your momentary annoyance, realizing the danger that you were now in. You had come to Nightshade with the intention of breaking the NDA you signed and risking Taehyung’s clientele and business. 

That wasn’t nothing. And now he was watching you carefully as you struggled to come up with an answer. 

“Don’t be too hard on Jimin,” Taehyung purrs. “He didn’t tell Seokjin that you were doing research on vampires. Seokjin has… a sixth sense, if you will. He pulled the information from Jimin’s mind, just sitting there for the taking.” Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cocks his head to the side. “Tell me about your research.”

Again, the urge to tell him doesn’t come from yourself. It comes from somewhere else, a strong sense of powerlessness along with it. 

So you tell him about your research. Every detail, starting with what turned you onto the subject and where you started. Jungkook’s pressure on your thigh increases as you speak, his eyes never leaving Taehyung for a moment. He’s so still that you almost forget he is there as you ramble, discussing Taehyung’s family tree and the journal entries that pointed you in the direction of what you believe is a third strain of vampirism. 

Taehyung is a good listener- or at least, he mimes listening well. He nods in all of the right places and hums when appropriate, even complimenting you throughout your explanation, which is the most unsettling. You hate how sincere and curious he seems. It’s almost as though he is fascinated at watching a child figure something out.

When you finish, Taehyung sits back, arm resting along the length of the couch. You notice the rings on his fingers. They look old. You can barely make out a signet ring and something that looks like a family crest.

Taehyung catches you looking and grins, flashing his hand at you. “You really are the cleverest little thing, aren’t you? You managed to put together a mostly accurate theory about strains of vampirism and you must realize by now what parts of your theories are correct.”

You lick your lips. Your mouth feels dry as you nod. “You must have arrived in New Orleans like the document suggests. You have…” you gesture around. “A lot of influence from that period and a love for the culture and music. You pushed out the vampires there.” 

Taehyung hums, setting his chin in his palm. “I did push them out. I don’t have any love for the strigoi. What you believe are strains aren’t strains at all- they’re breeds. But you had the right idea- congratulations.” 

“So… you’re a vampire?” you ask softly. Any excitement you have is gone. Taehyung looks lethal and you realize that if he doesn’t intend to let you walk out, there is nothing you can do.

You’re fucked. 

“For lack of a better term. Technically a jiangshi. I can walk in the sunlight, though it is a little irritating. I drink blood to survive. I don’t age. And I have a certain influence over people.”

“Compulsion,” Jungkook offers.

You're surprised he speaks. He’s been painfully silent the entire time. Taehyung looks just as surprised, a boxy smile spreading across his face. “Oh? You know a thing or two about it?”

Jungkook grimaces and gestures to you half-heartedly. “She likes watching vampire diaries.”

You feel heat flush your face and push onwards, “That’s why when you told us to drink, we couldn’t resist. Or when you told us to sit.” 

“That’s true. I don’t like forcing people to do things, but the two of you are incredibly stubborn. But come on, darling. Please ask me something interesting.”

“Why? You’re not going to let me report what I find here.”

“No, but consider that I’m having fun and I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about what I am for a very long time. Though this club was established for the vampires that are around to feed in privacy, most of the humans who consent to being here for long periods of time come back because of the euphoria and high they get from being fed on. While they’re somewhat aware of what’s happening, we compel them to forget most details.”

“That seems incredibly non-consensual.”

“Not at all- they’ve signed plenty of papers consenting to what happens here. We only make them for get the supernatural part- many of them know they’re sharing blood- but the exchange is remembered often in a sexual nature. The people who frequent here are one-hundred percent here of their own desire and volition.” 

“And you want to answer the questions I have because it’s entertaining to you. Not because of any desire to let me finish my project.”

His grin was feline. “That would be correct.”

You glare. “I have no more questions.” 

For a moment, Taehyung just stares at you, eyes sharp. The next second, he’s laughing boisterously, the sound filling the room. His hand goes to his abdomen, pressing against his crisp shirt as he continues to laugh. You stiffen beside Jungkook and dig your nails into the chaise, knowing that he’s laughing at you and not with you.

Temper flaring, you stand abruptly, Jungkook’s hand falling from your leg. The rejection from your favorite museums is still burning in your mind. You feel the same hot embarrassment that drove you to tears with Jungkook in your kitchen. 

Taehyung's voice is like thunder when he says, “Sit.” 

You immediately follow, gnashing your teeth as you try to fight his stupid compulsion. “Ask me the questions you had before coming here.” 

Your mouth works over the words. There is an ache in your jaw as you clench your teeth together, feeling a strain working its way up your throat. Taehyung smirks and murmurs, “You’ll kill yourself fighting compulsion. Please don’t make me use my leer.”

Though you have no idea what his leer is, you let out a strangled breath. “Where did vampires originate from?”

“Egypt. The daughter of the goddess Sekhmet was sent to our plane to slaughter the Egyptians for their constant disobedience and disrespect of Ra. She produced offspring while she ravaged Ancient Egypt. Sekhmet was imprisoned in the city of the dead- I believe your friend Namjoon is acutely familiar with her.” 

That takes you by surprise. What would… you gasp lightly. Namjoon had come home after a harrowing research trip in Egypt. He had promptly quit his job at the school and joined the private acquisition company that specialized in ancient artifacts and history. 

“Is Namjoon a vampire?” you blurt, unable to help the question.

“No. He got lucky that his little tomb raider friend was versed beyond normal means in the supernatural. I believe you’re familiar with her branch of the Illuminati’s recovery business.” 

“T-the acquisition place Namjoon works at is a part of the Illuminati?”

“We’re going off track,” Taehyung sighs breezily. “Please focus and go back to asking questions for your paper.” 

“You mean questions about you?” You scoff. “You’re painfully cliche.”

Jungkook brushes his fingers on your arm in warning and murmurs, “I got it.”

You’re unsure what he means but he sits forward, glare on his face. “How many breeds of vampires are there and what- in a summary, please- is the difference between them?”

“Oh?” Taehyung turns his attention to Jungkook. “You’re not a history major.”

“Her research is important to me and I know it inside and out. Answer the questions.”

“I come from an ancient line that can stretch our heritage back to pre-dynastic China. The Mongol Empire drove my kind throughout regions of Asia. I was born in what is now considered South Korea. The differences between vampiric creatures are typically abilities and background, nothing more. The family trees you’ve mentioned in your research are not family trees by blood, but by turning. We share names as a part of our heritage and power.” 

“What do you mean, abilities?” 

“Just like different snakes have different types of venom and skin, vampires have different attributes. I’m not dead, though that might be hard to believe. Immortality and being alive are not mutually exclusive.”

“How does one make vampires?”

“The surest way is by consuming the blood of one. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need to die to turn. Vampire blood contains a virus-like component that your blood cells will attack once it enters the stream. The moment your blood cells attack the vampire-cells, they’re infected and replaced with the same genetic material that makes up vampiric plasma.” 

“I said simple,” Jungkook mutters. “So it’s a virus?”

“It works like a virus and it can spread through blood contamination, but it is a crude way to identify the gene. Think of it as genetic material.” 

“So the plague?” You ask.

“Not the cause of vampires, but rather- people shared blood hoping that it would give immortality and healing abilities. Hence the massive spread of disease. The vampires you’ve identified in the Dracul bloodline are associated with what you’ve called porphyria- the disease gave them more mobility to openly interact with people during the plague.” 

“Another breed?” 

“Yes, the Upir,” he sighs. “Similar to strigoi. They come from the same region and have the same sensitivity in sunlight. Their blood has a thermal reaction to UV rays, so while they won’t burst into flames, they do get a mean sunburn faster than most people. They also tend to have blood lust far more than I’ve experienced.”

“What’s roughly the size of the population of vampires?” 

For the first time that night, Taehyung shows genuine emotion. It’s brief, but you recognize pain flashing across his eyes, the twitch of his mouth toward a frown and the way his nose flares. You know the answer before he says it. 

“Not many. At our height, there were probably around ten different breeds. Now? There’s two. Jiangshi and the strigoi.” 

“Why?”

Taehyung gestured to the room around them. “There are almost no places in the world like this. What you see here is years of work and methodical planning to come up with a way for my people to feed safely. There is too much science and technology in the world for us to thrive without getting caught. And like I say- vampires aren’t born. They’re made.”

“Getting caught?” Jungkook asks, brows furrowing. “Are there like- hunters or something?”

Taehyung’s smile is strained. “There are those who know we exist, and who would prefer for us not to exist.” He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms together softly. You realize that the fireplace is dying and your glass has long been finished. “This has been nice. Thank you both for indulging in some discussion, it’s been so nice to talk freely with such curious minds. Perhaps we can do it again sometime.”

“Wait?” You ask, shooting to your feet. “You’re just letting us go?”

“Of course. I’ve collected my insurance. You’re not going to go running your mouth once your boyfriend turns.”

It’s not Taehyung calling Jungkook your boyfriend that makes your heart catch. In fact, you hardly gesture that. It’s the self-satisfied smirk on Taehyung’s rose-red lips as he stands languidly, lifting his glass filled with amber liquid toward Jungkook before he downs it, strolling to the bar.

Jungkook is fixed in his spot, face sheet-white and eyes round as he stares at Taehyung. His knuckles are white as he holds his glass. His hands are shaking- there’s nothing left in the glass, the old fashioned drained dry.

Slowly, Jungkook’s eyes dip down to the glass before they drag back up to look at you. You’re frozen in mute horror, mouth parting lightly as Taehyung’s words settled into place, locking onto your shoulders and pressing with more weight than you’ve ever felt.

“You’re lying,” you growl, spinning to face Taehyung. You can feel the tremor in your voice and your hands.

You never expected Taehyung to answer your questions so succinctly without something being in it for you. You wouldn’t have asked the questions at all, had he not compelled you to do so.

There’s no way someone as carefully planned as Taehyung turned Jungkook on a whim. Your brain begins firing synapses, putting together reasons that Taehyung wouldn’t turn Jungkook. His entire club is built on the foundation of secrecy and he said it himself- years of planning.

So why turn Jungkook?

Taehyung leans on his elbows against the bar lazily, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “I’m not.”

“What do you get out of turning him?” You demanded. “There’s nothing. You wouldn’t-“

“I get your vow of secrecy for starters. I won’t help him during his transition if you run your mouth. Additionally, you seem to be a prime candidate for the open position your friend Namjoon has created at the Illuminati.”

“You want access.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe I do.”

“You’re a vampire,” you spit between your teeth. “Compel them.”

“They know all about me, I’m afraid. Despite Yoongi’s influence with them, the Iluminati don’t like me.” His smile is predatory. “They’re not particularly fond of my involvement in stealing one of their artifacts.”

Taehyung gestures to Jungkook and says, “I will happily protect the little fledging provided your word you talk to no one about this place and that you provide research when I call on you. Yoongi is not nearly as dedicated to my projects as I need him to be and his loyalty cannot be bought. Yours can.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook murmurs.

You’re not thinking. Nothing makes sense and nothing matters. You see red on the edge of your vision and you hardly register your arm moving as you throw your glass at Taehyung. It surprises the vampire, based on his wide eyes. But he moves quickly, a blur of movement as the glass shatters against bottles behind the bar.

A horrible scream rips out of you, obscenities new and old as you leap over the coffee table with more agility than you expect. Taehyung grins wider as you behind to throw whatever you can at him, screaming at him to undo what he’s done.

What he’s done to Jungkook. Not you.

Nothing has been done to you for your prying. For your need to come here. For dragging Jungkook along.

Something horrible and terrifying is working its way through you and you feel the tears in your eyes as your rage peters out with a choke.

Guilt crashes on you so succinctly that you collapse on the chair, face in your hands as your tears spill over, hot on your palms and salty on your lips. “Fuck,” you whisper. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Taehyung announces, vanishing from the room.

You lift your head to see Jungkook is still standing in his spot. “Jungkook,” you plead, though you don’t know what you’re pleading for exactly. “This is my fault. I will find a way to fix this, Jungkook I am so sorry. Fuck this is all my fault, please, I-“

“Y/n.”

“I am so fucking stupid. I should have never brought us here. You were right, this wasn’t worth being right and I am a selfish, prideful idiot who-“

“Y/N,” he says your name again, softly but with purpose. You look at him through tear-stained eyes. “Let’s just go home.”

“I…”

Jungkook softens. “We don’t even know if he’s telling the truth, Indy. I don’t feel any different. The drink didn’t taste weird. Come on.” He holds out a hand. You drift to him, fingers yearning for his as you stretch your hand and lace your fingers with his. He gives you a squeeze and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Everything is going to be okay.”

-

Nothing is okay. A few days ago, you woke up to an empty hotel room in a city an hour away from home. You can’t remember falling asleep, spending the entire night stressing and looking for any signs of vampirism as the night stretched on, but Jungkook was fine. He was normal- albeit, nervous and tired.

Then the morning came. You had launched out of your bed to… nothing. Jungkook was nowhere to be found. His things were in his room, but his cell was gone and his clothes from the night before were folded on the dresser. You even went as far as to extending your stay another night, spending every moment calling and texting him.

That night, you had gone back to the club. Tear-stained and with bloodshot eyes, you marched up to the nondescript building, only to be turned away at the door. The bouncer wouldn’t answer your questions. Didn’t even blink when you gave him Taehyung’s name and threatened to go to the police.

He had simply said, “You should go to the police if you think your friend is missing. Have a good night.”

Every phone call, text and voicemail went unanswered into the late night. You don’t remember crying more than you had that entire day, worried to the point of making yourself physically ill, only finding comfort in the cool tile floor beneath your bruised knees and the cold touch of the toilet as you sagged against it.

You had to return home eventually. So you did. Dodging the text messages of your friends. Making excuses.

We found nothing you assured them with unsteady hands, sniffling in the dark of your room. We did get a little sick, though. Jungkook has a fever.

No we don’t need anything.

I’m just going to take that part out of my research.

No you can’t come over.

Yes you can send me the notes for class.

Sitting in the dark of your living room, the silence presses in. You look at your text thread with Jungkook. Everything is burned into your mind with startling permanence.

The internet is no longer comforting. You scour the internet and pour yourself over every article you can find. Your search history looks like you should check yourself into a mental ward. Signs of vampirism. How do you know if you’re a vampire? Cures to vampirism.

You revisit your research and begin a new project. You comb through the genetic findings and family trees, wondering if you missed something. Taehyung had said that vampirism was like a virus- plenty of viruses could be cured. So why not vampirism?

­Takeout cartons are piling on your counter and the sink smells something awful. You don’t take the time to clean- you have a single mission. Something stops you from calling the police- you know they won’t believe you and Taehyung’s threat… it holds sway over you.

Your searches and notes are littered- no, consumed with ways to kill a vampire.

It’s the thought of sticking a stake through Kim Taehyung that has you sitting in the living room in the dark, eyes burning. You scroll through the texts- you’ve sent over 100. Each one goes unanswered, but they’re delivered. Which counts for something, you think. It means Jungkook’s phone is on and even though he isn’t answering… he’s alive.

The thought that perhaps it’s about you occurs. You realize that maybe… maybe Jungkook doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe this is real, and Taehyung did something horrible to him by turning him into a creature of legend and Jungkook rightfully blames you.

It’s fair. It’s what’s right.

You swallow past the lump in your throat but the tears break free anyway. You’re tired of crying but you can’t seem to find a way to stop. Jungkook is gone and you miss him.

The hole his lack of presence creates is pronounced and dangerous. For the last few years, the thought of you and Jungkook not being you and Jungkook had never occurred to you. You did everything together and nothing else… nothing else was like what you have.

What you had.

There are no updates on Jungkook’s streams. There are comments on social media and his YouTube page asking where he’s gone and why he isn’t streaming. You scour through them, hoping that maybe he’s logged in to look at comments or to tell people he’s taking a break.

But there’s nothing.

And it’s like Jungkook doesn’t exist anymore.

-

Something in your kitchen wakes you up. You’ve taken to not sleeping in your room- not a meaningful decision, but one driven by falling asleep on the couch crying or researching. Nights driven watching Jungkook’s favorite shows while staring at your phone.

Rubbing your eyes, you look around the room, eyes darting to the kitchen. At first, nothing looks different. The room is pitch black, your laptop dead with the cord unplugged. Someone in the parking lot drives by, lights flashing in your first-floor unit and-

A figure is standing in your kitchen. Your heart pitches to your stomach so violently that you feel like you might launch into a cardiac episode. A scream works its way up your throat and lodges itself there, unable to be set free.

You’ve never felt terror like this in your life.

And then the light over your stove flicks on, revealing Jungkook standing in your kitchen.

Your breath gets stuck for a new reason entirely. His hair is damp and hanging in his face. He’s in a giant t-shirt and sweats, his normal casual wear. Your heart begins pounding in your chest as you jump to your feet, ready to launch yourself at him.

“Please stay there,” he almost whispers. You stop moving. “I… just stay there.”

“Jungkook.” His name is soft and teary in your mouth. “Are you okay? Please tell me what you need.”

“Just need you to stay there I can… smell you.”

You inhale sharply and nod. You open and close your mouth. There are so many questions you want to ask but you shove them to the side. You just want to hug him and to ask what he needs you to do. You don’t care where he has been, you just want to know that he’s okay and help him. To fix whatever is broken.

To say sorry.

“Tell me what to do,” you murmur. “Tell me how to make this right.”

“I don’t know, but please don’t blame yourself.”

You break. You feel the seams rip loose as you collapse in on yourself and begin to weep in earnest. You just want to go back to the way things were. Before you ruined it. Before whatever… whatever was happening now.

It’s not fair that you’re crying. You’re not the one who has gone through hell and back- well you have, but it feels selfish. Why are you the one crying when Jungkook- perhaps a vampire- is standing in your kitchen looking lost. More lost than he’s ever looked.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, violently wiping your face. “It’s selfish of me to cry. I have no right to be crying.”

“Indy, it’s okay to cry.”

You shake your head. “I did this, Jungkook.” You bite your lip and nod as you think about it. “I wanted so badly to be right, to make myself feel important. I was… I was too obsessed with trying to prove something new to myself, as if it would make me feel better about the museum rejections.”

He drifts forward, soundless. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is when it results in whatever has happened here. I missed you in a way I don’t know how to describe. I don’t know- I don’t know what happened to you but it’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

“I voluntarily went with you,” Jungkook says firmly. “In fact, the hotel room was in my name.”

“But you went because of me, because you supported me and I…” You shrug. “I wasn’t punished for my vanity and you’re… I don’t even know.”

On instinct, you stand up and step toward him. You can’t help but seek his comfort and to comfort him in return. What you don’t expect is the snarl that ripples through him, vibrating every dish in your cabinet.

“Don’t come near me,” he hisses, eyes narrowed.

You startle, gasping and skittering backward as your hand flies to your mouth to hide the sound coming out of you. Jungkook’s eyes flash silver in the dark, like a predator whose eyes have been exposed to light.

A scream threatens to break through and a gross terror slides into your mind unbidden- is Jungkook there to kill you for what you’ve done?

It is both ridiculous and firm in your mind, taking root as you step back unsteadily.

“No,” Jungkook whispers, voice something like pleading. “Please don’t do that. Please don’t… please.”

You’re unsure what he’s asking, but you can see him better with the kitchen light on and he looks… defeated. His bottom lip wobbles and his eyes are round- no longer narrowed the way you saw them a moment before. No dangerous flash. Just brown, and just… Jungkook.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head because you don’t know how to form words. You don’t want him to apologize, but you don’t know how to shape the words through your fear. “I’m sorry that I came here, but I wanted to see you. I didn’t know you would… smell so good and I… I scared you. Taehyung told me not to come here- told me it might be too tempting but I did anyways.”

“You don’t understand,” he continues, unbidden. “You fell asleep in the hotel room that night and something happened to me. You always smell good but you smelled even better and then I could hear the soft pulse in your neck… your heart beat. It sang every song I ever wanted to hear and there was a brief moment where I… where I thought it wouldn’t be so bad, if I just tasted you.”

Jungkook looks at the floor, eyebrows pinched and fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt, hands unable to keep still. “It was the worst moment of my life,” he whispers. “For a split second, I thought- what would stop me from leaning down and taking what I wanted? What I’ve always wanted? So I left. I had to leave. I found Taehyung and he kept his word.”

“He’s helping you?”

“Yeah. He’s not… terrible, despite what he’s done to me. I don’t like him, but he’s helping. Didn’t want me to see you, though. Thought I might…”

He trails off. You know what he was going to say. Taehyung thought that Jungkook might kill you. Because he now drinks blood for a living, and because you smell nice.

Jungkook takes a step forward and you take one back. He looks at you and lets out something that sounds like a whine, a soft sound that is so desperate you almost run to him and throw yourself into his arms, danger be damned. You want to.

But keep keeps you rooted as a million emotions flit across his face.

Jungkook has always been intense when he’s upset, but this is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. He’s standing in the dark of your kitchen, but his eyes almost glow. Headlights in the parking lot flash by your window briefly again, lighting his eyes up like white beacons of fire. You take a step back and he makes a noise in the back of his throat, needy like a whimper.

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” Jungkook whispers. 

Of course you’re afraid. You haven’t seen him in days and he manifested in your kitchen like a shadow. He looks like your best friend and he sounds like your best friend, but he’s altogether different. There’s an edge to him as he soundlessly moves across the kitchen, tentative steps to you. He makes no sound, unusual for him. 

But it's Jungkook. And the soft pleading in his dark eyes that you can just register in the dim light and the way he wavers at the threshold of the kitchen, watching and waiting for your consent… it makes you crack. 

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“You are.” You hear the tremor in his voice. “I can smell it on you- just like I can smell everything else. You’re terrified of me and it’s my fault.” 

“Jungkook-”

“I shouldn’t be here.” 

He walks- no he glides to your door, moving with a grace that is more than just his usual, lithe steps. You bolt after him, reaching out to grab his arm as he reaches for the door. He reacts faster than your eyes can pick up the movement, wrapping a strong hand around your wrist and yanking you forward.

A sound of surprise laced with mild fears escapes you as he pins you against the hardwood door, caging you in as he steps forward. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, question dying on your lips as you really look at him.

Jungkook’s eyes are dark as midnight, but there is something glinting in them, sharp and shining. His hair hangs in his face and he’s breathing is shallow. His eyes are searching and burning and he presses a little bit closer to you and he’s warm warm warm. You shiver, despite the warmth and the smell of him- like rosewood and citrus, making your head dizzy. 

You’ve always been close to Jungkook, always ignoring one another’s personal space. But this feels different. This feels hotter as his hands skate up your sides until he reaches all the way to your jaw, angling your face to him. Your pulse hammers under the pads of his finger, and you watch his focus shift from your face to your neck.

You can’t see the little canines peeking behind his lush mouth. But you suspect that they’re there, two little sharp points that could bite into the soft flesh of your neck. The fear you had moments ago is suddenly dulling, replaced with something else that burns in the pit of your stomach. 

Everything you know about the fabric of the world has changed with him. And still… you’re pleading with him, murmuring, “Don’t leave.”

“You don’t understand,” he murmurs, almost a growl. He presses his forehead to yours and you push toward him instinctually. You’re drawn to him and your head is still spinning but you want nothing more in that moment for Jungkook to close the distance between you, to press his soft, pouty lips against yours. “If I don’t leave right now, I never will.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper. “Please.” 

“Baby…” 

Jungkook has only ever called you that once. Your mind flashes to that night, the single time during your friendship that you thought you could be more. When the touches weren’t familiar and they were intimate and you had been drowning in Jungkook. The night this all started, the night that Jungkook’s journey as… the word vampire sounds ridiculous and instead, you focus on the way he makes you feel. 

The pet name licks a flame inside you and you bring your hands up to pull at his waist, suddenly greedy for the feel and the smell of him. Your fear is gone. “Bite me, Jeon.”

Jungkook makes a sound that sounds close a moan and you echo it. Every emotion that changes his face pulls you in in in. Your fear is replaced with something headier- needier. You angle you head, exposing your neck.

“Will it help?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

He seems distracted and despite the rollercoaster of emotions, you smile. “Feeding,” you mumble. Your hands slide to his face, fingers delicately touching the bags under his eyes. “You look so tired. I just want to help.”

“I haven’t fed from a person.”

“How… do you?”

“Blood bags, like Vampire Diaries. Sometimes in cups.”

You trace your fingertips along his cheek bones. Brushing dark strands from his face, you cup his cheeks softly, searching. Jungkook is still there- your Jungkook. He’s reflected in his eyes, in the careful way he holds you and watches you.

“I trust you,” you whisper. What you really want to say is what’s weighed on you throughout his entire absence: I love you.

You love him. You know you do. it burns dully right at the center of your chest, flaring into an inferno when he gives you a gentle nod and leans forward. You feel your heartbeat quicken, threatening to burst from your chest as you drop your hands to clutch at his shoulders.

Jungkook’s breath hits your neck and you moan deep in your throat again. He echoes the sound but its deeper as he hesitates, lips so close you can feel him breathing. You twist your fingers further in his shirt, pulling gently and you feel him smile as he chuckles nervously.

A breath gets stuck in your throat as Jungkook brushes his mouth against your pulse point, a ghost of a kiss. You can’t help but shiver and his grip tightens on you. His name falls out of your lips in the soft voice. You feel it on your neck as he presses a firm kiss to your throat.

“That feels nice,” you sigh.

It does feel nice. His mouth is soft and intimate as he begins kissing your skin. It’s hard to focus on anything but the way his mouth presses closed mouth kisses down your throat, pausing at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Are you sure?” You nod your head, unable to come up with a response as your eyelids flutter shut. “Tell me if I need to stop.”

“Okay.”

Carefully, Jungkook kisses his way back to a spot on your throat that he seems to favor, nosing your delicate skin first before he brings his lips to your skin. His teeth scrap your flesh and you let out a breathy sound as Jungkook slowly bites down. The skin breaks and immediately the pinch of his teeth sends a sharp pain through you.

You tighten your hands but you don’t push him away, the throb dulling as he makes a sound deep in his chest. You pant against him, head cloudy. You feel lighter than you remember and you sag against your door, feeling the pull of Jungkook’s greedy mouth against you. His tongue laves at your neck and you moan loudly then.

Jungkook pulls away from you, gasping. He hides his face in your neck but you grab him- you want to see him. He protests and you pull his neck harder, moving his face away from your neck to in front of you.

For a moment, you don’t do anything but stare. You’re mutely aware that there is blood running down your throat. You can feel the hot liquid trailing on your skin, slowly dripping. Your neck hurts- but it’s a very soft pain, barely there.

Jungkook looks terrifyingly beautiful. Lips ruby, blood staining his chin. His eyes are black, pupils expanded as he stares at you in painful stillness. You know you should be horrified but you’re not. You know you should be concerned that he just bit into your neck, but you’re not.

“Kiss me,” you demand. You don’t know where the strength in your voice comes from. You push into him, tilting your mouth towards his but not closing the distance, letting him decide. “Please.”

Jungkook responds immediately. He presses his lips firmly against you, stick and wet with your blood. It’s just a press of lips and his mouth is soft soft soft and you inhale through your nose sharply, knees going weak and buckling.

Tightening his hold around you, Jungkook pulls away, staring down at you, eyes wild and bloody lips parted. “Can I really kiss you?”

“Please.”

This kiss is different. You can taste the salt and iron on Jungkook’s lips as he slots his mouth against yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. Your tongue brushes his bottom lip and he growls, pressing your lips open to slide his tongue against yours.

Jungkook’s hands slide down your waist to your ass, squeezing firmly as his tongue explores the warmth of your mouth. Your hips cant against his, seeking friction where you want him most. You whine into the metallic kiss, sweatpants too thick for the feeling you want.

Growling into your mouth, Jungkook presses you flat against the door. You can feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest as the kiss turns messy. Jungkook’s teeth catch your lip and you feel the pinch of broken skin before blood slowly blooms in your mouth. Jungkook sucks your lip into his mouth, moaning as his tongue brushes over the wound.

It spurs you forward, the way he claws at you and kisses you as though he might die if he doesn’t have you sends you into a frenzy. You push into him, as though you can meld yourself to him. Your teeth nip at him back, sharply catching the corner of his soft mouth.

Jungkook breaks away and makes a sound of surprise, hand shooting to his lips, swollen from kissing you. You’re panting against the door, staring at him as he wipes the bottom corner of his mouth. His finger comes away scarlet.

“You bit me,” he smirks looking down at you. “You little vampire.”

You blush. The blood is drying on your neck, itchy and cracking as you extend your head again, showing off the bruised and marred flesh. “Don’t you need…. More?”

“I’m hungry for something else entirely, baby.”

The way he is looking at you sends you into overdrive. You make a sound, wiggling against him and he smirks, eyes looking you up and down. You must look a pathetic mess, stained with dried blood, clothes disheveled and lips swollen. But when Jungkook looks at you like that- gaze dark, hungry for something deeper- you don’t care what you look like.

There’s just Jungkook. He’s all you can focus on as your hands slide up his neck, carding through his hair and looking at his face without the shadow of his bangs. He’s ethereal as always, but gone are the cute, round eyes you’re so familiar with. Gone is the soft smile, replaced with two tiny fangs as Jungkook bites his bottom lip.

You can’t help it- a hand drifts down to his mouth, thumb gently prying his lips open. He obeys, letting you brush the pad of your thumb against the newly exposed fangs. They’re small and white, two sharp canines under your touch.

Jungkook’s tongue darts out, licking your thumb playfully as you retract your hand and make a face of fake disgust. He grins. “Sorry,” his voice is low. “Can’t help myself.”

“You didn’t have them earlier?”

He shakes his head. “Only come out when hungry and…”

“And?”

“Aroused.”

Your brows shoot up. “I see.” Your fingers trail his jaw. He’s so painfully perfect. “We should fix that.”

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles, hands shooting to grab you by the waist and haul you up.

You squeak, jumping a little last second to help him secure you in his arms. You’re a little higher than him now, arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you to your bedroom. He navigates the dark easily. You wonder if it’s the years of being in your apartment or supernatural sight that helps him.

It doesn’t matter. The heat from his body is real. He’s still a living, breathing person. He’s altered- you see it in the way his eyes dilate when he lays you on your bed, gaze drifting to your neck. You see it in the way his eyes flash every time they catch the light.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jungkook says softly. His gaze doesn’t feel as innocent as his words. He climbs onto the bed, supporting himself so that he’s hovering over you. “I don’t tell you often enough- wasn’t brave enough to. But I think you are singularly the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You don’t know how to take the compliment. Your head automatically turns to the side as you grin into his forearm, placed next to your head. He laughs and leans down, nosing the side of your face, breath warm as he whispers, “Why does that make you shy? You weren’t shy a moment ago when you bit me.”

“It was different. That was physical.”

“So you only like me physically?”

“No!” you snap to look at him only to find that he’s grinning, back to leaning over you. You want to smack him for teasing you, but the feeling in your stomach and your chest make you fidget under him. His eyes track every movement, every reaction. “I like you… a lot.”

“As more than a friend?” You nod, eyes not meeting him. “Why can’t you look at me, then?”

“Because I’m afraid.” You feel Jungkook start to pull away and you grab at him. “Not of you! I’m afraid you don’t feel the same way. Because I’ve liked you for a very long time, and I didn’t know what to do about it.”

Jungkook presses you back down, head going to the side of your neck he hasn’t bitten. You’re pliant beneath him, head tilting to give him access. You’re already trained for what he wants or needs, ready to give him more.

Instead of biting you, he peppers your neck with wet kisses, tongue tasting your skin. “Indy,” he mumbles. “I have been in love with you since the first moment you walked into our Intro to Classical History class.”

“Really?”

His tongue licks along your jaw. You arch up into him, thighs rubbing together for friction. Of course he notices, smirking into your skin as he continues mapping your face with his mouth. “Yeah,” he breathes. “You wore the world’s tightest pair of jeans I’ve ever seen and an over-sized Tokyo Ghoul shirt- I remember being a little sad it covered your ass.”

You gasp as one hand moves from next to you to slide down your front, palming a breast gently. “You’re so gross, Jeon.”

He hums. “That’s nothing.” His hand goes further, tapping the outside of your thigh. “Open up for me, baby.”

Again, you follow his instruction without hesitation. You make room for him to settle on his knees between you. He sits up, eyes consuming you as you look up at him, batting your lashes. He inhales and his eyes flutter shut, fists opening and closing before he opens his eyes again. They’re zeroed in on you, making your heart catch.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he murmurs. He drags a fingertip along the sliver of skin showing between your shirt and sweats. “You’re dripping for me, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to do something about it?” He’s teasing you and you feel yourself flush. He pinches your skin slightly, making you squirm. “You gotta tell me what you want.”

“Want you.”

“Want me where?”

“My pussy, Jeon. Just do something.”

His saccharine smile makes you melt. Jungkook grips your sweat pants, pulling. You lift, helping him as he throws the clothing somewhere. You start to close your legs again but he grabs your knees, prying you open and tsking at you. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says, voice husky. “So fucking wet and pink. I told you,” he murmurs shuffling to his stomach. Your heart launches to your throat when he kisses a knee, eye-level with your dripping cunt. “I’m fucking starving.”

Despite his implications, Jungkook doesn’t go right where you’re hoping. He places hot kisses on your inner thighs, hands rubbing up and down your legs as he bites and worships them. You’re trembling, eyes fluttering shut as your hips twitch toward him.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, pleading. You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed being on display for him. Your core is throbbing for him to touch you, to do anything. He huffs a laugh as he presses his mouth dangerously close, nipping you as a lone finger brushes you from entrance to clit, pressing slightly. “Fuck.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glittering as he brings his finger to his mouth, glistening finger vanishing between red, sinful lips. He hums again, eyes focusing on your wetness. “Fucking delicious.”

You can’t stop the obscene moan that escapes your mouth when he ducks his head down, flattening his tongue to lick you slowly from hole to clit, where he pauses to circle his tongue a few times around the pulsing bud.

And oh fuck does it feel good. Every thought empties from your mind. It’s just the hot feeling coursing through you and the feeling of Jungkook’s tongue licking you slowly up and down. A guttural sound escapes you when he fastens his mouth to your pussy, sucking gently before popping his mouth off.

In a daze, you open your eyes in just enough time to see him let a line of spit drip out of his mouth onto your clit. Your hips jerk and you curse again when he grins, glancing up at you and murmuring, “I’m going to eat this fucking pussy until I’ve had my fill.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you time to consider what he means. His mouth is back on you, sucking and licking, making an absolute mess out of you. Your hands shoot to his hair, fingers twisting in his black locks as he gives appreciative sounds, tongue tracing your clenching hole.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Please.”

You don’t know what you’re asking for. Jungkook seems to, alternating from tracing his tongue through your folds expertly to sucking his clit into your mouth. His mouth sets of sparks with every lewd sound- and Jungkook isn’t quiet.

With anyone else, you might be embarrassed that the way he eats you out audibly, without shame and without a care in the world. It turns you on more, essence leaking out of you that his searching tongue catches.

Your orgasm is quickly approaching, that tight feeling mounting in your stomach as your breathing gets shorter. Your eyes are squeezed shut, hips rolling to time with his careful licks and sucks. You’re hot all over, a furnace under Jungkook’s mouth.

The dam breaks. You jerk forward, gasping as your legs squeeze Jungkook’s shoulders. You can hear nothing beyond the roar of your blood in your ears, see nothing but blinding stars behind your eyes. You sag back onto the bed, twitching and thighs shaking as Jungkook diverts from giving your clit attention to licking at your entrance.

Boneless, you try and move up the bed but Jungkook’s hands grab you by your ass, pulling back down toward his mouth. You look at him, feeling drunk as you see his dark head of hair between your legs.

Jungkook’s eyes are fathomless as he growls, “Did I say I was done, baby?”

“Sensitive,” you whine.

He kisses your inner thigh, leaving a wet mark of spit and your cum. “I’ll go slow,” he promises, not taking his eyes off of you as his tongue snakes out of his wicked mouth to prod at your hole. “Mmm. Want to taste you more.”

“Fuck,” you moan as his tongue relieves some of the pressure at your aching hole. But it’s not enough- not nearly.

Jungkook senses what you need, a hand leaving where he’s gripping you to trace between your legs. Gently, his finger circles the ring of your clenching muscles. Eyes finding yours, he raises a brow. “Is this what you need, baby? Need my fingers?”

“Please.” He kisses your clit, making you twitch. “Jungkook.”

“Sorry,” he smiles, though he doesn’t sound or look sorry. “Just wanna make you cum again.”

There’s not going to be a problem there. You swear as he slowly inserts a finger, brushing against the softness of you in all the right parts. You know you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast, especially when he inserts another finger, gently brushing your g-spot as he brushes his mouth over your thighs, wrist moving slowly.

You melt at his touch, letting him bring you to the edge again. You can’t stop the sounds coming out of your mouth or the way you writhe in his arms. He lets you squirm, attentive on fucking into you at a steady pace with his fingers.

When he deems you ready, he brings his mouth back down, tongue slowly laving at your clit.

You explode.

For a moment, you’re nowhere and everywhere all at once. You can’t think beyond anything other than the surging euphoria. You can’t recall ever cumming that hard, nearly unable to breathe as you float back down.

It takes a moment for you to realize Jungkook is kissing your lower stomach, hands rubbing up and down your quaking thighs as he looks up to you, eyes completely fucked out and mouth covered in your juices.

“You did so good,” he coos, placing a wet kiss on your navel. “You taste divine- better than blood. Much better.”

“Want you,” you mumble, surprised you manage to articulate the desire still burning in your stomach, hot and needy. “Please.”

“Yeah? Still want me?”

“Of course.”

“Fuck,” he mumbles, getting to his knees again. “You’ll have me, then. You’ll always have me- have always had me.”

Soft light filters in your room from the window. You watch in awe as he rips his shirt off. You’ve seen him shirtless before- he’s always been beautiful. But now in the glow of the dark room, Jungkook is a god.

You sit up, hands seeking. His skin is warm and flushed as your palms skim up his stomach and around his waist, careful and meaningful with their worship. Your mouth follows to pay penance, kissing at the newly exposed flesh, nipping at the delicate skin above his sweatpants.

Jungkook tilts his head to the sky, as if in prayer. Your tongue darts out to taste him, skin sweet and slightly salty from sweat. He lets out a soft mewl. Your fingers dig into his skin as they drag down, nails tracing red scripture in their descent.

You love him. Gone is the feral heat between you a moment ago when he licked at you with hot fury. Your touches are soft. Jungkook brings his hand to your hair, brushing it out of your face as he looks down at you, eyes round and curious.

“You’re hypnotizing.” You pull at his pants and he lets you, shifting to discard the sweatpants and boxers. You nearly collapse at the sight of his heavy cock, bouncing. Its tip is weeping and pink, begging for attention. “All of you is perfect.”

Your tongue darts out to taste him, kitten-licking the tip. He moans deep in his throat, eyes shut as his fingers tangle in your hair. You suckle the tip of his cock, tongue tracing lazy circles before you pull back with a lewd pop.

Gently, you bring a hand to stroke him, nearly keening at how velvety his skin is. His cock jumps in your hand, making you smile at how much you affect him.

Slowly, you stroke him, bringing him back to your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you take more of his cock into the warmth of your mouth, humming delicately at the salty tastes.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans loudly. You’ve hardly set a pace when he pulls you gently off of him, making you pout. “I can’t,” he pants. “I’ll cum in a second and I don’t want to cum down your throat tonight. We can do that another time. I just want to fuck you- please let me make love to you.”

Jungkook’s choice in words have you spinning. Make love. You don’t know what that’s like- you’ve fucked men before, but never with meaning. Never with intentions beyond pleasure.

Carefully, Jungkook pulls your shirt off, tossing it in the dim room. He presses you back down on the bed, bringing his mouth to yours. Your tongues tangle as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. You feel his cock brush your wet entrance and you groan into him.

The kiss tastes like a mix of him and you and the faint saltiness of blood- you don’t care. It’s a part of him, so it’s a part of you. Jungkook shuffles himself so that his mouth is pressed against your jaw, hot breath in your ear as he places open-mouthed kisses there.

“Condom?”

“I’m clean,” you gasp as his tip grazes your clit. “We got STD tests together, remember? I haven’t… since.”

You feel his mouth curve upward. “Me either. Taehyung mentioned vampires are… sterile.”

“Fine,” you mutter. “I don’t want kids- I want to adventure the world- with you.”

“Fuck.” His voice shakes when he says it.

Spurred by the need in his voice, you reach between you, gripping Jungkook’s cock in his head. He shakes above you as you brush the tip up and down your slit, gathering your essence to make him slick. You position his blunt head at your entrance, looking up at him. He doesn’t hesitate, rolling his hips forward to push into you.

The pressure doesn’t hurt, but you feel all of him. You make a sigh of relief and discomfort as he slowly slides into you. Jungkook fills every inch of you, the drag of his cock delicious. He bottoms out and stays there for a moment, stealing a searing kiss from you.

Your fingers wind in his hair. “Please move,” you mumbled between pressed lips. “Wanna feel you.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate, groaning as he slides his cock all the way out and pushes back in slowly. His pace is slow but deep, making it hard to breathe. Your hips roll in time to meet his thrust, an almost lazy pace like you have all the time in the world.

Your mouth is busy as you kiss Jungkook on his lips, jaw, chin, ear. It’s more teeth and tongue than anything, especially as he starts fucking into you with a smooth pace.

Everything in your mind goes haywire. You can barely think. You want to touch Jungkook everywhere, pulling and pulling him until he’s down on his forearms, chest pressed against yours. You moan at the feeling of his chest against your pert nipples, creating mind-numbing friction.

Jungkook notices. He ducks his dead down as he pumps into you, hitting deep every time. He wraps his mouth around a nipple, making you sing. Everything is overwhelming. You feel every part of him pressed against you and you want more. More more more

You want to drown in Jungkook.

You want him to sink his teeth in and never let go.

Turning your head to the side, you let out a high-pitch whimper. You can’t stop the noises coming out of you, squeaking and struggling to stop the shaky quality but you feel so fucking good as he fucks into you.

“Feels so good,” you gasp at a particularly deep thrust.

“Yeah it fucking does,” Jungkook agrees, licking at your neck where your blood has dried. “You’re fucking squeezing my cock, Indy. You gonna cum?”

“Yes yes yes yes.”

“Fuck I love the way you look right now. Dreamed of this for years.”

“Pervert- fuuuuuck Jungkook.”

“Cum for me, yeah?”

You nod and whisper, “Bite me.”

He grunts and bends down, immediately sinking his teeth in. There’s no pain this time. Heat blooms through you, a white-hot flame that catches you so off guard you go rigid, cumming with a scream.

You float. Jungkook slows his movements, fucking you gentle through the white noise in your ears and the heavenly feeling of weightlessness. It takes you a few moments to come back down from your high, feeling the way Jungkook’s mouth pulls at your neck greedily.

Tired and spent, you grab Jungkook by the hips, fingers sliding against sweaty skin. He detaches from your neck and kisses you, messy with spit and blood again. You don’t care, moaning into him without abandon, digging your nails into his ass.

Jungkook loses his slow pace and begins to slam into you, kiss turning to teeth bumping into teeth. He growls into your mouth, the snarl sending shivers down your body as you hold into him.

He fucks you with wild abandon, chasing his high. His moans get higher pitched and you run your nails down his thighs, pushing yourself into him with whatever energy you can gather. “Cum for me,” you beg. “Give it to me, Jeon. Come on.”

With a loud moan, he buries himself into your shoulder, shuddering above you. His muscles clench as he cums and pants your name, shivering above you for a moment.

Gently, you run your hands up and down his sides, kissing the side of his fact. You can see his mouth is covered in blood- and it doesn’t nearly freak you out as much as you expect. Because it’s Jungkook, and even though this is weird and he just drank your blood… you’re his. You have been for a long time.

Jungkook pulls out of you and collapses next to you, an arm going around your waist. He peeks at you from his sweaty hair and you can’t help but feel your heart leap in your chest.

“You didn’t kill me,” you murmur. “Pretty impressive, Jeon.”

He grins, tired. “It’s because I love you.” He shifts so that he can hold your gaze in full. “I know I have a lot to figure out, and I understand if you don’t-“

“I want to,” you cut him off. “Because I love you too.”

“Yeah?” He brushes the hair from your face. You nod and nip at his wrist, making him laugh. “Maybe you’re a little bit of a vampire too, hmm?”

“I’ll leave that to you,” you yawn. Jungkook pulls you close and nuzzles you. You don’t care that your sweaty and sticky with cum and blood. You just want to be close to him.

And your happy. Despite how afraid you were while he was gone. Despite the fact that there is an entire unknown ahead of you. It’ll be okay because you have Jungkook and he has you.

“By the way,” Jungkook muses. “Were you researching how to kill Taehyung?”

You hesitate. “I was kind of mad.”

“I see. And now?”

“Jury is still out.”

He chuckles. “Love you, Indy.”

“Love you, Jeon.”

-

Dear Miss L/N,

Thank you for applying for our entry level Acquisition Agent position here at Ilum Agency. We have received many applicants for the position, and take careful considerations to presented research, experience in the field, and recommendations.

After reviewing your final research project regarding Vampirism: Throughout the Ages, and additionally receiving recommendations from Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi, we are pleased to offer you the position. Upon written receipt of this offer, you will receive a formal offer letter with your job responsibilities, salary and additional benefits.

Warmest Regards,

The Director of Acquisitions

Ilum Agency

Sector 11

Boyfriend Material | jjk (m)

☾ Pairing: Hockey Player!Jungkook x f. Reader 

☾ Summary: Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material – except when he is.  

☾ Word Count: 2,127

☾ Genre: FWB, Hint of Angst, Smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Friends with benefits who are very obviously pretending not to have feelings, being in a confusing relationship that is basically a relationship without titles, feelings of confusion and self-doubt, lying to oneself, mentions of some toxic interactions with other people/women, repressed feelings, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving) in the shower, honestly, in general, some very cliche/stereotypical conflict you’d find in a relationship with someone of status 

☾ Published: March 23, 2024

☾ A/N: This is a self-insert of one of the most confusing relationships I have ever had in my life and I will die on the hill that no one should date athletes because 98% of them are the rule, not the exception no matter how much they seem like it! TRAUMA!!! Also, should I have been dating a professional athlete for the sport I worked in? No!!!! This is for all the people who have been in a not-relationship-that-is-a-relationship why the fuck do people do that like it is okay to have feelings and call ur partner ur partner?? 

☾ A/N 2: This is drabble number six for the Drabble Challenge that I have been utterly failing at! Today I rolled for ‘athlete’ but I didn’t feel like writing actual sports so I was like :) I worked in sports for ten years, I can just share a glimpse of my life when I was 23 years old :) Enjoy 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

“Fuck, I’m so tired,” Jungkook groans, leaning back in the chair and stretching his arms. Sun beats down on his golden skin. You feel the heat of it on your back and the top of your head. It’s pleasant, the cool spring breeze threatening to send the napkins on the table running. “Wanna lay out at the pool?”

Finishing the rest of your coffee, you nudge the empty plate away from you. Where once an eggs benedict had stood is now smears of leftover yolk and a single onion you missed when eating your hashbrowns. 

“Not sick of me?” you ask, raising a brow. 

Jungkook isn’t looking at you, scrolling on his phone. The bill of his hat is pulled low, hiding most of his face as he squints down at the device held low in his lap. You wait patiently for his answer, running your finger up and down the now-empty glass as it sweats from the sun. 

“Nope,” he answers, popping the end of the word sharply. “Did you ever get your desk fixed? Yoongi said he would fix it if not.”

“I have not.” 

He nods. “He said he’ll swing by this afternoon. We can lay out at the pool at my place and then head to yours after?” 

Your mouth twitches. You don’t say it out loud because you don’t want to risk him backing out, but another full day spent with Jungkook is a surprise to you. Not because it doesn’t happen often – it does. But rather because it keeps happening more often.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. He’d established that the first night he met you at a bar. Him being a professional athlete was a warning sign enough that you didn’t want to romance that but what had come afterward has been nothing short of surprising. 

Friendship and… well. You don’t know how to explain the extras. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. But you do your groceries together on the weekend. You drop him off at the arena when they’re heading out for a road trip. You take him to doctor's appointments to monitor the knee injury from last season. 

You’re not Jungkook’s girlfriend but he takes you to team events. He lets himself in and does your laundry at your apartment while you’re at work so you don’t have to do it when you come home. He has his teammates fix furniture for you and they’ve asked you to babysit their kids. 

“Babe?” the endearment makes you blink a few times, realizing you’d been staring into your lap. Jungkook’s dark eyes are focused on you now, phone shoved into his pocket. “We don’t have to go to the pool. We can just nap.”

We. Not you. Jungkook is going to hang out with you regardless if you like his original idea or not. Your stomach flips in that way you hate, the way that you know you’re doing everything you said you wouldn’t.

“Sounds good.” 

Jungkook flashes a grin and you become acutely aware that thinking you could be friends with benefits without being anything more was a stupid idea. Jungkook is not made to be resisted, with round eyes that darken when he’s turned on, a giggle that contrasts with the big, broad-shouldered athlete built, a smile that lights up the room and can dispel any tension, a sweet voice that can tempt anyone the moment he pouts or when he decides to pur. 

You were fucked - literally and figuratively - that first night you let him in your apartment. 

Instead of thinking about it, you hide from the truth. Again. Jungkook is not boyfriend material, despite the fact that he pays for breakfast despite your protests, and reaches over the center console in the car to squeeze your thigh. 

“Mmm,” he hums, fingers skating over your flash and making you squirm in the passenger seat. “Warm.”

“I was sitting in the sun.”

“I like it.”

Jungkook likes a lot about you. He tells you all the time, very open about how he likes the way you taste, likes the way you organize your books by color, likes the way you sing in the shower, likes the way you speak in Star Wars quotes. 

Perhaps that’s what makes you the most wary about him. He says he’s not boyfriend material, but his actions betray his words. And you let them, every single time. 

Jungkook smells like sunscreen, sweat, and a little bit of his cologne from earlier that morning. You’re hyperaware of him as you lounge on the cabana bed together, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his firm body. 

His tattooed arm is tossed over his eyes, blocking out the sun as he snores a little. Careful not to knock into him, you lean over him and grab his phone to check the time. You haven’t been lounging in the sun long, but you don’t want him to get a sunburn.

Again. 

You wager you can stay a little longer, placing the phone back down under his discarded shirt where it can hide from the sun’s heat. Sitting back in your spot, you pick up your book from your sweaty thighs as the sound of the gate to the pool yard opening catches your attention. 

Some of Jungkook’s teammates live in the same apartment complex. It’s easier that way, especially for the players who get sent up and down from the minors. You catch a few of the younger players with a few girls you don’t know the name of tugging a cooler on wheels behind them with a speaker blaring. 

Jungkook doesn’t so much as move. He can sleep through anything – has slept through you falling into his gaming setup while trying to get to the bathroom drunk. His slumbering leaves you to watch them head to the beds a few over from yours. 

One of the girls notices you. You don’t recognize her specifically, but she recognizes Jungkook. Looks back at you. Frowns and mutters something to one of the other girls, who is not very subtle as she cranks her head around in your direction. 

You don’t wince anymore. It’s not an uncommon thing, among these circles. You refuse to engage with any of it. You used to tell yourself it was because a casual whatever-Jungkook-is simply isn’t worth the drama. At night, you know you don’t engage with it because you don’t want to know. 

Ignorance is bliss, especially in this dangerously plastic world Jungkook exists in. 

Thankfully, you’re not alone in the matter. Jimin appears out of thin air, dropping down on the empty bed next to you. Namjoon – arguably Jimin’s better half and team captain – is nowhere to be found. Jimin lowers his shades and looks beyond you to the group of now rowdy players. 

“Gross,” he huffs. He slides his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and stretches out on the bed like a cat. Jimin doesn’t play, but he certainly has the body of an athlete, all fine lines and corded muscle. “Ignore them.”

“I was doing that already.” You lift your book as if to prove yourself.

He snorts. “You were thinking about it, be honest.” Your silence is answer enough and Jimin grins, lacing his hands behind his head as he tilts toward the sun. “Don’t let Jungkookie burn again.”

“I’m not,” you huff before snapping your book shut. Jimin is in the circle of player’s partners that you genuinely enjoy, but he has the keen ability to get under your skin and tell you all of the truths that you don’t want to be voiced out loud. Still, having him on your side has more benefits than just keeping the hyenas away from you. He’s also genuinely nice when he wants to be. “Jungkook, wake up.”

The man mumbles and turns his head away from you. You sigh heavily, squeezing his strong, very sweaty arm gently. “Come on, you’re gonna burn if you stay out here any longer.”

“Mm. Feels nice.”

“A sunburn won’t feel nice.”

“You can rub aloe all over me.”

“I will not.”

“Just five more minutes.”

“Jeon.” 

He drops his arm from his eyes, squinting in the bright light at you. His hair is damp with sweat and hangs in his eyes. He’s been growing it out longer and longer, especially since Seokjin keeps encouraging Jungkook by telling him he has the best flow on the team. 

“So you don’t want to rub aloe all over me?”

“You don’t need to get sunburned for me to touch you, Jungkook.”

“Bleh,” Jimin grunts. 

That makes Jungkook sit up, rolling his shoulders and twisting to pop his back. He sighs for a moment, closing his eyes as though willing himself to get up. When he opens them again, there’s a light in them and he smirks, looking you up and down.

“Wanna shower?”

Your mouth twitches and you roll your eyes to hide how much you want to shiver. “Come on,” you sigh, getting up, the fabric of the sunbed clinging to your sweaty skin. 

Eyes cling to you as you pull the sundress over your head and slide your sandals on. You don’t have to glance over at the mini-party a few sunbeds over to know you’re being watched. You suppose they’re watching Jungkook more than anything, but you’re in direct view behind him, grabbing your book. 

You know Jungkook notices them. He says nothing, though. Instead, he offers his hand out when you shove all your belongings in a bag, wanting to carry it. You grin and hand it over to him, smile growing as he shoulders it easily and offers his hand again, this time for you to take.

And you do take it. Perhaps the satisfaction that thrums through you as he leads you out of the pool yard and onto the deck that crosses the lake toward his apartment building is a little bit insidious. You don’t care. The momentary triumph that you shouldn’t be feeling at all is far too powerful and Jungkook’s hand is far too warm and safe in yours to care about why you feel good about the public display of affection.

It isn’t like he hasn’t done it before. Jungkook isn’t shy with others in front of you. It’s what makes the whole thing worse, somehow. Because Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he introduces you to people and friends and slides between your legs to lean on you when you’re sitting on a barstool. He holds your hand when you go on a lunch and shopping spree with your mom and he brings her coffee and flowers. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but you don’t care when the shower hits the warm skin and runs down your back as he presses your chest to the cold shower wall in front of you. The cool stone stings against your nipples, over-sensitive and sending a shiver down your spine as your eyes flutter shut. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he curses low under the sound of the shower as he pries your legs apart, tongue seeking the heat between them hungrily. Your mouth falls open as Jungkook’s tongue licks you soft-slow, lips sucking gently against your clit. 

“Shit,” you hiss. The difference in temperatures between the hot water and the cold wall makes the room spin. Steam makes it harder to breathe, your head pleasure-dizzy as Jungkook laughs and rolls his tongue lazily around your dripping cunt. “Fuck.”

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he eats you out slow and hungry. He doesn’t care that the water starts to lose its warmth as his mouth works you, smacking his lips loudly and moaning, vibrations going straight to your core where you drip on his soft tongue. 

His hands grip your ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he pries you apart further, tongue delving into your aching hole. He slurps at you, mouth loud and sticky over the sound of your panting and the water hitting the tile floor. His little hums of appreciation buzz through you, making the room spin.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing your cheek to the wet, cold stone as you try to ground yourself. You twist an arm backward, gripping Jungkook’s wet hair. He lets out a loud groan in appreciation, always pleased when you pull on his hair. “Don’t stop.”

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he does whatever you want him to. His tongue delves in, working you to orgasm until you’re shaking against the wall, knees knocking together and nearly collapsing on him. He catches you easily, standing and pressing you against the wall as he grabs your chin and brings your mouth toward him, his to devour.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. 

But more than anything, you want him to be. 

Mixtape | Series Masterlist | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader 

☾ Summary: You've had a crush on Yoongi for most of your life. On a holiday trip to the cabin, you’re reunited with Yoongi after not seeing him from two years and things go less than according to plan.

☾ Word Count: 68,554

☾ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers/brother's bff, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask |

Chapter One

→ In which you re-unite with your friends after two years, dragging up old memories, good and bad, and in which Yoongi gets just a taste of what he has been missing.

Chapter Two

→ In which you and Yoongi end up sharing a room in Jungkook's desperation to get laid.

Chapter Three

→ In which you and Yoongi ride the high and enjoy the moment - except you get stuck in a closet with him while your brother is on the other side of the door.

Chapter Four

→ In which it all comes crashing down, and theres no way around, only through.

Extra Chapter

→ Celebrating Agust D is your new favorite pastime

Extra Chapter

→ Yoongi visits you in your city and everything goes wrong

Extra Chapter

→ Yoongi can't stop thinking about the lost cat outside your new apartment

Mixtape | One | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: You’ve had a crush on Yoongi for most of your life. On a holiday trip to the cabin, you’re reunited with Yoongi after not seeing him from two years and things go less than according to plan.

☾ Word Count: 15,236

☾ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers/brother’s bff, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Explicit language, implied age gap (three years), reader experiences light teasing for her crush, light depictions of anxiety, light depictions of self-deprecating thoughts, perceived unrequited feelings, a little bit of pining, drinking alcohol, recreational uses of marijuana, mentions of vomiting when drunk, depictions of drinking and being drunk, reader and Jungkook have some social anxiety and it’s described, multiple time skips to start (i’m sorry) Yoongi being a little bit of a slut, general awkwardness from multiple characters, sexually explicit comment including: oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), voyeurism if you squint, cum-eating, Yoongi being caught in bathrooms multiple times, dirty talk

☾ Published: March 30, 2022

☾ A/N: Hi hello this is my updated author’s note as I re-do my masterlist formatting. This series is still largely unedited, but maybe one day I will get to it. It is near and dear to my heart, and often what people know me for writing. I hope you enjoy, despite this writing style being completely different than what I do now.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Next Chapter | 

Czytaj dalej

Mixtape | Two | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: You've had a crush on Yoongi for most of your life. On a holiday trip to the cabin, you’re reunited with Yoongi after not seeing him from two years and things go less than according to plan.

☾ Word Count: 14,748

☾ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers/brother’s bff, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Talking about feelings, difficult conversations regarding potential relationships, fluff, explicit language, angst if you squint hard a y/n, some self-doubt, explicit language, recreational drinking, mentions of recreational drug use, mentions of smoking, mentions of past hookups/ less ideal sexual encounters, sexual tension, explicit sexual content including: spitting, throat fucking, oral (m. receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, not really degradation but y/n calls Yoongi a slut as a joke during sex, nipple play (Yoongi is a tit guy), protected sex, a lot of biting and licking they’re kinda feral, discussion of sex in public places, y/n is kind of a hypocrite about what she wants but not necessarily in a negative way, topics of friendship betrayals, lying to friends. Please tell me if I missed something.

☾ Published: April 16, 2022

☾ A/N: Chapter 2/4 is here! This entire last half was driven by absolutely insane That That Yoongi. I went a little feral in parts because wow wow wow. I really wanted to make Yoongi a Consensual King and constantly ask reader if they're okay and ensure they know they can stop at any time- so hopefully that comes across okay. This is the slowest chapter in terms of plot. 3 and 4 have a purpose, because we have a story to finish :)

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Sweat and sunscreen stick to your thighs as you shift on the vinyl seats of the boat, trying not to slide while Seokjin works on anchoring it to the bottom of the lake. Jimin is doing the same on another, identical boat while Taehyung and Jungkook work in tandem with Namjoon and Yoongi to tie the boats together, careful to place buoys between them so they don’t scratch the paint.

White-hot sun scalds the top of your head. You lean down, fishing for a hat before you find one and twist it low, almost covering your eyes completely from your friends and the overly bright world around you. Which is fine by you, since you’re struggling to interact with anyone normally, thoughts empty and a head full of Yoongi’s tongue lapping at your pussy.

You have no idea how you’re going to survive the day.

Knowing where you stand is impossible. Yoongi had gently led you out of his room last night with a grin and a sweeter-than-expected goodnight kiss. You’ve barely spoken this morning- which is normal, so you’re not panicked- but you still cannot shake the feeling of his hands on you and in you.

Everything is different. 

The plus side is that everyone knows you hate lake water and that you will spend the next few hours in the safety of the boat. There’s a Nintendo hiding in your dry bag and a pack of hard cider in the cooler that has your name written all over it. Literally. You scribbled your name on it this morning to keep Namjoon’s greedy hands off of it. 

Seokjin extends a green, floating lily pad into the water so that they can place drinks and food out without having to worry about it floating off. The smell of sunscreen is poignant as everyone begins stripping, chatting about the party last night.

“I definitely found her passed out in her bedroom at 2 AM,” Ren snickers, grinning at you while she sprays her lean leg. “We’re old, man.”

“Yeah,” you rasp, licking your dry lips. You sneak a glance at Yoongi, but he’s not looking at you. “I was pretty tired. Last night took a lot out of me.”

Yoongi does look at you then. You almost don’t catch it because he’s bent over with his hand in the cooler, a hat almost pulled as low as yours on his head. His lip twitches and he looks away from you as while smirking down into the cooler. You feel yourself fighting a smile as you look away, satisfied that he wasn’t ignoring you. 

Once almost everyone is off the boat and in the water, you manage to bring yourself to strip off the oversized shirt and grab your switch, laying toward the bow of the boat with your legs extended, absorbing the heat of the sun. Sweat collects behind your knees, sliding down your legs as you turn on your game. 

A cider appears in front of you, dripping water from the cooler onto the screen of your Switch. You make a sound and snatch it, looking up to find Yoongi with raised brows.

“Careful with the hardware, yeah?” You ask, cracking the top and scooting over to make room for him. Your heart is pounding but you swallow it down with a mouth full of hard cider. “It’s the new OLED version.”

“You weren’t worried about your hardware last night.”

You scoff and he seats down next to you, pressed against your side. His laugh is full-bellied and deep, making you bite your lower lip. You’re relieved when he stretches his limbs, still dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, tilting his head up with his eyes closed, the sun turning his skin gold.

For a moment, you stare at the open canvas of his neck. You have the urge to lean forward and bite into him, to suck marks all over his pretty, smooth skin.

Instead, you turn your attention to your game and settle into a comfortable silence with him, cider wedged between the two of you. He eventually lifts your drink, one eye squinted open and looking at you as if daring you to say something to him. You don’t, and he gives you a shit-eating grin as he takes a sip.

“Sweet,” he murmurs.

You nod. “It’s my favorite cider.”

“I wasn’t talking about the cider.”

Oh. Oh. His gaze is on you now. The world feels overly loud at the comment and you’re acutely aware that everyone is in the water conversing, leaving you and Yoongi alone in the boat. It’s normal for the two of you to watch them from afar. No one would think- does think- anything of it. Especially not Seokjin, who trusts Yoongi with his little sister above anything else.

Guilt clangs through you immediately and you switch from burning hot under his hooded gaze to confused and anxious. Yoongi notes the change and closes his eyes, settling back to his position with his hands behind his head. His biceps flex, making you divert your gaze. 

Instead of coming up with a riposte, you turn to your game, playing as though he’s not sitting next to you taking subtle sips of your cider. You can almost feel how smug he is that you let him, despite having told the group that they were yours alone to drink.

“Tell me about your game,” he hums.

“Umm,” you click through a voice menu. “It’s Pokémon.”

“Namjoon loves that.”

You smile. “He does. It’s an open-world version. Basically, it’s a lot like the older version where you kind of go around and battle openly, but there’s more specific tasks and missions and you can veer from the storyline as much as you want and come back to it.”

“What’s your favorite Pokémon?”

“Haunter and Flareon.” You click around as he listens, the music soothing. “I almost cried five minutes into the game because I ran into an Eevee and it got away. I wanted a Flareon so bad.”

He hums. “I like the sassy cat.”

“Meowth?”

“Sure.”

You smirk. “Checks out.” You pause hold a hand out. He sighs and hands you your drink, letting you drain it. You move to get more but Yoongi waves you off, hauling himself up and walking over to the cooler. You watch as he pulls another one out, cracking it open and bringing it back to you. “Thanks. Do you plan on just sharing my drinks today?”

“Not in a mood to drink.”

“Too drunk last night?”

He looks at you and that thundering gaze is back, making you clench around nothing. You swear he makes you wet by just looking like that, and you try to cool yourself off with a couple of sips. You’re both in dangerous territory. He has to know this.

“Yes, but not from the alcohol.”

“You’re a lot more… forward than I expected.”

“Would you rather I pretend I didn’t eat you out last night? I think that would be worse.”

He’s absolutely right. Pretending that nothing happened would be infinitely worse.

“I guess I just worried about Seokjin.”

“He has no idea.”

“So…”

He raises his brows. “So.”

“I hate when you make me say everything.”

“I love watching you squirm. You’re a big girl, you can say what’s on your mind.” He leans back with a wolfish smile. “I’m listening.”

“So where do we go now? I never really expected you to be into me sexually if we’re being honest. What with being best friends with my brother and all.”

Said brother laughs loudly, drawing both of your attention for a moment. His wet hair is slicked back, face tilted toward the sky, laughing at something Suri said. You can’t tell if her cheeks are tinged pink because of the flush from the sun or because of Seokjin.

Interesting. You smirk, filing away that piece of information, recalling that they had taken up residence next to one another on the couch the night before. Seokjin hasn’t dated much. It would be nice to see him pay attention to someone, even if it was for a weekend.

“I love your brother,” Yoongi says slowly. “He's incredibly important to me."

“But,” you prompt, sensing a but.

“But,” he agrees with a grin. “I’m not going to sit here and say I’m not attracted to you. Have been for a while, I don’t know. I haven’t seen you in a while so I guess when I finally did I just… lost control a little?”

Have been for a while, I don’t know.

How long is a while? Something stops you from asking the question because suddenly every entry you ever wrote in your diary about him is right in front of you. You feel dizzy. From the heat, from Yoongi’s heavy stare, from the words he is saying.

Years. You had spent years admiring him from afar. Swallowing whatever affection you had because it was unrequited. Stupid. 

And there he is, lounging as the boat bobs up and down gently, telling you that you are wrong. That every excuse you’ve ever given yourself was nothing more than that: an excuse, and a false one at that. 

“Your silence is killing me, kid.”

There it is, that nickname. He’d called you ‘kid’ most of your life, as if reminding you exactly what you are to him. It confuses you, and you feel your internal frustration mount, making you frown. “You’re… attracted to me?”

He raises his brows. “Is that really the question you want to ask?” You shake your head and he looks at you, eyes soft. “So ask what you really want.”

“What do you want? Did you make a move because you’re just looking to get off physically or was it something more?”

“It’s a complicated answer. The simple version is: I haven’t ever gotten to know you intimately. I’ve always been… curious. We have similar interests and I like the way your brain works. I’m into you.”

“I sense another but.”

“But,” he chuckles. “You’ve always been Jin’s little sister and I haven't gotten to know you as you. As you are now. And I would really like to. We're two consenting adults, I find it hard to believe your brother would be that upset."

“Seriously? Have you met Jin?”

“Yeah, I- “

Yoongi doesn’t get to finish his explanation. Seokjin all but falls into the boat, hollering at Yoongi that it’s time for them to start working on lunch. Yoongi groans and gives you a look that promises your heart isn’t racing for no reason- he intends to finish this conversation later. The thought makes you jittery, watching as he gets up, flicking your hat briefly.

You growl at him and he smiles before helping Seokjin pull out the propane grill.

Fuck. You smile down at your lap. Perhaps your stupid crush wasn’t so stupid after all.

-

Despite putting on sunscreen, your flesh warm and a little tender to the touch after your shower. You curse, hugging your towel close. Still dripping, you walk into the bedroom you’re sharing with Ren to find her passed out from all of the day drinking. You grin at her and pull her comforter over her, her wet hair soaking her pillow. She mumbled a soft thanks before falling back asleep.

The house is quiet when you walk down to the kitchen in search of snacks. Taehyung and Mako are playing video games in the gaming room, their voices carrying from the single subterranean part of the home.

It’s the calm before the storm. Everyone is taking their afternoon naps, drained from the sun. Seokjin made dinner reservations at The Lodge for 9 PM- a late time in any other situation, but you know to get the crew well-rested and dressed before going out to the multiple bars on Acorn, the late start is necessary.

Grabbing water from the fridge, you close the door and nearly jump out of your skin to see Yoongi leaning against the counter behind the opened door.

“Jesus,” you gasp at him.

“Wrong guy,” Yoongi jokes. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Needed water first- and Ren is snoring.”

He hums. “You were always a light sleeper.”

You recall countless nights of running into Yoongi in the hall when he slept over at your house while you snuck down to the kitchen for water or snacks. You always struggled to sleep, especially if he and Seokjin were carrying on down the way.

“It’s super cold in the theater room,” Yoongi says after a few long moments of silence. “And I won’t be snoring.” He grabs water from the fridge and walks toward the east wing of the house. “You know where to find me.”

You linger in the kitchen for a moment before smiling and trailing after Yoongi. The theater room is on the first level of the home, tucked in the back with no windows and three rows of six, plush recliners. An old-school popcorn machine sits in the back with a bar cart filled with toppings, flavors, candy, and bowls for popcorn.

Yoongi is stretched in the back row, wrapped in a soft, fleece blanket with the seat reclined all the way down. He has Naruto on, the volume set to low, and the lights all the way down. It’s freezing in the room, making you hurry over to him when he glances at you, light from the screen dancing on his face. He unravels the covers and gestures for you to sit on the seat next to him.

The leather is cold making you hiss. Yoongi laughs but throws the blanket over you. You curl into a ball and lean the seat back, finally level with his. For a moment, you’re tense, muscles coiled as you fixate on the screen in front of you, not sure if he invited you with other intentions or not.

“Relax, kid.” You breathe out, letting your muscles unwind. He hums. “Good girl. I only brought you in here to relax. Nothing else.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You pause and bite your lip. “Thought you said you wanted to fuck me stupid.”

Yoongi turns his gaze to you. His blonde hair is still damp from his shower, almost blue in the light from the screen. Shadows dance across his face, coal eyes studying you while he purses his lips in thought. “Still do. But we’re both tired and I told Jungkook where I’d be after his shower if he wanted to join.”

“Poor planning on your part.”

The door behind you opens and you flinch. Jungkook comes in yawning and rubbing his eyes, hair dripping as he promptly drops into the seat next to you. If Jungkook notices anything off, he doesn’t say it or he doesn’t care. He leans his seat back and curls toward you immediately, making grabby hands.

“Get your own blanket,” you snarl at him, tugging the fleece away from him.

He whines. “Yoongi make her share.”

The older man laughs. “What makes you think she’ll listen to me?”

Jungkook cracks open an eye and gives you a look that says I’ll say it. You fold your mouth into a thin line. It doesn’t matter if Jungkook sells you out to Yoongi now. You’ve already crossed a line. You still give Jungkook a look back and he relents. “She always listens to you and Jin.”

Yoongi scoffs but he nudges you under the blanket. “Your roommate, your responsibility.”

There are times you want to strangle Jeon Jungkook. This moment is one of them, giving him some of the blanket that you planned to share with Yoongi. He nearly purrs, curling into a ball and leaning into you across the armrest, nuzzling your arm until he’s comfortable. His eyes fixate on the screen, blinking tiredly.

“I like this episode,” he mumbles, content with your arm as his pillow. “Good choice.”

“Predictable choice,” you mutter.

Yoongi’s hand brushes against your thigh momentarily under the blanket and you nearly scream. Your head snaps in his direction, expecting him not to notice. But he does, grinning at you with gums full on display and head tilted to the side. “I’m sorry- don’t you still watch Sailor Moon?”

His hand does it again and your thigh is on fire, thighs clenching as he squeezes your thigh and leaves it there. He turns to the screen and settles. “Those in glass houses…”

You huff, unable to focus on the screen as his hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking back and forth delicately. Jungkook is completely unaware, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape as he falls asleep. You always envied that about him. “Hush,” you warn Yoongi. “The baby is sleeping.”

-

Lights line the dark street as your group files out of the two SUVs parked behind the trendy restaurant. You’ve eaten there before- it’s a modern-western dream with interior decorators that did a much better job than those who designed the inside of the Park home.

A black accent wall lines the back of the restaurant with a wooden bar in front of it, industrial lighting hanging from the ceiling. The bar stools are wrapped in fake cowhide with nail-head trimming. Long, wooden beams hold up the high ceiling, making it feel like a tavern as your group is led to a private room in the back of the establishment, hidden behind a heavy door.

The Lodge specializes in a variety of meats, cuts, and ridiculously large dishes. You look at the mouthwatering burger options while Jungkook fidgets next to you. You glance at him sidelong and whisper, “What is your problem?”

“My button broke,” he whispers back, gesturing to his crotch. 

You take a hair tie out of your purse and instruct him on how to fix the broken top of his jeans with it. He struggles, cursing as he looks in his lap while trying to loop the tie around the button. You sigh dramatically, dropping your menu to help him and he get’s even fussier. 

“Jungkook, what is my sister doing with her hands in your crotch?”

The entire table shifts their attention to you and Jungkook. He whines and swats at your hands, protesting that it looks weird. 

“Please,” you shoot back at your brother. “He’s my roommate. If I wanted to give him a handy, I’d do it in the privacy of our home. Jungkook is not a voyeur.” You pause and look up at him. “Wait, are you?”

“No!” he hisses. “Hurry up and get your hand off my dick, woman!”

Mako gives a hearty laugh, clapping Seokjin on the back. Your brother arches a single brow, the one indication that he is deadly serious about what’s going on at your end of the table. You roll your eyes, finishing fixing Jungkook’s pants.

“Relax, Jin. Wouldn’t it be nice if your sister dated one of these fine gentlemen anyways? They’re all upstanding guys,” Mako says, sipping his wine.

You don’t dare to look at Yoongi who is sitting right next to Seokjin. Instead, you pick up your menu and go back to trying to find something to eat, not letting your heart drop straight to your ass as Seokjin says, “No one here is good enough to date my sister, including you, Mako."”

Dinner is loud but you’re absolutely silent, drinking your wine with a white-knuckled grip and grimace. Taehyung on the other side of you murmurs something to Jimin before he leans toward you.

“You okay?” you look up, having sensed their conversation. You nod and give him a soft smile. He senses something is off but nods anyway. “Maybe we go to the wine bar before joining everyone else at Container?”

“I would like that,” you murmur.

Taehyung gives you a beatific smile and turns back to his food. You love the way your friends read you. You know you can’t tell them about Yoongi. They would guard that secret with their lives, but the last thing you want to do is have them complicit in your lies to Seokjin. 

Thankfully, you survive dinner and Jimin announces that you’re going to get wine before heading to the loud bar made of old shipping containers and loud music. You avoid looking at Yoongi as you slide into the cool interior of the SUV, Taehyung quickly behind you. 

At the wine bar, you’re content with the tweet wine that warms your mouth as you kick your feet up by the fire pit. Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook and Ren all came with you. These are your friends first, and you feel the anxiety ease from your shoulders. 

Ren leans on you, sighing happily as she sips her white wine. “So why are we here?”

Jungkook gives her owlish eyes. “Like as in this bar, or existentially?”

“Only you could think I meant existentially.”

He frowns. “We’re drinking, philosophy comes up sometimes. What do you think they did at all those what’s it called? Where all the greasy Greek men drank it up and spouted knowledge?”

“Symposiums,” you offer.

“We’re here,” Jimin offers, “Because I think someone is Symposium-ing over Yoongi so hard.”

“What?”

Jimin rolls his eyes and drops down into a chair next to Taehyung. He empties the sparkling wine from his glass and fills another to the brim before knocking it back in one go. You raise your brows at him and he catches your expression. “I think we’re going to need to be drunk for this conversation. Help yourself.”

A tiny trickle of fear slips into your shaking hand as you polish off your glass of wine and hold it out for Ren to refill. Do they know? Were they the ones on the balcony below as Yoongi made you cum from his skilled tongue and long, deft-

“You and Yoongi have been inseparable,” Jimin starts. You make a face. “This isn’t a deniable fact. You guys were drinking together in the kitchen all night together and then vanished to pass out when your social battery ran out.”

“Why is that so weird?” you defend. “I spent more time with Jungkook than I did with Yoongi.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have like, this really cute and long-term crush on Jungkook.” Taehyung makes a face, eyes bouncing between the two of you. “Unless…?”

“No,” you and Jungkook agree at the same time. You continue, “And even so- I’ve known Yoongi literally most of my life. He and I are friends too, you know?”

“And you were in the boat all day together,” Jimin surmises.

“We both don’t like the water. Congratulations, Inch Eye Private Eye.”

“And you looked fucking destroyed at dinner with Seokjin went on his little ‘no friends date my sister’ speech.” You don’t have a rebuttal for that one, so you stare at Jimin from across the fire. His smile is soft and you can tell it’s not teasing or malicious. “You still sort of like Yoongi. It’s okay. Have you ever considered telling Jin?”

“So he could laugh in my face and lecture me on how weird it is to date one of his friends that he found first? No thanks.”

“It might be different. He knows how much Yoongi cares about you.”

You prickle a bit at Taehyung’s comment. Do you even really know how much Yoongi cares about you? It’s difficult to place where on the line he falls, even after your discussion with him on the boat. Attraction and feelings are two totally different things, and while you have established that he likes you in general and that there is an attraction on a physical level, you haven’t really had the Feelings conversation.

“Jin also knows that Yoongi just got out of a relationship that fucked him up,” Jungkook points out gently. “I hear he was pretty upset for a while.”

You squirm, thinking about how Yoongi had complained the night before about being asked about Wen. “Why are we having this discussion, again?” you ask. 

“Because it’s obvious that he’s into you.”

You look at Jungkook with a wild expression. “What? You just said-” 

“I said that Jin would be uncomfortable with it,” Jungkook asserts, emboldened by his wine. “I mean, we all thought maybe in college but you two were practically snuggling when I walked in this afternoon.”

“You… literally laid on my arm and then continued to cuddle on my bicep and you don’t see me ready to date you.”

“It’s different,” Jungkook clarifies. “It’s just- we think if you’re into him, you should talk to Jin. Sister-to-brother. It’s just... sort of silly to watch, honestly. We're all adults.”

“Okay. I hear what you’re saying, but can we please stop talking about Yoongi?”

It comes out defensive. You know it, they know it. Jungkook winces a little bit and you soften your gaze and hold your hand out to him, a peace offering. He takes it, stroking his thumb back and forth over the top of your hand. He looks genuine as he says, “We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” you say.

And you are. Even without the Yoongi stuff. You’re happy to be in the mountains with your friends and see them sun-kissed and drunk. You’re happy to see your brother flirting with a girl for once. You’re happy that Ren is giving Jungkook a fond look again, and that you’re with Taehyung and Jimin who still at the end of the day just want what’s best for you.

So maybe you should drop whatever it is with Yoongi. Maybe it’s ruining the trip because they seem to be so focused on what’s going on with you and the way you and Yoongi rotate around one another like lost satellites.

Sighing, you stand and pull Jungkook up with you. “Thanks for the talk, everyone. How about we go drink real liquor?”

-

Heated, flushed skin presses against you as you move in between Taehyung and Jimin on the dance floor. The world is a kaleidoscope of lights. The base from the speakers is rattling your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. You feel alive and a little messy as you sway your hips between them, hands around Taehyung’s neck, Jimin’s hands on your waist.

To anyone else, it would look like you’re about to take two men home and have a very memorable threesome. But touching them in this way isn’t new to you, especially when Ren comes up behind Taehyung with her hands on his waist, twisting herself sensually to the rhythm of the music.

Jungkook is standing off to the side glancing nervously next to Namjoon and Lydia. You catch Lydia’s eye and point subtly at Jungkook and then to Ren, where she has Taehyung bent over like she’s fucking him from behind. Lydia grins, nodding as if to say message received.

You watch as she convinces Namjoon and Jungkook to follow her through the crowd. The shy girl from dinner the night before is gone and replaced by a confident bulldozer as she drags Jungkook in front of her, nudging him Ren’s general direction. Ren doesn’t hesitate, squealing in excitement now that Jungkook is there, grabbing his hands and pulling him into rhythm with her and Taehyung.

“Hey,” Jimin’s voice is low and breathy as you dance. “Can you wingman for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Bar?”

You let Jimin lead the way, the two of you both ordering drinks. Jimin starts a casual conversation with a cute girl next to him. She looks startled when she sees him and you understand why- silver hair, siren eyes, and a sultry smile are Jimin’s signatures whenever you’re at the bar. He turns and introduces you as his best friend. 

“You have a beautiful name,” she says. 

You flash a smile. “The feeling is mutual. I really like your shoes, by the way.”

“Lulus!”

You grin and order the three of you shots, sitting on the stool behind Jimin, spinning back and forth to the beat of the song rumbling from the dance floor. 

Aria relaxes and chats with Jimin longer. She sneaks glances at him when she thinks he’s not looking and you think it’s cute. Especially when Jimin excuses himself to go to the bathroom, leaving you in her care.

“He’s really nice,” Aria notes when Jimin is gone, turning to you. “You guys have known each other for a while?”

“Since elementary school. He and our other friend Taehyung are my favorite people in the world, honestly. And you?”

She sees the way you glance around and she winces. “Friends are kind of wasted over there,” she motions to a very rowdy group at a VIP lounge. “I sometimes do better away from that and just at the bar alone.”

“Ooof. I can relate- fuck is that Myers?”

Aria’s brows shoot up. “You know him?”

“Yes, please hide me!”

“What? Why?”

“I had a very embarrassing the last time I saw him.” Her eyes go wide and worried. “I kind of sort of fell asleep while he was going down on me.”

“Oh god,” she claps her hand over her mouth. “Was he that bad?”

“Awful- and I hate to say that because he’s so nice but oh my god.”

The confession brings you a little closer and you and Jimin convince Aria to join your group. Taehyung sucks you back to the dance floor where he presses you against his front, screaming the lyrics to a popular song you’re only vaguely familiar with.

It’s fun. Despite it being really loud and feeling sweaty, you almost forget what happened the night before with Yoongi. You’re enjoying your time with your friends and Seokjin squeezes you tight as he kisses you on the head, shouting to the world that you are his best baby sister and it’s not because you’re his only one.

You notice Yoongi on the edges of your vision. He nods to you once, a brief smile. You return it, but you avoid one another for the night, not daring to let him dance with you. 

By the time the night creeps into the hours of the morning, the club is emptying and you’re stumbling drunk, swinging back and forth between Ren and Jungkook. You could totally tease him that he has Ren’s lipstick on the corner of his mouth, but you don’t. You let them enjoy each other as everyone groups outside to go home with the two designated drivers in charge- Namjoon leading one car and Hoseok leading the other.

Jimin invites Aria and all of her friends back. You blanch when you see Myers step out into the streetlight and duck behind Jungkook, clutching his leather jacket. He follows your line of sight and whispers to Jimin, “Uh, dude? You invited Myers back.”

“Oops,” Jimin winces. He looks at you hiding behind Jungkook. “It’s a big house? Maybe he won’t see you?”

You know there’s little to no chance. So you slide into the car, already working out how you can just slip up to your room without anyone calling you out. You’re thinking of faking sick when the smell of sandalwood and alcohol hits you in the face.

Yoongi doesn’t tell you to move when he gets in the car. He simply shuffles in and lifts you, making you squeak as he slides under you and settles you on his lap while more people pile in.

“Yoongi, what-“

“We’re taking Jimin’s new friends with us,” Yoongi purrs in your ear. You lean forward, latching on the head rest of Namjoon’s seat. He looks at you in the rearview, sending you a questioning look. You smile apologetically. “There was no room in the other car.”

“Lucky for you.”

He leans forward, pressing his back to your chest as his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Yoongi’s hands are slow and subtle as he leans further into the seat, pulling you flush with him. He pulls the seatbelt and takes care of wrapping it around you both, making sure it’s a snug fit. You can feel his heart beating erratically, almost in time with yours.

Carefully Yoongi settles his arms around your waist and gives you a teasing squeeze as the rest of the car fills up. Blessedly, Myers isn’t in your car. You haven’t figured out how to say hello to him yet. Hey, last time I saw you I was waking up while you put your clothes on because you tongued my pussy to sleep, didn’t seem appropriate.

Namjoon turns the car on the road, the interior filling with blasting AC to cool off the sweaty bodies packed in the car. Taehyung is blaring music over the speakers and the riders are either conversing loudly over the music or screaming along with him.

You and Yoongi are silent as you try and fail to breathe normally. His hand on the door-side of his seat begins rubbing lazy circles on your legs with his thumb, making your drunk haze thicken. Everything feels so much better with the buzz, and you nearly melt into him, nearly purring at the feeling.

Yoongi can tell. You hear him let out the softest chuckle into your ear as he whispers, “Yeah? You like it when I touch you like this?”

You dig your nails into the side of his thigh, making him hiss. “Careful, Min.”

“With you? Always.”

It’s a comment that is too sentimental for the moment. You tilt your head to the side, catching his eyes. They’re dark as ever and he flicks between looking at your eyes and your lips, dragging back and forth as he loses focus on which he wants to pay more attention to. Your lips twitch as you look away and settle into him, relaxing enough to let your head lay back on his shoulder just a little.

This is safe. You know it is. Taehyung doesn’t even have the mind to tease you for sitting on Yoongi’s lap, instead putting on your favorite song, turning in his seat to scream lyrics at you while you laugh in Yoongi’s arms. 

You hold your hand out to him, the invisible microphone at the ready and Taehyung grips your wrist, singing like his heart depends on it. You feel Yoongi laughing behind you with the rest of the car, and it’s nice.

You somehow manage to survive the ride back to the house, even with Yoongi sneaking squeezes of your ass and thighs in.

The first car is already unloaded and making chaos in the living room. You waver in the foyer, hesitant to enter the space where you know an awkward encounter is looming.

Taehyung notices you first and pats you on the back. “Maybe he doesn’t remember you falling asleep while he was face deep in your pussy.”

Yoongi overhears him and turns to you, frowning. “What?”

Taehyung realizes his mistake. “Wow I really need some tequila, goodbye!” 

You feel hot in the face. Not because it’s Yoongi and not because of the alcohol, but because you feel bad telling people. 

“Please don’t say anything,” you murmur to Yoongi as you walk toward the living room. “The last time we were all here, Myers and I were hooking up but I was really drunk and I wasn’t super into it and I fell asleep.”

Yoongi doesn’t laugh. His first move is to grab your wrist and stop you, pulling you back into the foyer as people pass you. His eyebrows are bunched together and you’d think his pout was adorable if he didn’t look so serious.

“He stopped when that happened, right?”

You’re bewildered. “Yeah,” you answer. “Pretty much right when he noticed. I woke up because he was making a lot of noise getting dressed. It was so awkward.”

“He didn’t do anything, right?”

“What? Yoongi, no. Myers was a gentleman, if not a little embarrassed. He didn’t do anything like that, I’m sorry. I realize how that sounded.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief and blinks slowly. “Sorry. Um. I got nervous.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate that. But Myers is a good guy- really. He’s just bad at oral.”

“Oh?” Yoongi leers at you then, taking a step forward so you’re looking up at him, blinking with your lips slightly parted as he lowers his voice even further. “Doesn’t know that you like that pretty little hole finger-fucked while you have your clit sucked?”

“Yoongi…”

“Doesn’t know how tight your cunt get right before you’re about to cream?”

“Yoongi,” you warn again, dizzy-drunk on his filthy mouth. 

He steps back toward the stairs. He flicks his head at them. “You know where you’ll find me.”

It takes you an hour of fighting with yourself to decide what you want to do. You’re coming down from your buzz and the world is screaming loud at the edges. Seeing Myers was both just as awkward and not as terrible as you expect- he just offers a nod of the head and nothing more.

You’re on your sixth round of debating whether you should go spend time with Yoongi, knowing where it’s going to go. Knowing that you shouldn’t. 

But you’re a hypocrite. Your friends are both within and without- some have retired for the night and some are in different parts of the house. As your eyes search the room for Ren, nearly breaking to ask her what to do, Jungkook finds you and beckons you.

“I have a wingman question to ask,” he whispers. You lean into the shadowy alcove as he blocks the main group of people from you. “You know I’m sort of into Ren.”

“You’re wearing her lipstick, babe.”

His hand shoots to his mouth and begins to scrub, making you laugh. “Whatever. I don’t have a room by myself, I share it with Jimin and Taehyung.”

“And Jimin wants to fuck Aria.”

“Yeah, and this isn’t college anymore. I have no interest in hooking up in a shared room.”

“Okay, well I don’t want to sleep in there either.”

His doe eyes are burning. “I know- the only people who have single rooms are Jin, Namjoon and Lydia and…” You already know the answer before he says, “Yoongi.”

“How is this me helping you?”

Jungkook dances back and forth on his feet, nearly whining as he quickly spits out the words, “Jin is definitely going to bang Suri.” You make a face and he rushes to say, “Sorry bad visual. But he’s not going to let me use his room. Can you ask Yoongi to sleep in your room since there are two beds and I really need one?”

“You’re coming with me to ask him.”

Even though he protests, Jungkook does. You both wander to the third floor and knock on the door. When there’s no answer, you find Yoongi smoking on the balcony. He brightens when he sees you step outside, but you give a quick shake of your head and announce, “Jungkook has a favor to ask.”

Quickly, Jungkook gets through his narrative of how he wants to get laid- needs to get laid. He drops so many ‘please Yoongi’s’ and ‘I will do anything’ that Yoongi raises his brows. It’s not without a soft tease and making Jungkook swear to wash every sheet and towel in the morning.

“No favors needed,” Yoongi says, eyes sliding you. “You’ve done plenty.”

Every step toward your room is fueled by a pounding heart. Ren is in your room and Yoongi announces that there is a gift waiting for her on the third floor of the house, second door to the right. She is flame red and clearing her throat, struggling to figure out what to say.

“Relax,” Yoongi offers gently, giving her a disarming smile. “You’re both adults. If anyone makes it weird, you tell me. I’ll handle it.”

You can't help but wonder if he means that for you, too.

“Thank you,” Ren murmurs, ghosting past Yoongi and giving you a questioning look. You give her a shrug, playing it impassively. “Don’t snore, please. She struggles to sleep when people snore.”

Yoongi waits until Ren is out of the room with a soft click of the door before he says, “So. Are we sleeping?”

“What?”

“Kid, I’m teasing you. Of course you can go to sleep. No obligations here.” He notices how tense you are and he softens further. “Fuck, I’m really sorry, I thought you would laugh and I was hoping to take the edge off. Look, I can sleep on the couch-”

“You’re sleeping in here.”

He raises his brows at the firmness you use in your voice. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“

“I’m not uncomfortable. I am equal parts very nervous and very excited.”

“Excited?”

You blush and shift a bit on your feet, unsure whether to sit, stand, take your clothes off- anything. “I… yes. Nervous because…”

“Because…” he prompts.

“I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

He takes a few steps toward you as you look at your feet, hands wringing. Yoongi brushes his fingers across your face and tilts you to look at him. He’s so gentle that you want to fall into him and never stop falling. “You would never disappoint me if you’re not into it. That’s not- that’s not why I came in here.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I just… I totally lied to my friends today and didn’t tell them about last night, and it feels really stupid to be hiding this as an adult, especially when they know I’ve been pining over you.”

“Pining over me?”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to look him in the eye. “Please don’t think I am a giant loser when I say this.”

He shakes his head. “I would never.”

“Don’t be so sure,” you mutter but straighten. “I was always just a kid sister to you- I know you said earlier on the boat that maybe… maybe there were times you saw me in a different light. That’s cool- like really cool- but to my friends, it was like this forever crush that I never let go.”

He arches a brow but you push forward. “And I like the way you’re looking at me right now,” you admit. “But I also don’t want to make something out of nothing.”

“Okay, then I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?”

“We obviously need to talk. You’re saying things without really saying them, and I think there are some things I need to very blatantly say to you, I’ll even start with one now: I’m into you. Not casually. But actually in a very interested way.”

“Really?”

He laughs at your question, but it’s not condescending. “Yeah. So here’s the deal: we can sit down and talk right now and you can tell me what’s really making you feel insecure about what I’m telling you.”

“Or?”

“I can fuck you into that mattress the way I’ve wanted to do since you showed up yesterday, and we can talk after.”

“Oh.”

He takes a step closer and lowers his head, nose almost touching yours as he looks down at you. Your eyes zero in on his mouth and you become dizzy, remembering the feel of it.

An ache takes root deep inside you and you think about the words he muttered to you in the foyer. Doesn’t know that you like that pretty little hole finger-fucked while you have your clit sucked?

“Please,” you breathe.

You don’t need to tell him what you mean. You never have to tell Yoongi what you mean. He always knows.

 Kissing him changes the way you think about kissing. Before, it was something to initiate sexual encounters, or to express general fondness. But when he moves his mouth slowly against yours, taking his time to enjoy you and to smile into your mouth when he nips at you and you hum, you decide it’s more. It’s intimate, and it makes you feel closer to him. You tug at him, wanting him closer closer closer.

“Hold on,” he murmurs. “Locking the door.”

“Won’t that seem suspicious?” 

He walks to the door and flicks the lock. You sit on the edge of the bed, shivering. “No,” he murmurs, walking slowly toward you. You lean back on your palms, on display for him. “I’ll just say I didn’t want any drunk idiots wandering here and getting into your bed.”

“Oh? And you’re not a drunk idiot wandering into my bed?”

“Nope,” he grins. You open your legs and he slots himself between them, looking down at you while biting his lower lip. His blonde hair is styled back, a little loose from the sweat and his hands combing through it.  “I am sober and being invited.”

“Hmm.” 

Without warning, Yoongi drops down his knees. It’s so similar to the position you were in the night before. You’re in a trance as he grins a gummy smile at you, lifting your foot and working at the laces on your boot, fingers nimble. You fixate on them as he pulls one shoe off before working on the other.

“You know,” he observes. “I always loved that your style hasn’t changed.”

You frown. “I like to think it’s much better than in college.”

“I’ll give you that. But you’ve always dressed in what you like- even at a club you’re in these,” he flicks your boots. “I like it.”

“What else do you like?”

"You,” he mutters as he stands up. You follow your instinct, bringing your hands to run up his thighs, nails scratching him through his jeans. He makes an appreciative sound as you trace the outline of his hardening cock. Yoongi tilts his head back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as you continue to trace him through his jeans, applying more pressure as you near his tip.

With careful fingers, you pull at his belt, undoing it and working the zipper open. Yoongi watches, eyes focused and pupils slightly blown as you don’t pull his pants all the way down. Instead, you pull them down just below his cock, chewing on your lip as you take him in your hand, heavy and hard. 

You look up through your eyelashes at him and you give him a squeeze, gliding your hand down his shaft in a slow pump. Yoongi sighs, heads tilted back you slow-stroke him from the base of his shaft to his tip, running your thumb over the precum there teasingly. Yoongi hums, hips jerking slightly when you squeeze a little at the base.

“Why are you being a tease?” He asks, voice low and breathy. You’ve never heard him this shaky before. You rub your thighs together, watching the way his neck becomes flushed and his eyes keep fluttering. “You rubbing those pretty thighs together for friction? Does touching my cock make you wet?”

You nod, dazed. Yoongi grabs you gently by the jaw, urging you to lift your gaze back up to meet his. “Come on,” he says softly, smirking. “Want a taste?”

Fuck. You do.

You lean forward, tongue darting out to circle the sticky-head lazily. He lets out a loud sound and you grin, suckling his tip gently. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that.” 

Pulling off him with a pop, you sigh. “Fine,” pants off. 

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice, helping you pull him out of his jeans, cock swaying heavily. You can’t help but shake your head when you grasp him again, boldly licking him from base to tip, laving messily with the thick vein throbbing there. 

“Fuck,” you swear. “No wonder you kept fucking in public places, did you just want everyone to see your dick?”

He smirks. “Nah, just thought it was cool and thrilling.”

“Yeah?” You bat your lashes at him as you bring your lips slowly to the tip, sticking out your tongue to give a soft, kitten lick. “You liked being a little slut?”

Something between you changes then. A fire is lit in his eyes sparks and he pulls your head, yanking you away from his dick so that you’re straining your neck to look like him. “Careful, I might just fuck that throat of yours since I’m such a slut.”

You leaned up further, whispering, “What if I want you to?”

“Fuck yeah, you want to?” You nod, eager. “Start slow, baby. I’ll fuck your throat when I think you’re ready.”

So you start slow, gathering spit in your mouth before letting it drip onto his tip, glob sliding down the shaft, mouth chasing it eagerly. You swallow him down, cheeks hollow, tongue hungry, sucking slowly as you relax your throat.

It’s messy. You let yourself drool as you begin to take Yoongi further and further into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks with a gentle suck as you go. You’re careful to guard your teeth, letting your tongue run on the underside of his shaft as you bob your head, hand working in tandem with steady pressure and a gentle twist as you please the parts of him you can’t reach.

Divine sounds fall from his mouth as you work yourself into a faster pace. The sounds are obscene, filled with wet gurgles and a soft choke when you go down too far too quickly. Yoongi’s hips are twitching but he’s not thrusting. Yoongi’s hands cradle your head, watching as you come up for air, letting drool and strings of precum connect your mouth to his cock.

“Fuck yeah,” Yoongi growls. “Make it fucking messy so I can fuck myself deeper.”

“Mmmm. Want it.”

“Yeah? Greedy for my cock?” When you nod, Yoongi lets out a vial string of curses, shuffling back. “Lay on your back with your head hanging off the bed, baby.”

The nickname sends a shiver through you. You want to hear Yoongi call you that forever. 

You lay back on the bed, the top of your head slightly off the bed so Yoongi has a decent angle to slide into your throat easily. You watch his pretty hands stroke his even prettier cock and you let out a moan for him, enchanted by the way he pleases himself.

“Never knew you were so dirty,” Yoongi smirks. As if to make a point, you open up for him and stick your tongue out invitingly, a glint in your eye. “Whose the slut now?”

You watch him as he grips the base of his cock, your mouth open wide as he slowly pushes the tip into the heat of your mouth. He groans as he sinks further, sliding against your tongue, careful to ease his way into it. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” Yoongi whispers, setting a slow, shallow pace. You are careful to keep your jaw slack. Yoongi’s hands move to cradle the sides of your face gently, pads of his fingers applying the slightest pressure as he holds you in place. “You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”

You hum happily around him as he slowly picks up his pace. He’s careful not to plunge to the back of your throat, letting your spit pool in your mouth to lubricate him. “Tap my thigh if it’s too much, okay baby?” You give a tiny nod as Yoongi starts to fuck your mouth in earnest, you head tilted back to give him access to your throat. “Fuck, such a perfect mouth for me.”

Pleasure ripples through your spine. You feel like you can come from the sight of Yoongi losing himself in your mouth alone. You watch his thighs flex as he thrusts into your mouth, careful to breathe through your nose. His grip on you tightens but remains gentle as his cock kisses the back of your throat. You feel your throat constrict lightly, a soft gag sounding but nothing you can’t handle, your eyes smarting slightly.

Yoongi loses himself in your mouth, eyes closing as he throws his head back, letting out a deep moan. You love listening to him moan, the throaty pitch, and the humming.

As Yoongi pleases himself, you get lost in his movements, in the feel of the spit running down the spit of your face and the way his hands worship you, brushing away the spit and keeping you steady.

 Reaching over your head, you run your nails down Yoongi’s thighs. His muscles jump and he lets out that deep sound again.

Yoongi pulls out abruptly. You gasp for air, blinking at him. Tears track down your face as Yoongi massages your jaw briefly before bending down to steal a searing kiss from you, tongue tangled in the spit and precum in your mouth.

He parts from you, lips brushing lightly against your nose as he murmurs, “Wanna come in that messy pussy of yours.”

Yoongi rips his shirt up and over his head as you scramble to your knees, taking your shirt off. He grabs your hands as you reach for your bra, stopping you. You frown at him but he gets onto the bed, naked and beautiful, chest red from the blood flow running through him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling your face to his as he kisses you again.

Every time you kiss him it’s like doing it all over again for the first time. He explores the taste of you while his hands brush up your ribcage and to your back, pulling your bra off. Your heart flutters, realizing that he wants to undress you himself.

Yoongi’s movements are loving and methodical. His hands come back around as he deepens the kiss further, gently gripping your breasts and kneading softly, thumbs brushing over your pebbled nipples. You keen into his mouth, head tilting back slightly at the electric feel of him against your skin.

“Yeah?” he whispers, kissing down your exposed neck. He’s careful with his teeth, giving you more tongue and lips than bites. “Sensitive?”

You nod your head, looking down as Yoongi lowers himself, eyes looking up at you as he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. You clap a hand over your mouth as you let out a moan, eyes rolling back in your head as his laugh travels through you.

“These fucking tits are perfect,” he mutters, sticking out his tongue to flick teasingly over your bud before he draws a line with his tongue to your other peak, circling with his skilled tongue. “Honestly could suck these tits for hours,” he adds. As if to make his point, he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks hard. You’re shaking as he pulls away with a pop. “But I’m gonna bust if I don’t fuck you.”

“Please do,” you beg. You can’t remember ever begging for a man the way you are right now as Yoongi unbuttons your jeans. “Want your cock so fucking bad, Yoongi. Please.”

He helps you out of your jeans and kisses back up your stomach, between your breasts, and to your lips. “Mmm you ask so nicely, my sweet girl. Lay back for me.”

Later, you wonder if you’ll be embarrassed by how quickly you obey him, laying back on the bed. You watched him with a heated gaze as he leaves the bed for a moment, rooting around his jeans before you see the flash of the foil in his hands. He tosses it next to you and you frown.

“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’m gonna use it. Need to prep you, baby.”

“Want it now,” you whine.

“Hush,” he murmurs, leaning to steal a kiss while his hand brushes to stroke up your slit. You moan into his mouth as he circles your clit lazily, applying gentle pressure. “You’re so wet for me but I need to fuck you open a little. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He gives you a peck that is far too sweet for the way he presses a finger into your pussy, making you swear and arch into him. It’s not nearly enough as he strokes slowly, finger brushing right against your g-spot on the first few strokes. Yoongi senses you want more as you claw at the back of his neck, sliding in another finger.

You sigh, letting your eyes close as he worships your chest with his mouth, sucking and licking and peppering sweet kisses everywhere he can reach. All the while he fucks you open with his skilled fingers, making your hips roll in time with his wrist.

Yoongi makes you lightheaded, hitting just the right spot that you’re already reeling and toppling toward a terrifyingly quick release. Yoongi can feel you fluttering around him and he laughs before nibbling your ear. “Can you take a third?” You nod, even though you’re not sure. He rewards you with a kiss on the cheek and a soft, “Sweet girl.”

Three fingers are a lot. You make a sound and tighten slightly, and he slows his pace, letting you adjust. The burn begins to fade and you wiggle your hips. His grin is gummy as his wrist moves again, working you until your legs are wide open for him, begging for him.

Your first orgasm lingers just beyond you. For a moment, you think he’ll stop before it. Instead, he sits on his knees, bringing his other hand into play to circle your clit, ripping your orgasm right through you.

You turn your head and shout into a pillow as his hands guide you through it, gasping at how fucking good he makes you feel. You’re still trembling and blinking in a daze when he pulls his fingers from you, staring at you as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sticking out his togue to lick your cum off his glistening digits.

“Mmm. My favorite.”

You could pass out.

Yoongi reaches for the condom then and rips it with his teeth, eyes never leaving you as he rolls it over his  leaking tip. Just as the anxiety is about to sneak up on you, Yoongi murmurs, “Do you still want to do this?” You nod. “I need to hear you say it. We can stop now if you want and just go to sleep. You are completely in control.”

“Please,” you murmur again. “I want you. Like really fucking bad, Yoongi.”

Yoongi smiles, and it’s different from the others. You don’t know why, you just know that it is. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you realize you’re holding your breath as he carefully guides the his cock into you.

And fuck Yoongi is thick, his cock breaching you with tight pressure as he slowly slides in, eyes on you the entire time. He stops after he’s less than halfway in, murmuring, “Breathe for me.” So you do, taking a deep breath because it’s been a while, your walls stretching around him. “That’s it,” he nods. “Keep breathing.”

It’s hard to keep breathing. Not because it hurts, but because it’s Yoongi and his hands are on you and your hands are pulling him close as he bottoms out, moaning. He immediately cages you in, his closeness overwhelming and heady. 

Yoongi kisses you as he pulls all the way out before slamming back in, stealing your breath with how deep and targeted the stroke is. He does it again and again, fucking you into the mattress, each stroke slow but hard. 

“You feel like heaven,” he gasps, setting a pace. Your hands find purchase at the back of his neck, holding his mouth to your throat while you run your fingers through his hair. “Fuck that feels good.”

“You like your hair pulled, huh?” You gasp as he changes the angle, hands going under your ass to lift you. His cock hits deeper now, tip just kissing the edge of your cervix, and holy fuck. “Fuuuuck please keep fucking me like that.”

“Anything you ask,” he pants, doing exactly that.

You feel like he’s ripping you apart and making you back up as he fucks into you with purpose. It feels maddeningly good, and you can feel how fucking easily he’s bringing you to another orgasm.

Yoongi feels it too. “Mmm like that,” he breathes. You plant your feet on the bed, meeting him thrust for thrust. “You gonna come just like this?” You nod as your orgasm mounts. He laughs, the sound is breathy and dark. “Yeah, you fucking are.”

Words don’t exist when he fucks into you harder, chasing your second orgasm of the night. You start to squirm against him and you feel his cocky smile against your neck before he licks a strip up your throat, stopping just under your ear as he murmurs, “Play with your clit for me. Wanna feel you come so bad.”

You do as he says, dipping your hand between your sweaty bodies and circling your clit in tight, fast circles. You buck into him, the stimulation driving you toward what feels like madness. You’re gasping and you must nearly be screaming because Yoongi covers your mouth and whispers a string of words, begging you to come for him.

All at once, your orgasm hits. It’s stronger than the first and it lasts longer, and you’re babbling into Yoongi’s hands as your limbs lock and your feet dig into the bed. You’re panting as you come down from it, Yoongi’s hand leaving your mouth as you gasp for air.

Yoongi slows his pace, letting you catch your breath as he slowly fucks you, kissing your sweaty brow, your nose, your cheeks. Everything he does feels intimate.

“So pretty when you come,” he groans, catching your lips in a messy kiss. “Really want to see you ride me if you can. It’s okay if you’re tired-“

“Wanna,” you mumble. Your orgasm has left you a little dreamy and dazed, but your thighs aren’t trembling with exhaustion just yet.

Gently, Yoongi pulls out of you, condom shining with your cum. Your pussy is soaked and messy but you don’t care. Yoongi settles himself against the headboard, still panting lightly. He’s sweaty and sticky and you love the feel of him as you crawl into his lap, reaching behind you to grab his cock, slick and perfect for an easy glid.

Sinking down on him, you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders, feeling the muscles twitch. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in hard. You feel so much fuller with him under you and it’s divine.

Yoongi slaps your ass lightly, making you look down at him. He’s grinning as his hand soothes the stinging flesh. “Couldn’t help myself. I like your ass.”

“You like my tits too,” you observe, rolling your hips and letting yourself take on a natural motion.

The slide of his cock is leisurely and brilliant, earning appreciative sounds from Yoongi as his hands leave your ass to grip your tits. “Yeah,” he agrees, leaning forward to lavish a nipple with his tongue. “You’re absolutely right.”

Every nerve is lit up as he lavishes attention to your breasts as you roll your hips, grinding your cunt into his pubic bone. He gets distracted when you swivel your hips, lifting yourself lightly. You smile as he closes his eyes, letting you take control, lifting yourself up and down, pulling pretty sounds from his bitten lips and flushed throat.

Sweat beads on his chest, making your hands slip. He grabs your wrists, holding your hands against him as you press down on him for leverage to bounce. Yoongi is hissing and whispering your name, trembling.

“Just like that,” he gasps.

“Yeah?”

“Mm gonna come if you keep it up.”

“Good,” you huff. “Wanna see your face when you cum.”

“Kiss me,” he asks, voice deep.

So you do, pressing your chests together. He wraps his arms around you, locking you together as he plants his feet on the bed, fucking into you with abandon, mouths tangled. His brows are pinched and you’re momentarily fixated on his face. The button tip of his nose. The blush in his round cheeks. The soft curve of his eyes.

Min Yoongi is beautiful and your heart swells painfully.

“Fuck- gonna come.”

“Come on,” you whisper.

Yoongi thrusts into you and freezes, cocking twitching as he comes heavily. He hides his face in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His moan vibrates against you. You clutch at him, equally shaky and exhausted as he comes down from his high.

For a moment, you’re locked in a sweaty embrace, skin sticking to one another. Yoongi shifts slightly and presses a kiss to your mouth, short and sweet. You smile and gently untangle yourself from him. He’s careful as he gets up, tying the condom and heading to the trash before re-routing to the toilet.

“Good thinking,” you grunt. You can’t leave evidence. “Maybe open the windows.”

Yoongi chuckles and does exactly that as you lay on the bed, thighs quaking. You watch him lift the windows open, cool air entering immediately. He’s beautiful in the moonlight, carved from marble.

“C’mon,” he mumbles tiredly. You furrow your brow as he pulls at your limbs. “Shower.”

-

Washed and sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, you watch as Yoongi towels off his hair, throwing the damp towel into the laundry basket. You feel warm all over, watching him stretch like a cat, a small strip of skin visible just above his sweatpants when he moves.

The shower was innocent enough. You let Yoongi wash you off and place wet, open-mouth kisses on your shoulder, returning the favor. Even though you were chastised for wandering hands. You can’t help it. He’s addictive, even standing in the middle of the room with a gentle grin, looking at you.

“You’re cute,” he hums.

You look down at yourself. A pillow is tucked between your arms and legs, holding it for comfort as your nerves begin to spike at the thought of having any sort of emotional talk with Yoongi. You don’t know what you want to say, exactly. 

“Can I sit next to you?” he asks. “Or is that too close?”

“We were pretty close a few minutes ago, so yeah.”

He smiles. “I like to make sure.”

Yoongi sits down, the bed dipping with his weight. You angle yourself to face him lightly, taking a deep breath. He’s still tinted pink from the shower and the sex. He looks tired, though, and a little shy as he gives you a soft smile, matching your position and folding his legs.

“I feel like you need to hear things in explicits,” Yoongi says, making your heart kick up. “I liked you in college. Never made a move because I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I think I realized it that night your freshman year you picked us up from Union and it was us in the front, Jungkook and Jin in the back.” He smiles fondly. Your heart pounds listening to his confession as he continues, “And before you ask why now, it’s because I haven’t seen you in two years, and the thought of going another two more without doing something about how I felt seemed… depressing.”

Yoongi says it so easily. You stare at him as he watches you with a soft expression, waiting for you patiently. It’s difficult to wrap your head around. He likes you. Has for a while. All of those years you spent wondering what if had lingered right there, completely unseen by you. 

But he still hasn’t said what he wants out of this, or what he expects, and you’re unsure of what your next steps are. Years of seeing people date unofficially and never leave the talking stage makes you nervous. Trying to think of what to tell your brother makes you nervous. 

You chew on your lip. Yoongi pokes your knee lightly. “Say whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

“I just… so do you want to date me?”

He nods. “If it’s something you’re interested in.”

You could pass out from happiness, but instead, you push forward. “What about my brother? Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

“Of course it bothers me. I’ve had conversation at length with Seokjin about how he just wants the best for you. I know your brother trusts me implicitly, but I don’t know if he would think I’m what’s best for you.”

“Why? He loves you.”

“Nothing will ever be good enough in his eyes - he might get over that with someone else, but he might feel resistant at first that his friend wants to date his sister. I'll convince him, though. If that's what you want.”

“Really?”

He grins down at his lap. “Yeah. He’s going to want to throttle me at first,” he shrugs. “But what good is a best friend if you can’t have hard conversations?”

“What if he said no?”

“I’d tell him too bad. I want to keep fucking that throat of yours.”

You make an unpleasant noise and peel yourself from the bed, making to move to the other one. Yoongi laughs after you. “Don’t do that,” Yoongi mumbles, catching your hand and pulling you toward his bed. “I said I liked you. I’m not trying to pull a fast one. I said what I meant. This isn’t some stupid immature ploy to string you along. I’m an adult, and so is your brother, quite frankly.”

His hand is warm as he sits. He won’t let go, squeezing your hand lightly and making you look at him. You try to steady your heart- to take what he’s saying at face value. “You’ve spent a lot of time thinking I’m too cool for you,” Yoongi murmurs. He hits the nail on the head and you stare at him, mouth slightly agape. “And I’m sorry if I ever did something to encourage that way of thinking.” 

“It’s nothing you did. I just…”

He pulls you so that you’re standing in between his legs. He lifts your hands and puts them on his shoulders, you chew the inside of his cheek, tentatively meeting his eyes. “You don’t have to explain the way you feel. I understand.” 

“Stop being so nice.”

“You want me to be mean, huh?” he teases, leaning to nip at your wrist. You pout at him and he chuckles, hands gripping the back of your thighs and squeezing. He looks happy when he looks up at you. Really happy. “Would that make it easier on you? If I was mean.”

“Yes. You are painfully understanding. What’s a girl to do?” 

“Like I said. If this is something you’d be interested in… I can talk to Jin. Explain that I’d like to get to know you in a romantic setting. We’re all adults here, it’s going to bother him but surely not forever.” 

“Okay. Not… not this weekend though. I don’t want to ruin the entire weekend. I do like you, by the way,” you add, realizing he’s done most of the confessing. “I just… you were sort of this like... untouchable entity, in my head. Something that I was allowed to dream about but not have. It might take a little adjusting for me to not feel… I guess the word is timid?”

He kisses a wrist. “Okay. Come on, I’m cold and tired.”

“What if Ren comes back in the morning?”

Yoongi is already making space for you in the bed, pulling back the blankets for you. You tentatively climb into the bed, seeking the warmth of his side and the smell of vanilla soap on his skin. “Door is locked,” he mumbles. “But set an alarm if you want, I don’t care. Just get the fuck over here, sweet girl.” 

With a soft smile, you get in bed next to him. He’s quick to wrap arms around you, pulling you into his chest. Your eyes close immediately at his nearness, a thrill going through you when he hums tiredly and kisses you on the head once.

Intimacy like this is new. You’re not used to sharing a space like this, least of all with Yoongi. It makes you laugh, to think that had either of you just spoken up, you could have had this a little bit sooner. 

“What’s so funny?” It comes out half coherent and you open your eyes to peek at him. His eyes are barely open, but he’s watching you, eyes swimming. 

“You’re more affectionate than I imagined.” 

He nods. “Just wan’ be close,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut, breath fanning your forehead. “Tired.”

“Goodnight,” you murmur, getting brave and placing a quick kiss on his chin. He doesn’t open his eyes or reply, but his mouth twitches into a smile before his face smooths out, drifting. 

So you fall asleep. 

-

No one disturbs you in the morning. You forego the advice to set an alarm, trusting in the locked door to keep you safe. The entire house sleeps late into the morning, giving you time to be pulled from sleep slowly, blinking in confusion when you feel another person next to you before you remember it’s Yoongi snoring lightly behind you. 

Shifting slightly, you try to get out of bed. Yoongi makes a whiny noise, pulling you back to him. You giggle, turning to look at him over your shoulder. His face is puffy with sleep and his hair is sticking in different directions.

Adorable. 

“I have to pee,” you complain. He shrugs and pulls you to him tighter, back pressed against his front. “Yoooongi.”

“You’re warm.”

“I’ll be gone for a second.”

He pouts, eyes still closed but he lets you go. You smile all the way to the bathroom. It’s lucky that you go to the bathroom. The moment you begin washing your face, the door starts rattling to the room. Yoongi hollers that he’s got it, dragging himself to let Ren into the room before tossing himself on the bed that Ren once occupied.

Ren looks suspicious as she enters the room, her eyes dragging from where Yoongi looks like he’s gone right back asleep to you bent over the sink in sweatpants and a baggy shirt, faucet running. For a second, you stare. She knows. She knows she knows she knows. 

“Ew, why is the window open? It’s freezing in here,” Ren huffs, diving into your bed and wrapping herself in your sheets. You fight the urge to tell her bad idea but you bite your tongue. “Please don’t tell me you like the room as freezing as she does?”

“Ren, I let you fuck in my room, the least you could do is let me sleep in.”

Ren rolls her eyes and her attention focuses back on you as you finish washing your face. “Does he snore?”

“He does, when he sleeps at all. He’s a night owl.” 

“Right, so let me sleep now,” he protests. 

Sunlight filters into the room as you and Ren talk in hushed tones. Yoongi goes back to sleep, which is incredibly… normal. 

In the bathroom, you and Ren follow a simple skincare routine. She glances at the nest of blankets that Yoongi has created in her bed before she murmurs, “Thank you for last night. I know it was probably weird sleeping in the same room as him.”

Guilt trickles in. You think about telling her. You so badly want to tell her everything, to spill it out and hear her opinion. You scrub extra hard with your exfoliant as if you can grind the guilt out of you. 

Sighing, you lean down and wash your face. “It was fine,” you manage. “Yoongi practically lived at my house in high school. He slept there all the time. We used to eat midnight snacks in the kitchen together.”

Except you never had sex when Yoongi spent the night growing up. Even in college when he’d spend holidays there. That was a huge difference and you felt a dark, dark pit form in your stomach as you smiled at her, shrugging. Played it cool. 

“Still,” Ren sighs. “Wish it was different for you.

You glance at Yoongi. After the weekend. This hiding would be over in a few days, and Yoongi would talk to Seokjin about his feelings.

Only two more days of being a liar.

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Mixtape | Three | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: You've had a crush on Yoongi for most of your life. On a holiday trip to the cabin, you’re reunited with Yoongi after not seeing him from two years and things go less than according to plan.

☾ Word Count: 15,105

☾ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers/brother’s bff, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Explicit language, recreational drinking, light angst, light depictions of anxiety (not described in detail), lying to friends/ family, mentions of semi-toxic relationships in the past, mild jealousy, emotional conversations, references to memories of Taehyung coming out as bisexual (in the past), references to memories of Jimin struggling with an eating disorder (in the past/ not explicitly specified what kind), Big Brother Jin being over protective, some awkwardness between characters, sexually explicit content including: fingering/ clit play, body worship, nipple play, unprotected sex (pls don't do this guys), missionary, fluff!! like Yoongi and OC are so fluffy aldkajdlaj, implied future toxicity between women (sort of, Yoongi has an ex and it's hard ok)

☾ Published: May, 2022

☾ A/N: This was originally around 17k words, but I realized that the later parts of this chapter really deserved to be in chapter four (final). Thank you for being so patient with me as I wrote this one, as I was putting out some other content for Jungkook and Namjoon to celebrate some fun holidays (you can find those on my masterlist). There is a single chapter left to this and I promise I will tie up any and all loose ends. The next chapter is heavy with angst and a lot of hard convos - but you'll see what happens. I have no idea how I'm ever going to let this couple go because I really like them. Please let me know your thoughts - you guys have been so sweet with your comments and they just odl;aj;odajd make my day.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Sunlight streams into the kitchen. It’s warm when you pass the shaft of buttery light, heading to the pantry. Butter sizzles in a pan and Jungkook talks quietly to Yoongi, looming over his shoulder. Out in the living room, there’s a group of people watching some tennis match you don’t care about.

You spy your prize in the pantry, grabbing a bag of chips and popping it open.

Shoving a handful of chips in your mouth, you close the pantry with your hip, walking over to the plated sandwich Yoongi has just finished cutting for you. You tilt the open chip bag in his direction and he grabs a handful before returning to the stove to toast a sandwich as Jungkook whines behind him. 

Sitting on one of the stools at the island countertop, you kick your feet back and forth contentedly. You eye the plate next to you - it’s empty, but Yoongi has claimed it with his phone next to it. You grin slightly, looking down at your freshly toasted sandwich.

Seokjin breezes into the kitchen, eyes bouncing between the three of you. You’re about to bite into your sandwich when Seokjin says, “Good, just the people I wanted to talk to.”

You freeze. Your fingers pressed into the bread, leaving small indents. Yoongi looks over his shoulder, brows pulled together as he flips Jungkook’s sandwich. He knows, you think. Somehow he knows that you used Jungkook’s sexual needs to fit your own, and he’s about to come down hard on you.

Panic bubbles in your chest as you wipe your hands on your leggings, not caring about the chip grease. Your mind is reeling, wondering how to navigate the fight rapidly approaching. Seokjin and Yoongi aren’t physical people, but you’ve heard your brother yell on countless occasions.

“No more kicking Yoongi into my sister’s room, Jungkook.” He gives Seokjin a pout as the older one pulls a smoothie from the fridge. “You can take Yoongi’s room, and she can have mine. I’ll room with Yoongi.” 

“What? Why am I getting kicked out for the kid?”

“Because the kids want to fuck and I’m not having you room with my sister.”

Relief blooms, unfurling like a gentle blossom in your chest. You distract yourself with your sandwich, grinning to see Yoongi cut it into triangles, just the way you used to like it.

You take a bite of your sandwich. Your throat is dry and it goes down painfully, though it does taste delightful. “Why?” you ask after gulping down water. Yoongi shoots you a warning glance from the stove as he turns it off. “You’re fucking too- no offense, you’re too old to be doing that while Yoongi’s in the room.” 

“Point,” Yoongi agrees, plating Jungkook’s food before coming over and plating his own. He gives you a small smile before sitting down. Seokjin leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “Just stay in the single room, Jin. I can stomach sharing a room with your sister.”

“No.”

“Again,” you ask tentatively. “Why? It’s just Yoongi.”

Seokjin’s jaw works as his gaze bounces between you. Perhaps you’re being too forward. But the idea that you can just… share a room with Yoongi for the rest of the trip excites you. You wouldn’t have to hide nearly as much. 

“It’s weird. You shouldn’t be sharing a room with boys.”

“My roommate who identifies as a man is standing next to you. The one who is inhaling a sandwich,” you point to Jungkook, who has half the sandwich down his throat. He looks at you all, eyes wide, bacon hanging out of his mouth. “You do know I like, have sex, right? That I’m an adult who has experienced intercourse before?”

Seokjin claps his hands over his ears as Jungkook snorts around a mouthful of food. Yoongi heaves a sigh, eyes closed as he mumbles. “Never a normal meal with you two. Not once in over 15 years.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not a big deal. Yoongi and I are adults. He doesn’t seem very nefarious to me.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, turning his back on you to wash his glass. Yoongi kicks you underneath the counter and you growl at him. His eyes hold a warning as you shrug, grumbling into your sandwich as you take a bite. Jungkook’s dark eyes bounce between the two of you, chewing the entire time.

"It's weird to have my friend sleeping in my sisters room. Who knows what goes on in his head? He like's Naruto still, for fuck sake."

"This is ridiculous."

"And I'm the oldest in the house, so get over it."

The sound of chips crunching from Jungkook is the only thing you hear in the kitchen. You stare at your sandwich, no longer hungry. Yoongi watches you, chewing the inside of his cheek. Seokjin’s refusal to even let you share a room with Yoongi is everything you need to know about how he’d react if you told him what you’ve been doing with his best friend for two days.

“Are you gonna finish your sandwich?” Jungkok asks, eyes zeroing in on your plate. You roll your eyes and gesture toward it. “Thanks.” 

Sliding from the stool, you leave the kitchen. Yoongi murmurs your name but you ignore him, going out the back door and onto the porch. You feel your throat constrict as you storm toward the lake. More specifically, the dock where Taehyung is feeding fish with bread.

Taehyung watches you come down the dock, eyebrow raised as you stomp your way to him before throwing yourself down and sitting with your feet hovering over the water. Pieces of bread float and sink as the fish in the dark water dart after them. You have no idea why he’s feeding the fish at all, but you don’t ask.

Instead, you stare, kicking your feet back and forth. “This is usually the part where you ask if I want to talk about it.”

“Oh shit,” Taehyung mutters. “Yeah- do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Good talk.” 

“Maybe a little.”

“I’m all ears. Just me and the fish out here.”

You look up at him with a frown. His hair is held back by a bandana and he’s dressed in a sleeveless shirt you’re almost positive belongs to Jimin, and sweatpants. It’s a weird look, but ever the model, it works on him. 

“Why are you feeding the fish?”

“Fish are friends?”

Taehyung looks deadly serious so you move past it, looking out at the early afternoon sun as it stretches across the sky. “Jin is being a controlling alpha male again.”

Taehyung hums. “Heard Yoongi slept in your room last night.”

“There were some swaps, yeah. Look, I pretty much cockblock Jungkook when we’re at home and girls find out he has a female roommate. He and Ren have been painfully into one another since college. I didn’t want to do that again.”

“No, I get it.” He tosses some pieces of bread in the water. The fish bubble to the surface. You squeal and move your toes away from them. “I had to listen to Jimin fuck all night- it was gross. But you have to realize that it’s not about you as much as it’s about Yoongi.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jin isn’t stupid and he has to have noticed how Yoongi pines after you. He’s probably refusing to acknowledge it unless Yoongi does first. Yoongi has been staring at you with moon eyes the entire trip."

“I’ve never noticed Yoongi looking at me any differently.”

“Does it when you’re not looking. Jimin and I used to have a bet in college at parties how many times he would look at you.”

Your mouth twitches upward. “You guys never told me.”

“Was no point. You were never going to ask Jin about it and Yoongi was too afraid to ask you out.”

“Hey!” Jimin’s shout from the porch makes you and Taehyung turn around and look back toward the house. “Taehyung, that better not be the only gluten-free bread in the house that I bought for myself!”

Taehyung grins. “Like I said,” he comments, tossing the last slice from the loaf into the water. “I really hated listening to Jimin fuck all night.” 

-

Tossing his last bag on the bed, Yoongi sits down, watching as Seokjin shoves unfolded clothes into a drawer. He hasn’t changed much over the years- a little unorganized and forgetful, refusing to fold his clothes properly. Yoongi supposes that growing up the way he did, Seokjin never had a reason to fold his own clothes.

There was a time when Yoongi and his mother didn’t have money. He remembers his first childhood home- a matchbox apartment with one bedroom. His mom slept on the couch to give Yoongi a bedroom. He remembers countless stacks of CDs in his room for a Walkman gifted to him by a friend at school.

When his mom remarried, everything changed. Yoongi had material possessions at his fingertips. His stepdad bought him his first MP3 player. How could he tell him that he liked CDs because they were a physical display of the music he owned? A curated playlist on his shelves. How could he explain to this man who had changed their life “for the better” that he liked the way he could burn different songs to CDs. Curated mixtapes to his liking.

You were the only other person who seemed to like that Yoongi preferred CDs.

Yoongi remembers teaching you how while your brother was finishing his homework late one evening. Your parents weren’t home – they never were – and Yoongi’s were at some gala. He had the driver drop him off at your home, letting himself in. Seokjin waved from the couch and announced he was still finishing geometry.

That was fine. Yoongi could hear the piano music and followed it, a hypnotized soul. You always played like no one was listening, and that’s how he found you. He fished his CD player out, showing you the new mixtape he made. You liked it so much that he gave it to you, and when you asked how he made them, he pulled out his laptop to show you.

The thought of you makes Yoongi look at Seokjin, who is typing away on his phone. You and your brother have similar features, but there is an edge to Seokjin that is softened in your features. You and your brother have little in common, but Yoongi supposes you both have qualities that have always complimented his. 

“What was with the hard-ass performance for sharing a room with your sister?” Yoongi ventures, laying back on the bed. He picks up his phone to seem casual, scrolling through his social media feed. He grins when he sees a picture of you, Taehyung and Jimin smiling with tangled limbs out on the dock. “Kind of aggressive, even for you.”

“She doesn’t need to share a room with my friends- don’t want her sharing a room with Namjoon or Hobi either.”

“You don’t trust your friends?”

Seokjin puts down the phone, giving Yoongi an annoyed look. “What does it matter? I think it’s weird for my friends to share a sleeping and showering place with my sister.”

“And it’s not weird for Jungkook or Taehyung?”

Seokjin snorts. He tosses his phone on the bed and heads towards the shower. The shower Yoongi shared with you the night before. He’s asking Seokjin why he’s so uptight about you when deep down, Yoongi knows that he’s proved Seokjin right. 

He grinds his teeth, knowing he’s a hypocrite. 

“Please,” Seokjin scoffs. “They’ve never touched her. Maybe when they were teenagers and horny, but they have zero interest in her. No risk of breaking her heart.”

“And you think I would?” Seokjin frowns in confusion as he starts the shower and walks back to the room. “Break her heart, I mean.”

“Why does it matter? You weren't over Wen as of like two months ago, are you saying now you're switching gears and you're into my sister?"

Yoongi doesn't answer. Seokjin shrugs and walks back to the bathroom, shutting the door as Yoongi sighs, staring up at the ceiling. 

Peeling himself off the bed, Yoongi goes in search of other company. His conversation with Seokjin is disappointing. He had somewhat expected the response. Seokjin never takes Yoongi seriously when he broaches you as the topic. 

But hasn’t Yoongi always asked after you? Hasn’t he always had your best interest in mind where and when it was appropriate?

Yoongi is frustrated. He wants to talk to Seokjin and be honest with him. But there is fear there. Yoongi loves Seokjin like a brother. They’ve been through a lot, and he knows the intimate details of Yoongi’s struggles with adapting to his stepdad’s money and coming out in high school. 

There is no one else Yoongi finds himself being that honest with. Except maybe you, which in lies the problem.

Seeing you again after two years had been eye-opening. He’s seen you flourish from afar- posting your wins on social media. Tracking your adventures with Jungkook on your story. Seokjin was always the first person to brag about you, and he was always eager to answer Yoongi’s questions about your wellbeing. 

Yoongi always texted you on your birthdays. There were even some conversations sprinkled in over the years: have you heard this album yet? Hey what was that song you showed me?

There was even that one time you called him – called – to tell him you had just finished listening to his EP and you loved it. He remembers the soft shyness to your voice, the surprise that he answered your call so quickly.

Yoongi always answered your phone calls. And you always answered his, even saving him and your brother from a few drunk nights.

It’s nothing paramount. But it’s still important to Yoongi, the simplicity of your relationship.

Blowing out a sigh, Yoongi tries to let it go for the time being. Worrying about Seokjin moving you around the house isn’t the actual issue at hand.

To the west of the house is an in-gated pool area, a rock waterfall churning the water. Yoongi hears voices and music coming from the pool. He wanders down the steps of the porch toward the commotion, entering the gate to see a group in the pool. You’re sitting on the edge, feet in the water as you cheer on Ren taking down Lydia in a chicken fight. 

Yoongi smirks. Snatching a beer from the cooler, he trails over to the edge of the pool, sitting by you. He is careful to keep his shorts out of the water. He’s subtle as he asks for an update on the chicken fight tournament taking place.

“Ren and Jungkook are pretty much dominating,” you answer, not taking your eyes off the group in the pool. “Jimin and Mako are teamed up and they’re doing terribly.”

“Shocker.” 

Yoongi sips the beer and glances at you from the corner of his eye. You look radiant. Your face tilted toward the sun, the curve of your mouth supple and soft. He wants to dig his fingers in and pull you close. Yoongi’s attention snags on a little dragon tattoo he hasn’t noticed before and grins. It’s cute.

The sight of you, leaning back and eyes closed as you absorb the sun’s warmth makes Yoongi starve. 

Averting his eyes, he sips his beer in relative silence. Together, you watch the fighting in the pool. It’s peaceful. There’s no pressure to engage with you.

And that’s how it always has been with you. You’ve always brought Yoongi peace. When he wanted to escape the empty house and screaming thoughts, he could always plan on going over to your house and hanging out with Seokjin. Even if Seokjin was busy, you offered him the silence he needed. 

Even listening to music together, saying nothing. He remembers the way he could almost fall asleep as you lay on the floor together, sharing headphones. Remembers leaning against the doorway and listening to you play piano before he grew brave enough to come to sit next to you and play together. 

It makes him smile. You always thought Yoongi was the superior player, but the way you played in sweeping sounds of emotion was always his favorite. 

“Hey!” Jimin shouts at you, drawing Yoongi’s attention. “Get over here. Mako is worthless!” 

“I’m just the base!” Mako defends himself, clutching his chest. “You’re getting tackled by Ren every two seconds!”

You smile and Yoongi watches, hypnotized as you slide into the water. Mako flicks Jimin off and sits on the steps as you wade toward Jimin. A brief shadow flickers over Yoongi, drawing his attention upward as Namjoon shuffles next to him, sitting down and pointing the tip of his beer in Yoongi’s direction. Yoongi reciprocates before watching you climb onto Jimin’s shoulders. 

Water drips off of Namjoon as he comments, “They might actually have a chance if Jimin wasn’t going against Jungkook.”

Yoongi snorts. “Just be glad it’s not the roommates,” he mutters, gesturing toward you and Jungkook. “They fucked me up like three years ago.” 

“Fair,” Namjoon agrees.

They sit in silence for a while, watching as Jimin and you square off with Ren and Jungkook. His eyes are fixed on you, watching rivulets of water run down your flexing arms, the way you grit your teeth and squeeze your thighs around Jimin’s shoulders. 

Namjoon must notice that Yoongi is staring at you as you take down Ren after nearly lunging off of Jimin. He lightly elbows Yoongi and asks, “Why haven’t you two ever tried to be a thing?”

Yoongi doesn’t look at him. You break through the surface of the water, cackling like a madwoman as Jungkook immediately accuses you of cheating, the youngest frustrated. A heated debate ensues. No one can decide whether tackling should be allowed or not. 

“What do you mean?”

“Honestly? Always kind of thought you guys might end up as something.”

You’re on top of Jungkook, screaming at him as you shove him under the water. He breaks the surface, accusing you of attempted murder, which makes Yoongi grin, despite the way he sweats at Namjoon’s line of questioning.

“What makes you say that?”

“Yoongi, you look at her like no one else in the world exists. No one.”

Yoongi shrugs. “She’s Jin’s sister. That’s a hill to climb.”

Namjoon snorts and takes a swig from his beer. “If Jin doesn’t see the potential chemistry, he’s blind or deluding himself. My guess? He’s noticed, but he’s never going to say anything if you don’t.” Namjoon seems thoughtful while Yoongi watches quietly. He gives no sign that his heart is pounding. “Are you interested in her?”

“Yeah.” Honestly is Yoongi’s forte. There is nothing he’s trying to hide here. He doesn’t need to tell Namjoon how interested he is and to the level it’s gone, but he can be upfront about this. “For the reasons you mentioned. It’s easy with her.” 

Namjoon claps Yoongi on the shoulder. “I’ll keep that between us, but you should talk to Jin. It seems a little silly to not ask someone out just cause they're someone's sibling.” 

“I’ll think about it. Thanks, Joon.”

As Yoongi finishes his beer, he can’t help but worry that this is the last time he will be with his friends in a place like this after he tells Seokjin what he’s done. What he wants to do. 

Sighing, Yoongi gets up, needing to chase his melancholy elsewhere.

-

“Can you help me pick out a dress?” You turn to see Suri sticking her head into your room. Her dark, curled hair is held by clips. Her makeup glitters in the low light of your room as you nod, gesturing for her to join you. “Thanks, I feel like you have good taste.”

You grin. You don’t know her well, outside of the fact she is really hitting it off with your brother this trip. But she’s nice and way funnier than your brother, and she has to be a strong person to deal with his corny jokes. 

“Thanks,” you offer, sitting on the bed cross-legged. “Let’s see what the options are.”

Making small talk with Suri is easy as she tries on the different outfits. She works for an accounting firm- a manager, no less- and she and Mako are extremely close. You see a lot of yourself in their relationship, though it seems she didn’t remotely rely on Mako to raise her like you had with Seokjin. He’d been a glorified parent at times. 

“What is this song?” she asks, making a face that tells you she likes it.

You crack a smile. “Can’t Get Enough by J. Cole. Yoongi actually showed it to me- he has great taste in music. Not at all like Jin.”

“They’re pretty different, huh?”

“Very, but they have the most important thing in common: honesty and kindness. They’re both really nice.”

Suri’s lips twitched. “Is it weird if I tell you I actually really like Jin?”

“Not at all. Jin is one of my favorite people in the world. I know he’s my brother, but I mean that. He practically raised me.”

“That’s really nice. You grew up with Yoongi?”

You nod. “Taehyung and Jimin were always my best friends but yeah. I’ve known Yoongi forever.”

“Makes sense. You guys have way more in common than he and Jin.” Suri stands up and collects her things, thanking you one more time before adding, “Have you ever thought about dating Yoongi? Talk about a cute couple.”

Your smile doesn’t feel genuine and you shrug. “It’s Yoongi.” 

“Huh. Well, I’ll see you later.”

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling. Is it really possible that everyone under the roof of the Park cabin sees something between you and Yoongi? Could Seokjin really not get it?

Downstairs, everyone starts to gather to head out to the party at the Maxwell cabin. The twins are known for having insane parties and you cringe inwardly thinking about it. There are always too many people and you can’t recall a single one of the Maxwell parties not having a dramatic incident or a fight. 

You’re older, you think. Surely a bunch of people in their mid to late twenties, many of them pushing thirty can’t be that outrageous. You take a shot in the kitchen with Ren and the other girls, fidgeting with the strap on your lace bodysuit, which your brother is glaring about in the corner. 

“It’s a lot of skin,” he’d said when you walked into the room. 

The black lace doesn’t hide much. You at least aren’t showing your nipples, which you had mentioned to your brother are just nipples, but you can see the small dragon tattoo on your ribs. 

It doesn’t hurt that you love the way Yoongi looks at you when he walks into the room. He’s in a t-shirt and ripped jeans tucked into combat boots, his blonde hair styled messily. The black ink on his arms is stark against his white shirt, making you remember what it looks like next to your head when he’s-

A wine bottle appears in front of your face. Taehyung is holding it out to you while reaching back into the fridge. You take it from him, the cold bottle freezing your fingertips. “You wanted wine, didn’t you?” Taehyung asks when you glare at him.

You did. You’re not glaring because he’s making you carry the wine as much as you’re mad he interrupted your ogling of Yoongi, who looks ridiculously good. Yoongi, whose dark gaze hides nothing when he drags his eyes up and down your figure, brows raised. You smirk at him before turning away. 

Tonight is not a night of designated drivers. Someone calls an Uber for the trip to the Maxwells’ and you pile inside, hollering and shoving. You’re separated from Yoongi, unable to create the thrill of the night before. Instead, you’re stuck between Jimin complaining about his sunburn. You pout in mock sympathy, poking the red flesh until he shrieks, earning a loud complaint from Taehyung who has a hangover from day drinking already.

Up the road and higher among the pines, the Maxwell home is a little smaller than the Park cabin but just as luxurious. People are pouring in and out of the doors, making it feel like the entire resort town is inside the stone walls and high ceilings. 

You immediately pair up with Ren, suctioning to her side as you step into the loud interior. The wine bottle in your hand becomes a burden as you see people you grew up with who just flew in. The path to the kitchen triples in time as you say hello over and over again, stopping to tell people that you’re only there for the weekend because you have a job to go back to. 

The wine bottle is heavy and dripping with condensation by the time you get to the kitchen to find a cup. You and Taehyung snatch as many drinks as you can carry before finding a small area on the balcony. 

String lighting casts a warm glow in the chill air. There’s a small fire pit going on the porch, people surrounding, feet kicked up, and crowding the cushioned chairs. You wedge yourself in the corner, quickly sipping as much wine as you can manage to dull the edge of the party a little. Taehyung refills you before you’re halfway empty and you smile. 

Immediately the topic shifts to tomorrow. It’s your last day there and you haven’t remotely started to consider what that might mean. You haven’t talked to Yoongi about what happens next. The idea is terrifying

So you finish the cup, pointing it toward Taehyung who refills happily, commenting that you’ve got a wine mustache going. You scowl and wipe your hand over your mouth, trying to scrub the red stain from your lips. 

For a while, you don’t know where Yoongi is. You crane your head when you see Seokjin come out, but there’s no Yoongi in sight. 

When the wine bottle is done, you and Taehyung go in search of another. You find Yoongi in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and focused on the girl he’s talking to, realizing that he’s talking to Wendy, his ex-girlfriend. She looks a bit put out by whatever they’re talking about. 

You reroute to walk to the other side of the island counter, eager to avoid whatever that conversation is. Taehyung is next to you, rooting around the fridge as you go for the cabinet. He peers around before murmuring to you, “Well that’s awkward.”

“Why? They can’t be civil?”

“Of course they can, but she looks a little pissy.”

“Well, let them sort it out without judgment, yeah?”

Taehyung finds a bottle and holds it up to you. You hold up the dark red you found and he gives you a thumbs up. Wine tucked under your arm, you’re both pinned against the counter as a group of finance men walks by, arguing about bitcoin as they go. 

“I mean, it sort of sounded like they were having problems recently and he was stressed about seeing her, but then you got here and he seems fine.” 

“Do we need extra cups?”

You don’t dare take another look over the counter as you escape the kitchen, wanting no part in whatever dance the ex lovers are having. Instead, you hide out on the porch, tucked between your friends and fighting the urge to glance through the windows to see if they’ve left the kitchen.

With a strong gulp, you mull it over. You don’t think that Yoongi still likes Wendy, regardles of Taehyung’s implications that they’re still having problems despite being broken up. But the more wine you drink, the more insecure you feel. They’d dated for a while, and though Yoongi said he liked you in college, he had liked her more recently. 

It gets too cold to stand around outside, everyon rushing to the warmth of the interior busting at the seems with people and loud music. 

The living room is no better for your drunken thoughts. Wendy and Yoongi were sitting on the couch chatting, Seokjin on the arm with his arm looped around Suri. A hot flash of want burns through you like a fiery whip. You wanted to sit on the couch with Yoongi while your brother chats with his newest crush. You want to be able to enjoy their company together - in harmony, without fear. 

It feels hot in the room, your buzz making you rattled and a little slow. Suddenly going back outside in the cold air feels like a good idea, your heavy head swiveling back and forth as you look for the porch door again. 

Ren laces her fingers with yours and squeezes. “You okay?”

“Buzzed,” you murmur, eyes scanning the crowd before they settle on Yoongi again, who is looking right at you. You swear they get darker. He beckons you over with a tilt of his head, but you shake your head. “A little hot and overwhelmed.”

“Want to get some air?” 

“Yeah.” 

Pivoting, you and Ren weave your way out through the sliding glass door to the porch. It’s still loud, so you venture further, finding a few lawn chairs near tiki torches. You can smell the pine, the fresh scent calming as you settle, sipping your wine. 

“So Jungkook,” you venture with a smile. “I have to be honest, whatever it is, it makes me happy to see you happy.”

Ren’s smile is blush-filled and large. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, crossing her legs in her seat as she nods. “I mean, we always sort’ve…”

“I know.”

“We’re not sure how to work it out yet, but we’ve both agreed it goes beyond this weekend.” Your smile grows. She is thrumming with excitement and you reach a hand over, squeezing her knee. “He makes me happy. I think I make him happy too. And I want to visit you more.”

“That is always welcome. I think it would be good for Jungkook. He hasn’t had a real chance at a relationship. He’s too shy, you know?” 

“Yeah.” Ren sighs happily, looking at you. “Do you want to talk about how weird it is that Wendy’s here?”

“Not weird at all. She has the same friends that we do. She’s very nice.”

“Didn’t Jin hate her?”

“Jin doesn’t hate anyone. He hated how stressed-out Yoongi was when they dated. But let’s be honest, Yoongi can be a little difficult. Especially for people like Wendy. She likes big gestures and a lot of communication.” You shake your head, smiling ruefully. “That isn’t Yoongi.”

“I guess. I always thought he liked her more than the other way around.”

“I think so,” you admit, even though it’s like scraping your throat with a razor. “But Yoongi shows his affections in other ways. Like he isn’t going to put flowers all over the house for Valentine’s Day. Instead, he’s going to get you a subscription box to something you enjoy and make you set up one day a month just for self care. Or he’s going to replace the squeaky wheel on your computer chair that makes virtual meetings suck and take you to your favorite place to eat.” 

Ren watches you. You sip your wine, though you barely taste it. Your eyes unfocus, wondering what it would be like to be in a relationship with Yoongi. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Ren murmurs. You look at her and her brows are pulled together. “Not with me. Not with no one else around. It’s okay if you still like him a little and feel a little meh about it.”

Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the emotional turmoil you have swirling inside of you about what to do with Yoongi, but you nod and you feel your gut twist.

“I’ve just always wondered, you know?” Ren nods, listening. “What it would have been like had he given me the time of day back then.” And not right now, in the middle of a four-day trip, you don’t say.

“I know. I’m sorry you feel like you’ve lost time with him, or that you’ve lost what could have been.” 

You smile and shrug. “Bleh, enough. I feel gross talking about this.” 

Inside, you don’t see Yoongi or Wendy. You try not to let it eat away at you, but it does anyway. After completely failing to get into watching Jimin and Jungkook play a beer pong match, you wander upstairs, trying to find an escape from all the noise. 

There is definitely an argument going on in the kitchen and there is a line of people at the downstairs bathroom, claiming one of the finance guys from the kitchen is vomiting his life away after a handful of beers, his wife patting his back. 

It’s quiet upstairs. A door opens as you pass it, startling you. Yoongi blinks in surprise before giving you a wide smile. You divert your eyes and continue walking, mumbling, “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Where are you going?”

“A little loud and overwhelming, just looking for some quiet.”

“There’s a spare room up by the loft Jin and I stayed in once. No one ever goes up there, so it’s quiet.” 

“Thanks, I’ll go look for it.”

Yoongi appears next to you as you start up the stairs. “I can just go with you.”

“Um,” you hesitate. You want to push him away, though you don’t really know why. “You don’t have to, it’s totally fine.” 

You start up the stairs, hurrying. You think he’s going to leave and say some sort of departure, but you hear his footsteps come up behind you as you reach the top. He instructs, “To the left and through the bathroom.”

Following his navigation, you try not to let your hands shake. He’s still close behind, the faint smell of his sandalwood cologne chasing you. It makes you dizzy as you step into a tiny bedroom with stairs leading to an attic-turned loft.

It’s quiet up here. You don’t want to look at Yoongi so you pretend to explore the room, trying to steady your breathing. 

“What are you doing?” Yoongi’s voice is low. He sounds frustrated, or something similar, so you don’t look at him, instead choosing to appreciate a painting on the wall. “Sweet girl.” 

You glance at him quickly. He’s leaning against the wall next to the door, hands crossed over his chest. That stupid tattoo you love so much is on display. For some reason you get irritated, your drunk mind sluggish and irritable as you demand, “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

His eyes are dark as he raises his brows. “Honesty, please. What’s bothering you?”

“Umm.” You don’t know where to start. So you say, “I don’t really know.”

“Was it because I was talking to Wen?” 

“Yes and no. Because you can talk to whoever you want and I’m really sorry if my being a little bothered seems immature. I just…”

“Are you jealous?”

“I don’t know if that’s the right word for it,” you murmur. You keep the space between you. He pushes off the wall and gives you a soft smile.

He sits on the bed and pats it. When you hesitate, he gives you a look. “Kid,” he warns. “Come on. Explain it to me. No judgment. I don’t think your feelings are stupid and I don’t think less of you.” 

Fuck. You melt. You sit next to him on the bed and he lifts his hand, reaching for yours before he pauses, “Can I hold your hand? I think it helps when trying to talk about feelings.”

You smile. “You used to do that when you and Jin would fight.” He takes your hand. “I always thought that was a sweet gesture.”

“My mom likes to do it when we argue. It makes her feel more connected to me. It stuck.”

“I like your mom. She makes really good sugar cookies.”

“Come have her teach you. She’d have you any time.” 

You look up at him for any indication he’s kidding. You don’t see deception, just charcoal dark eyes with darker lashes. His face is round and soft, completely open. “I was a little jealous. But not because you were giving her attention and not me. I wasn’t literally jealous of her, I was just thinking how nice it would be to be able to show you affection in front of people, I guess.”

He squeezes your hand to keep you going. So you do. “Wendy is nice. I guess I just thought it must be really nice to know you as a romantic partner. Someone not afraid to hold your hand in public or say the wrong thing. I don’t know, I feel stupid. I know you guys are broken up and this isn’t some weird need to feel affirmation. I just hate lying to Jin.”

“Don’t. Your feelings aren’t stupid, and they’re totally fair Do you want me to talk to Jin tonight? I can, I just-”

“No! No. I’m so nervous that I’m going to ruin your relationship and I really don’t want to do that. I just feel stuck.” 

“We don’t have to do anything. If you feel pressured or like this is all on you, then I can stop. I’m not saying it wouldn’t suck to never explore dating you, but if it’s too much, if the risk is to great, we can be friends. We can be whatever you want to be. I just want you in whatever capacity yo’re comfortable with and that you want.”

You look at him sidelong. “Why are you so understanding?”

“I’m not always. Trust me. If this is something you want and something that works out, I can’t promise I’ll always get it. But I like to try.”

You laugh and shake your head, looking at your hands. His are much larger and yours. You still love the way his hands look, veins mapping their way from the fingers you know play piano better than anyone else to the wrist that is marked with ink from his favorite show. 

“Ask what you want to ask,” Yoongi murmurs. His thumb swipes back and forth across your hand. “I don’t have anything to hide from you.”

“Why did you and Wendy break up? You don’t have to tell me – and I’m not asking because I’m trying to outmaneuver her or something. I want to know because it’s part of you.”

Yoongi nods and sighs. “Things with Wendy were fine for the most part. But we have very different love languages. I thought I was telling her all of the ways that I loved her and she thought I wasn’t. It’s hard to overcome that.”

“But you’re so honest about your intentions.”

He gives you an amused glance. “I’ve learned from my mistakes. I was never this forward with Wendy, which was my failure in our relationship. She wasn’t perfect, either. She’s incredibly nice, but when she feels hurt or embarrassed, she can be incredibly cruel.”

“A defense mechanism?”

“Definitely. The more we fought and the more she thought I was rejecting her, the crueler the retaliation.” He heaves a sigh. “I think when she broke up with me, she did it because she thought that I would fight harder for her and make her feel wanted. I did the opposite and let her go, and that’s never sat well with her.”

“I’m sorry. For both of you, really. That she felt that was the only way to solve things and that you had trouble communicating. It sounds tough.”

“It was, but sometimes shit happens. People grow apart. Or together.”

It’s nice hearing him talk about Wendy respectfully. You don’t say anything, playing with his fingers as they rest in your lap. 

“Whatcha thinking, sweet girl?” His voice has dropped down a few octaves, soft and raspy. It’s like a whisper along your skin. You almost shiver. 

Biting your lip, you glance up at him. “That you should lock that door.” 

Yoongi’s smile is blinding. He gets up and kisses your hand, yanking you along. You complain and groan, but you love that he doesn’t want to be let go. 

Before you can get there, the handle turns on the door from the hall to the bathroom which acts as an entrance. Yoongi is faster than you are, pulling you from the view as someone enters the bathroom. He pulls the closet door open, spinning you both in and shuts it with a soft click.

Your heart pounds as Yoongi pulls you further into the mostly empty closet, eyes blind in the dark. He wraps a hand around your waist, tugging you to him as the other goes around your shoulder and across your chest, securing you to him entirely. 

Voices come through the other side of the door. Your heart rate picks up, a mix of terror and thrill being so close to Yoongi. His breath is hot against your ear, making goosebumps appear. 

“Your outfit is killing me by the way,” he whispers, so soft you almost can’t hear him over your heartbeat and the conversation in the other room. The hand on your hip squeezes, making you squirm. “You look delicious. Just want to sink my teeth in.” 

“Shut up,” you whisper. 

His laugh is soft. “When did you get the dragon tattoo? I missed that little easter egg last night.” 

“Two years ago.”

“Guess I’ll just have to be more thorough next time I have you, huh?”

Shuffling on the other side of the door makes you both fall silent. The closet is sweltering. Yoongi shuffles behind you and you hate how much you can smell him. You pray whoever is in the room is going to leave soon. You shift and knock your knee on the door, gasping.

Yoongi smacks his hand over your mouth and you wait in petrified silence.

Sweat drips down the back of your neck. Yoongi’s breath provides little relief, hot puffs heating your flushed skin further. His large, rough hands drift from covering your mouth to resting on your chin, fingers pressing gently into your jaw. Your heart thunders against your ribcage, a drum threatening to break. 

Soft sounds of laughter come from the other side of the door. The closet doors are tight enough that no light escapes. Soft murmurs- a female and male voice- reach your ears over the rattle of your heavy breathing.

Yoongi presses more solidly against your back. You feel all of him, strong chest, hammering heart, his hard on. You make a soft sound of surprise and feel more than hear Yoongi chuckle behind you, his fingers coming up to clamp over your mouth. You shiver in his arms, feel his lips next to the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Hush, sweet girl. You don’t want to get caught, do you?” 

A soft shake of your head. He hums, barely above a whisper as he nips the lobe of your ear lightly. Your eyes fluttered shut as he playfully sucks on a spot just below your ear, tongue licking over your neck. You’re going to die if he keeps this up. 

The sound of Seokjin’s name catches your attention, making you go straight. Yoongi goes rigid behind you, both of you holding your breath as the sounds on the other side of the door turn distinctively sensual. 

“Jin…”

With horror, you turn to look at Yoongi. You can’t see him in the pitch black of the closet, but the stillness of his movements is all you needed to know he is as startled as you are. The silence stretches out before the distinctly carnal sounds make you squirm. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you pray it isn’t real. But it is. You’re absolutely stuck in a closet with your brother’s best friend while said brother is hooking up on the other side of the door. 

Panic begins to eat at you. You clamp your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to make a sound and get caught, but neither can you stomach listening to your brother doing anything remotely sexual.

Yoongi senses your distress. You feel him rooting around his pockets for something as you press your palms further on your ears. His hands come up to pull your fists away from your ears. You only hear a blip of sound before he’s tucking something hard into your ears.

Connected, a female, automated voice announces.

Yoongi’s phone lights up the closet. You turn around in his arms, the blue light making him look heavenly. You watch as he taps on his phone before soft music plays through the headphones. You recognize LL Cool J’s Hey Lover immediately, a smile fighting on your face. Yoongi’s pink lips smirk.

Carefully, he gestures for you to sit horizontally with your back against the side of the closet. He helps guide you until your back is pressed against the drywall, feet pointed towards where he very slowly, and very delicately sits. You’re lucky it’s a walk-in with enough room to do this.

You’re toe to toe with Yoongi, the only light from his dimmed phone screen as he curates a playlist for you. He’s careful not to turn the music too loud for risk of them hearing it through the two earpieces, but it’s loud enough that you can’t hear much else.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to care about Jin’s sounds on the other side. You send him a questioning look and he smiles softly, shrugging.

An unfamiliar song comes on. You fish your phone from your pocket. It’s past midnight. Your eyes burn with the light from your phone.

Me: What song is this?

Min Yoongi: Mine. It's a work in progress. I knew you would like it.

Me: It’s smooth.

Me: I should change your name in my phone. It’s so formal.

You can see him smile from across the closet when he reads it. His dark eyes glance up at yours before he types his response. He chews those soft pink lips of his. The ones that hypnotize you. You could get by the rest of your life just kissing Min Yoongi.

Min Yoongi: Something sexier?

Me: I was thinking more like Kitten. You have kitty eyes

Min Yoongi: First you call me cute, now you’re calling me kitten. You’re ruining my brand as a growing hip-hop artist.

Me: I think there is a new marketing idea here. Have you considered changing your stage name? Yung Kitten. Agust Kitten. Da Kitten. Kitten D?

Yoongi shakes silently with laughter on the other side of the closet, covering his face with amusement. You chew your lip as the song melts into a familiar song by the Fugees. He looks so soft and pink in the dark of the closet, a cherub. You love the way he blushes, contrasting with the dark confidence he carries around.

It makes you think of a name.

Me: I’ve got it. Pink Kitten.

Pink Kitten 😻: Why pink?

Me: Like when you blush. It’s sweet. I love the way you look when you blush. It’s soft and you’re not nearly as intimidating as usual.

Pink Kitten 😻: I’m intimidating?

Me: Not now that I’ve seen you naked.

Yoongi nudges your feet lightly in the closet. You look up at him and he’s giving you a narrow eye look. You click your phone to screenshot his new contact info, shooting it over to him. You see him lean his head back and squeeze his eyes shut in a silent groan, but he’s smiling. It’s your favorite kind, the gummy one that reveals his true pleasure. So you smile too, chewing your lip.

Pink Kitten 😻: Cute, Sweet Girl.

He shoots back your contact info and you gush internally, sick with the cheesiness of your new contact name. 

Sweet Girl 🧁

Me: Min Yoongi, are you…. Are you a simp?

His grin as he types lights up the closet more than his phone.

Pink Kitten 😻: Yes. Yes I am.

You sigh softly, leaning against the wall. He grins and tucks his phone against his chest. Kendrick Lamar crossfades into your ears. You close your eyes, letting yourself relax as Yoongi controls the music. Controls the anxiety. Let’s you escape this night without having to hear the sexual adventures of your brother.

-

Gentle hands bring you back from sleep. You blink your eyes up at Yoongi, who offers a sleepy smile. You let him pull you to your feet and careful out of the closet. You don’t dare to look at the bed as Yoongi guide you through the bathroom, fingers linked. It’s quiet upstairs, but you can hear the party downstairs still.

In the hall, Yoongi lets go of your hand. You hate it, but you get it. Carefully, you take out the headphones, handing them over.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hovering close to him. “You’ve saved me a horrible memory.”

Yoongi grins as he takes them, fingers brushing over yours. “Anything for you.”

The words make your heart flip. 

Yoongi catches your hand again and tugs you to him. You hum in delight when he kisses you. It’s sweet and close-lipped, but you like it all the same. He holds you there for a moment, peppering a few more pecks on your lips before he lets you lean away, holding you by the waist.

Someone clearing their throat startles you.

Taehyung is standing at the top of the staircase, watching sheepishly. Your heart plummets as you try to step away from Yoongi. Surprisingly, Yoongi doesn’t let you wiggle away from him. His grip tightens, fingers firm as he holds you to him.

The warmth is gone from his face. There is cold steel as he regards Taehyung, his dark eyes pinning the younger man to where he’s standing. Taehyung fidgets, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot as his eyes dart back and forth.

Taehyung clears his throat, “You’ve been missing for a while and people started to notice. I slipped away to find you,” his eyes drift to you. “Perhaps Yoongi should go downstairs first for a bit. You and I can follow later?”

“Okay.”

Yoongi doesn’t let go. “Can I ask for your discretion until she’s ready to speak to her brother about this?” Yoongi’s voice is like ice. You’ve never heard him so severe as he gazes at Taehyung. He’s never so much as chastised Taehyung since the day he and Jimin got into your diary. You pinch Yoongi. “Please,” he softens, sighing heavily. “On her timeline. That’s all.”

Taehyung nods. “Of course. She’s my best friend.” He looks a little hurt when he glances at you. You see it underneath the surprise and nervousness. “I would do anything for her.”

Yoongi nods. He surprises you again by kissing you on the temple before stepping away. He breezes past Taehyung, pausing and softening further as he bows his head and murmurs, “Thank you.”

Yoongi vanishes down the steps and silence presses between you and Taehyung. His hair is pushed back, eyes soft and searching. He says nothing, waiting for you to take the lead. You don’t know why, but the urge to cry hits you.

Instead, you sit on the floor of the hallway and pat the spot next to you. Taehyung follows without complaint, folding himself comfortably next to you. For a moment, you’re unsure how to navigate the conversation. Taehyung feels stiff next to you, unfamiliar.

Sighing, Taehyung relaxes and unfolds an arm, wrapping it around you. You melt into him, laying a head on your shoulder. In a whispered voice, you tell him everything. He listens without joking. There is no smugness, no judgment. He nods and hums at all of the right parts, asks gentle questions like: does it make you happy? What do you want?

Taehyung gives you so much grace that you finally let a single tear shed, wiping it away.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, the laughter finally entering his voice. “Don’t cry.”

“I just feel bad for lying,” you whisper. “But it’s not the right time, right?”

“I’m not one for encouraging lying but no, I don’t think there was a great time to drop that bomb on Jin.” You sigh in relief. “Can I say something?”

“Of course.”

His smile is soft. “It makes me happy that you’ve found each other.”

“What do you mean? I’ve known Yoongi forever.”

“Yeah, but it was insufferable to watch. I’m glad you’ve figured it out. It’s sweet. And I’m happy that he makes you feel happy.”

“It’s still new. He wants to date. Like for real.”

“Yoongi does everything with intention.” Taehyung jostles you. “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

Everything is painfully normal downstairs. Some of your group is gone, including Yoongi, having already gone back home. You collect Jimin, Mako and Hoseok before calling an uber to go back home.

Your phone vibrates in the car. Carefully, you take it out and bite your lip to hide your smile as Yoongi’s new name flashes across the screen. You open it after ensuring no one is looking over your shoulder.

Pink Kitten 😻: I’ve got snacks and blankets at the pool. Come visit.

You don’t rush. You change into something comfortable in your room, washing your face. When you begin your descent, you’re careful to ensure no one is around. The house is full of sleepers, all tucked away. You can hear Seokjin snoring away when you pass your old room.

Jungkook is the only one awake in the house. The lights are flickering from the movie room and you can catch a sliver of some anime you’re unfamiliar with. You only know it’s Jungkook from the foot hanging off the couch, toe socks and all.

You smile as you quietly let yourself outside. It’s cold out. The sound of the waterfall is a gentle lull as the lights in the flooring guide the way to the separate yard for the pool. On this side of the house, it’s all panels and no windows. Yoongi has chosen a good spot for privacy.

Music is barely audible over the roar of the waterfall. Yoongi is lounging on one of the cabanas, the curtains tied back, and dancing in their restraints from the breeze. He has a bundle of blankets and there are some chips on the side-table, held down by his phone.

Yoongi looks up when he hears you. The cabana bend is tilted upwards, propping him up. He’s freshly showered and in sweats and a t-shirt, looking impossibly cozy under the blankets. He pulls the covers back, leaving room for you.

“Is this a good idea?” you ask, hesitating at the edge of the cabana bed. “I already had to tell Taehyung everything.”

Yoongi shrugs. “All up to you. I don’t mind if people find out, but if you don’t feel comfortable, that’s okay. We can go inside.” You chew on your lip and Yoongi smiles. “I’m serious. If you want to go to bed, that’s okay.”

“I want to hang out,” you mumble. “I just feel like I’m testing my luck.”

“Everyone is asleep, but like I said. You tell me, sweet girl.”

You smile at the nickname. It has you slipping under the blanket and leaning into him. He smells clean and is warm, letting you snuggle into him. You love the pull he has on you, the way you feel magnetized in his presence. You close your eyes, listening as his phone shuffles through soft hip-hop songs.

It feels like you’re two kids laying on the floor at home again, listening to music. You can picture it in your mind’s eye, laying so close that your arms almost touch. You used to close your eyes and let Yoongi tell you the stories to the music, quoting interviews from the artists and memorizing material from the backs of CDs.

“Tell me about your work,” you whisper.

So he does. Yoongi tells you about the latest music that he’s working on. He has a full EP out- and he’s ridiculously popular online. He’s not famous yet. At least, not in the way the music world views celebrities and music, but people know him when they see him sometimes.

It’s hard to imagine Yoongi as anything but the boy you’ve always known. You’re unfamiliar with this performer side of Yoongi, this on-stage persona alien to you. Agust D. You’ve always viewed them as separate entities.

So you ask questions. You get to know the rapper, in theory. But it’s still Yoongi, especially when he goes in the cheeks when you compliment him. His stage persona is so different than the soft man next to you.

“I want to come to a show,” you admit. “I haven’t seen you perform since college.”

“I’ll fly you out. I’m not really doing any performances until the new single and album release, but I’d like you to come. Jin is always there, I’d like you there too.”

“Yeah?”

He grins. “Yeah. I’m surprised you never did anything with music. You were always so good at piano.”

“Not like you were, though. Plus, I really love the gaming world.” You smile at the stars. “I really like my job.”

“Good. There’s something to be said about liking jobs.”

You hum in agreement. You lean your head on his shoulder, watching the way he reaches over and pulls your hand up. He flips it over, tracing the lines on your palm. You zone out on the movement, watching him trace aimlessly.

“What happens if Jin is okay with us trying something romantically?” you ask gently. “You do music and I… can’t really move.”

He shrugs. “I can do what I do from anywhere in the world. I produce my own stuff, remember?”

“You’d do that?”

“If it works out? Yeah. I’m not saying I’d move tomorrow, but if things go smoothly… yeah, I’d move for you.”

You smile at him. “Wow. You’re that confident, huh?”

“With you? Yes.”

“Tomorrow is our last day here.” Yoongi nods. “Do you… do you know when you want to talk to him.”

“As soon as he and I get home, if that works for you.” You nod. “It might take a while for him to adjust, but your brother loves you. Loves me. It’ll be okay, whatever happens.”

You don’t know what to say. So instead of saying anything, you kiss him. He grins into your kiss, letting you lick into his mouth with greed and hunger. You pull at him, eager to get your hands on him and press him closer to you. 

Everything about Yoongi is consuming. His hands lift you lightly, letting you roll so that you’re perched in his lap, blanket pooling around your waist. It’s no longer cold as your fingers scratch through his blonde locks, pulling at the back of his neck to elicit pretty, soft moans.

It could be hours or minutes you spend kissing him. You rock your hips gently, lips swollen with spit. Yoongi’s hands dip below the waistband of your sweatpants to knead the flesh of your ass, making you breathy as he nibbles at your bottom lip.

“Want you,” you mutter, licking down the side of his neck. He sighs, breathy and needy. “Want you all the time.”

“You can have me whenever you want. I’m yours.”

Yoongi leans forward and makes you turn around and sit between his open legs. You furrow your brow, letting him press your back to his chest. He sees your pinched brows and presses a kiss there, smoothing it.

“Relax.” His voice is low, making you melt into him as he kisses your neck, careful not to suck and use his teeth. His hands trail under your shirt, brushing gently across your skin in large sweeping motions. It feels heavenly, having him touch you like this. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You already are,” you sigh as his wandering hands brush the undersides of your breasts.

Yoongi’s touch is soft and determined. He scratches lightly up and down your sides. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands worship your skin, palms skimming to cup your breasts firmly. His thumbs brush back and forth over your nipples and you let out a high-pitched sound. He smirks into your neck, nipping up to your ear.

“You make such pretty sounds.”

“Feels good,” you murmur.

Yoongi takes his time, teasing your nipples and ghosting his fingers to caress the skin above your sweatpants. He dips a hand in, his descent slow as he dips his fingers between your legs. He brushes the pad of his finger over your clit teasingly, making you whine, hips wiggling back and forth at the tiniest bit of stimulation. He laughs darkly, continuing to run his fingers up and down your wet cunt.

“I love how wet this pussy is,” he murmurs. “Can I take these pants off? Wanna fuck you with my fingers.”

“Yes,” you gasp.

Cool water mists from the waterfall as Yoongi helps you out of your sweatpants. You shiver as cold wind hits your bare pussy. Yoongi carefully places your feet on the outside of his, using his legs to keep you pried open. You rest against him, letting Yoongi’s hands come back to you with soft but hungry touches.

You arch back into him as he rubs lazy circles around your swollen clit with his right hand, spiking pleasure through you. His left hand caresses and skin he can reach, brushing your stomach, squeezing the meat of your thighs, flicking over your nipples.

You close your eyes, letting him play with you. He slides his hand down, fingers circling your entrance. The raw ache between your legs is unbearable and you reach back with a hand, grasping the back of his neck as you roll your hips, chasing his fingers.

“You love having this hole played with, huh?” You nod against him. He sinks a finger in your pussy, softly thrusting. It feels so good. “So fucking needy to be filled.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair. He grunts as you thrust into his hand, sliding another finger in to pick up the pace. Yoongi lets go of lavishing your nipples, sliding his other hand down to toy with your clit, working you in tandem, the squelch hidden by the waterfall.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Make a mess all over my fingers for me.”

An orgasm shakes through you, thighs shutting around his thrusting fingers. Yoongi presses butterfly kisses to your neck and jaw, sweet and light as he pulls his fingers out, whispering praise and gentle words as you come back down, breathing heavily. You turn your head to watch him bring his fingers to his mouth, giving you a sideways grin as he licks one, sucking it clean.

Without prompt, you open your mouth, pink tongue curling out. Yoongi raises his brows at you, fucked-out eyes glittering as he presses his fingers into your mouth. You taste yourself as you give a generous suck, tongue swirling around the digits, moaning around his fingers.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “C’mere.”

Yoongi kisses you then, tilting your head at a difficult angle, mouth swallowing you whole. You’d let Yoongi consume every part of you, eating and biting and licking until there’s nothing left. The kiss is sloppy, spit dripping down your chin a bit.

“Fuck, I could kiss you forever,” he pants, going back to your lips.

You mumble against his mouth when you say, “I love kissing you.”

He hums in delight, sucking your tongue into his mouth. You love the feel of it, the way he pays attention to what sounds you make, repeating his actions again and again to draw the noises from you, like he can’t get enough.

“Sit up so I can take these off,” he murmurs. You lean forward, giving Yoongi space to shuffle awkwardly behind you. You look over your shoulder at him for guidance and start to turn around when he shakes his head. “Ride me just the way you’re facing.”

You let out a moan, getting on your knees. You place them on either side of his trembling thighs, pausing as realization hits you. “Condom?”

“Ah fuck,” he snarls, grabbing the bed and white-knuckling it in frustration. “I can go find one. To be honest, I didn’t pack any – I stole the one from last night from Namjoon.”

“I don’t care if you don’t,” you pant, your pussy throbbing for him. Even though he’s made you come once, you’re shivering in the moonlight, panting for him. “I’m clean and you’re the first person I’ve been with in a year.”

“I’m clean,” he answers gently. “Haven’t since Wen. But we don’t have to, if this is about pleasing me.”

You hesitate. “I want to, but only if-“

“I want to,” he affirms. His hands twist in your shirt at the waste, his voice low. “God I want to. Where do you want me to come ?”

“Inside.”

He looks shocked. “Yeah?”

With a wicked smile, you nod. “On the pill.”

Yoongi grabs the base of his cock, running the tip against your folds. You sigh, letting him tease you for a second before he lines himself up. His hands are on your hips as he guides you, sinking down onto his thick, hot length.

You gasp as he fills you up. The angle is so so good and you’re nearly crying at how right Yoongi feels. For a moment, you sit in his lap, fully seated on his cock and panting. His hands have begun to trace your skin again, ghosting over the flesh under your shirt which is the only thing keeping you from freezing with the wet wind from the pool.

Leaning forward, you place your hands by Yoongi’s ankles, giving him a full view of your ass as you start to lift yourself up, feeling the wet glide and digging your nails into the cushions. His loud moan startles you, causing you to look over your shoulder as you fuck yourself onto his cock.

Yoongi’s head is tossed back, eyes close and red lips slightly parted. The moon illuminates his face and you watch in fascination as you swivel your hips, making him bite his already swollen lips. He looks so beautiful that you can’t stop watching. His micro-expressions are stunning, brows pinched, face flushed, lips twitching as you set a solid pace.

And at this angle, every time you sink onto his cock, you feel him brush that spot inside of you, sending you into a frenzy. You give up looking at Yoongi, head falling down as you work yourself, his hands squeezing your ass.

“Just like that,” he pants. “You fuck yourself so well on my cock, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

“Feels so fucking full.”

“Yeah? Your little cunt feels stuffed?”

“Yes- fuck Yoongi.” He plants his feet on the cabana bed and gently thrusts up into you, nearly knocking you over. “Please please please.”

Carefully, he tilts you back so that you’re laying against his chest, shirt sticky with sweat. It doesn’t matter that you both have shirts on. You can smell him and he’s warm and close, your eyes rolling back into your head as he fucks into you at the new angle, cock going deeper than before.

You’re careful to keep your feet planted on either side of him, legs trembling as your put your weight on pushing into his chest for support. Yoongi holds you under your thighs, fingers digging in hard as he focuses on fucking you slowly.

Turning your head, you mouth at his jaw. He shifts so one of his hands supports him as he picks up speed, doing all the work as he slams into you over and over again. It feels mind-numbingly good, your eyes fluttering shut, unable to stop as he continues. You can hear how wet you are, making his cock slide so perfectly.

“Gonna cooome-“ it comes out as a whine as you writhe against him, helpless to the way he makes you melt. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

You come around him, hand clamped over your mouth to stop you from screaming. You feel him slow, fucking you gently through your orgasm before you gasp, finally able to take in air again. You feel boneless as he pulls out of you. You make a sound of complaint, making him laugh.

“Give me a second,” he mumbles. “Wanna see your face.”

With gentle hands, Yoongi turns you around, laying you back on the cabana bed with your head facing the pool. He grabs his shirt and tosses it, revealing a flush chest with pink splotches. He tugs at your shirt and you let him pull it off, tossing it somewhere.

You shiver, whining. “Cold.”

“I got you,” he promises, leaning forward and kissing you gently. He slides into you slowly again, keeping his chest close and his arms caging you in from the wind. He shivers above you.

You wrap your legs and arms around him – trying to keep him close, trying to keep him warm. Yoongi’s pace is slower but deeper than before, kissing up and down your arms wrapped around him before pressing a kiss to your brow, your nose, your lips.

It feels different. You’re gasping as his cock reaches the deepest part of you, but it feels like Yoongi is right there too, reaching as far into you as he can, touching parts of you that you’ve always wanted him to experience, to see.

Yoongi brushes his nose against yours, eyes unfathomable as he kisses you again. “I will never get tired of this,” he admits with a groan, eyes fluttering shut slightly. “I don’t think I could ever tire of this feeling.”

“Me either,” you hiss as he works you toward another orgasm.

It’s the way Yoongi is fucking you. It’s the way he’s looking at you, like this is something new and he’s watching every single moment in front of him, determined to commit it to memory. His hands find yours, linking your fingers and squeezing as he picks up his pace again.

“Fucking made for me,” he grunts. “Your hands, your mouth- you. Fucking perfect.”

“Yes,” you gasp. You don’t know if you’re agreeing or telling him that you’re about to come again. Maybe it’s both. But the word tangles in your mouth, spilling out of you again and again. “Yes yes yes yes.”

This time, your orgasm is gentle but long, making you kick under him as it takes over. Yoongi grunts as he comes, panting into your neck. You hold him close to you, both of you trying to catch your breath, slick bodies stuck together.

Carefully, Yoongi pulls out of you and lays next to you, both of you upside down on the bed. He grabs his blanket and pulls it over you, the cool air quickly become too cold for your naked, damp body.

You curl into his chest, head tucked under his chin as he presses firm kisses to your hair. His arms cradle you and you feel sleepy, ready to drift off at any second. His warm voice brings you back to reality, “Take a few minutes, but we can’t sleep out here. No locked door.”

“Mmm. Don’t want to move.”

His laugh is deep. “I know, lazy girl. But we gotta.”

“Five minutes.”

He presses a sweet kiss to your brow. “Five minutes.”

-

You’re asleep almost immediately. Yoongi sighs, knowing he’s going to have to wake you. He takes the time to look at you- soft lashes against smooth skin, bruised lips from kissing. His fingers map the features of your face – cheekbones, brows, your lips.

Yoongi could get lost in you for eternity and never try to find his way out. He’d be a willing lost soul, as long as he could exist with you. As long as he could look at you like this, soft under the night in his arms.

He gives you ten minutes before he wakes you. You’re grumpy and your words are slurred and he’s never been more enchanted as you grab a shirt that is absolutely his. He tries to correct you but you smack his hands away, promising you won’t come out in the morning with it.

Yoongi smirks. What you’re not saying is that you want his shirt for yourself. He can see the tiny smile of victory when he relents, opting to go shirtless and wrap the blanket around himself when he helps you to your feet.

You’re a little worse for wear, but you’re with him, in his shirt. You smell like him. He immediately wants to fuck you again, but it’s reaching the early hours of the morning and he is already living recklessly, pushing his luck to the limit.

Yoongi knows that Taehyung won’t say anything. Years of friendship and secrets stitch you to the younger boys. They’re the keepers to the things no one else knows about you, and you’ve been their most vicious fighter for years. Yoongi knows that few things make you violent, but the way you love them turns even the nicest parts of you ruthless.

It startles him to realize he wants you to love him that way. With undisputed trust. With reckless abandon. Without a single thought to his intentions. He wants that kind of allegiance with you, forged with kindness. He wants you to be his champion, and he wants to store all of the little things you never tell anyone else. 

Linking his hand with yours, he quietly leads you back up to the house. He lets you part from him in the living room, giving him a sweet kiss before creeping up the stairs. Yoongi sees the light from the screen still on in the theater room, drawing him like a moth to the flame.

Jungkook is asleep inside the room, hand holding his squished face. With a whisper and soft hands, Yoongi coaxes Jungkook out of the room and up the stairs. Ren is fast asleep in her bed but she makes room with sleepy eyes and murmurs when Yoongi places Jungkook next to her.

Seokjin is still asleep when Yoongi presses himself in the doorway, careful not to let the handle click when he steps into the room. He goes to the bed he first fucked you in – he’s not sure that’s the right word for it. Fucking to him implies that there’s something detached from the body and intention.

Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s making love. But he does know that it’s more than he’s felt in a while.

In bed, he rolls over and plugs his phone in to charge. He frowns when he sees the screen light up, showing a text message from two hours earlier.

Wendy: Does Jin know? Saw u disappear with her for hours and come back down without. Didn’t take u for the type. U always said she was just a kid sister. Was that a lie too?

Yoongi locks his phone and swallows past the dry patch in his throat. Because while Wendy is nice and caring, Yoongi shot her down earlier that night. And if there is anything he knows about his ex, is that rejection and embarrassment make her vindictive.

Especially because it’s about you. How many times in their relationship did he have to assure her that you were a childhood friend? He had to talk her down from numerous fights after spending a holiday in your home. Or after catching up with Seokjin, where he would ask about you.

For the first three months of his relationship, Yoongi was barely allowed to talk about you. Wendy had known he was in love with you long before he had.

In love. Yoongi realizes he has now aligned you with the idea of being in love. With the implication that this feeling inside of him has existed for far longer than he cares to admit. He told you that it got harder for him in college, and while that’s partly true, it’s not the first moment he decided he liked you beyond just being a friend.

Yoongi remembers the day you were crying in your room because Jimin and Taehyung had been teasing you about something. He never asked what it was, and neither of the boys fessed up to what it had been. But you were there, in your bedroom with tears in your eyes and clutching something to your chest.

He had never wanted to tear the two of them apart more than he did right then. For a while, he thought maybe it was because you had a crush on one of them. He hated to admit he was… a little jealous.

Wendy had been right all along. Yoongi had felt something for you long before Wendy came around, and long after.

He runs a hand over his face. He decides to delete the message. Perhaps in the morning he will think he was a dream. But as he stares at the ceiling, Yoongi knows he’ll remember it. Knows that when he wakes up, he has to decide what to do.

Because Wendy has never let Yoongi lose a fight. Not when they were deciding where to eat, and not when she assured him that she didn’t want to end things. That Yoongi’s actions made her.

Sleep does not come for him that night.

-

The house is loud and chaotic early in the morning. You can hear Seokjin yelling from somewhere in the hall, asking Jungkook to help him in the kitchen for breakfast. Jimin is also somewhere screaming at Seokjin to shut up, earning several other voices from different bedrooms to stop being a nightmare.

You groan and tangle yourself tighter in your blankets. Your fingers press at your lips – they’re sore and you just know you’re going to need Chapstick and maybe some ice to hide the bruising.

Your door opens and closes, making you peek above the sheets. It’s Taehyung and Jimin, both looking like zombies as they crawl into your bed, shoving you to the side.

“Quieter up here,” Jimin mumbles. “Just need some sleep.”

“Okay.”

Taehyung pokes you and nods towards Jimin, eyes round. You know what he’s asking. You nod and tap your wrist, promising to tell Jimin later. Because while Taehyung will never tell Jimin your secret – he’s right.

The three of you are bound by more than just years spent together. There is a friendship deeply rooted and cutting Jimin out of this when Taehyung knows, no matter the circumstances of the discovery – it will wound him.

Everything you’ve ever experienced has been with them. They will always be your soulmates, the two of them.

You doze with them, tangled limbs and grunting when someone rolls over. It’s not until later that you’re blinking awake, Taehyung snoring with a foot hanging off the bed entirely. Jimin’s face is swollen with sleep as he lifts his head, looking around as though he has completely forgotten where he is.

“Can we talk?” you ask quietly. He raises his brows, nodding tiredly. “Let’s wash our faces. You look like a swollen dumpling.”

With the bathroom door closed as to not disturb Taehyung, you and Jimin go through a skincare routine together. The water is freezing on your face, waking you up. You bite your lip as you wait for him to scrub his face, washing away the swelling and the sleep from the night before.

“I don’t know how to start this, so I’m just going to say it: I hooked up with Yoongi.”

Jimin stops scrubbing, looking up at you in the mirror. His eyes are dark and bottomless as he watches you, leaned over, hands under the running water. He snorts once and mumbles, “Go on,” as he continues to wash his face.

You recount everything. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, you pick at the seams of your shirt- Yoongi’s shirt as you tell Jimin the details, sparing the sexual parts. He listens appropriately, smirking mostly throughout the story. You tell him about Taehyung stumbling on your brief kiss with Yoongi in the hall.

At the end of the story, Jimin towels off his face, walks over to you and presses a firm kiss to the crown of your head. “I won’t say anything until you’re ready. I’m not sure how Jin will take it, but I’m on your side. Always.”

“I don’t want there to be sides, Jimin.” You look up at him, eyes round. “I hate the idea that this could ruin their relationship but…”

“You want Yoongi. Always have.” He sits down next to you. “I think you deserve to go after what you want. You’ve sat from the sideline and admired him from afar for a long time. If Jin can’t understand that Yoongi might make you really happy… I’ll beat him up. Seriously, we’re adults.”

You roll your eyes and shove Jimin’s shoulder as he laughs. “On a serious note,” Jimin sighs. “I’m happy for you. I think Yoongi actually would be great for you. And I’m glad he’s so honest.”

“It’s nice,” you admit.

“Come on.” Jimin pulls you to your feet. “There’s breakfast downstairs.”

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Mixtape | Four (Finale) | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: You’ve had a crush on Yoongi for most of your life. On a holiday trip to the cabin, you’re reunited with Yoongi after not seeing him from two years and things go less than according to plan.

☾ Word Count: 12,798

☾ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers/brother’s bff, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Explicit language, implied age gap (three years), anxiety attack depictions, light depictions of self-deprecating thoughts, drinking alcohol, depictions of drinking and being drunk, petty squabbles between women, light depictions of depression and depressive thoughts, angst (not SUPER heavy but it's there) tough conversations with siblings, Jin is kind of mean and not super understanding, time skips, explicit sexual content including dirty talk, spitting, oral (f. receiving), missionary, forced orgasms, doggy, clit stimulation, light mentions of subspace-similar mindset post sex, fluff

☾ Published: May, 2022

☾ A/N: This is an absolute caffeine fueled writing binge. This chapter is not as long as I was expecting it to be - I edited it down a ton because while I was writing the angst, I started to feel like it wasn't true to the story. Our characters are all mostly mature and honestly, I felt like a very very drawn out fight was not the right move. So I re-wrote the scenes, and this is the result. Thank you for all the amazing people who left comments and read this little four part story. I hope that you found as much comfort in the friendships and Yoongi and reader as I did. I have no idea how to let these characters go, which means I will most likely write drabbles and mini stories here and there because I am feral for them. I hope this lives up to everyone's long awaited expectations!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Sweat beads on your neck, making your hair stick to you. The ache in your back and arms from hauling the cooler full of ice out to the porch is significant. Jimin had accidentally put the ice in the cooler before pulling it to the porch, meaning the pair of you had to haul it full of ice.

The entire house has been put to work with Seokjin at the lead, ordering people around with duties to prepare for the final night’s festivities. Despite the cool breeze outside, you’re sweaty an miserable, huffing and puffing by the time the cooler is in place.

“Why is Jin in charge?” you pant, collapsing on one of the lounge chairs on the porch. Jimin wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt, rolling his eyes. “Because he’s the oldest. That’s what he said this morning, anyway.” 

“It’s technically your party.”

“Is it, though?”

You grin. Seokjin always takes over for these things and though you poke fun and complain about him a little bit, you were all glad he takes on the pressure of party planning. He always makes sure to give people tasks that are suited to them, and it always makes things organized.

It is the only time Seokjin is organized. You can’t imagine how Yoongi is managing to share a room with your brother. Yoongi is meticulous with his laundry and organization of clothes while Seokjin tends to fold nothing before shoving it in drawers. 

Around lunch, Seokjin and Yoongi both come out to the porch to start grilling. Hungry mouths and rumbling stomachs fill the porch as you stand on a ladder, hanging lights that Jimin feeds you.

Though Jimin and Taehyung are now in on your secret, they don’t use the opportunity to poke fun at you or give you secret eyes when Yoongi hands you water. They behave as normal, jostling each other when the food is ready but relenting to let you grab a plate first. 

Everyone eats together on the porch. It’s loud but comfortable. You’re between Taehyung and Jungkook - the latter who steals fries from your plate. Glancing around at everyone, you can’t help but feel a pang. You love this group so much and have been through so much together. You hate that it’s your last day, wanting to stretch this time forever.

This time with them is so rare. You look down at your lap, chewing the corner of your lip. Your flight home tomorrow is early in the morning, and though you know you’re going back with good memories with your friends and a promise of something with Yoongi, you dread going home. 

Everyone lounges into the early afternoon. No one is eager to finish their tasks and afternoon naps become a disease Seokjin can no longer fight. Ren snaps a picture of Jungkook with his head in your lap, asleep. Taehyung is asleep on Jimin’s shoulder, who is asleep on the arm of the couch.

As the late afternoon creeps closer, everyone starts to shake off sleep and get ready. Yoongi catches you alone a single time as he passes you on the stairs, quick to steal a kiss on the cheek while he carries down wires and electrical strips for the DJ setup for him and Hoseok to take turns manning. 

Tossing yourself on the bed, you drift off to sleep, hoping that you can make the last of your night the best.

-

Music pulses from the ridiculously nice DJ setup Yoongi and Hoseok have made themselves. You weave through the living room toward the kitchen, having just come downstairs. There are people already crushed in the living room. Seokjin and Namjoon have carefully rearranged the furniture, pulling pieces into the theater room and locking the door. 

Your eyes slide up to where Yoongi and Hoseok are murmuring to one another over the music. Feeling your gaze, Yoongi’s eyes slide over to you. He’s in a loose button-up shirt, top buttons undone at the throat and tucked into his black jeans. His hair is styled back, a single loose lock of blonde hair brushing his brow.

You swallow thickly. He gives you a smug look and waves before you vanish into the kitchen. You spot Wendy out of the corner of your eye as she leans on the counter talking to Ren. You catch her eye for a moment and you smile out of instinct - it waivers immediately when she doesn’t return it.

With something like guilt and anxiety curling in your stomach, you root around the fridge, procuring the seltzers and beers you want. You feel Wendy’s gaze on you as you leave the kitchen and head toward your destination - he’s been your destination all weekend, but you try not to think about it too hard.

The music is louder by the speakers, vibrating your ribcage as you carefully navigate around the cords taped down to the wood flooring. You hand Hoseok a beer and he grins, kissing the top of your head and showering you in praise as you pass the other beer to Yoongi. His fingers brush yours meaningfully. 

“Thanks, kid.” 

You smile at the nickname and retreat, finding Taehyung at the beer pong table. You’re only there for seconds before Seokjin finds you. “Wanna wipe the floor with these fuckers?” he asks, sipping his beer and looking down at you. “Like old times.”

Your grin is feral. “Like old times,” you agree. 

Old times indeed. You and your brother slip into the muscle memory of your college years, working as a tag team to take down everyone else at the table. You’re cocky and you can be - you both have killer aim and when Seokjin sinks one in, elbowing you to hit the same cup before it can be taken away, you do. 

Jimin groans again, calling for a committee to ban siblings from the table. Even buzzed, you’re a better shot than he is, sticking your tongue out at him. 

Time passes. You’re not sure when Yoongi appears, but he blinks into existence on the other side of Seokjin, cat-eyes watching with muted interest as you work to clear the last of the cups of the pair you’re playing against. 

He whistles. “You two were always good at pong. Is there any betting going on?”

Seokjin claps Yoongi on the back, laughing loudly. “No one would take the bet, I’m afraid. Will you fill the space for me? I have to piss.” 

Yoongi nods. Seokjin switches spots with him, making a beeline for the stairs. Yoongi is casual as he bounces the ping pong ball in his hand. You’re enchanted as he catches it, rings glinting on his fingers. Across the table, there’s a group trying to figure out who had the next game. 

“What are you staring at, kid?”

Yoongi’s dark drawl brings your eyes to his. He’s smirking, eyes amused. He knows what you were staring at, but he loves when you confess to him. Loves to hear you admit it. You know this about him now so you answer, “Your hands.” 

“Remembering what they can do to you?”

“Something like that.” 

Together, you re-rack the cups. You don’t chat much, but you don’t feel the need to. Yoongi fills the space next to you wonderfully. He’s more accurate than your brother is, years of playing basketball in high school showing in his prowess.

You hate how the smallest things turn you on. 

Seokjin rejoins you at some point. Suri is next to him along with Mako, the trio cheering you on as you finish dominating the game. When Yoongi tries to give his space back to Seokjin, you’re surprised when your brother waves him off. He seems content to watch and jeer at others on the side.

You play a few rounds, adding water between your drinks as they begin to stack up. Eventually, you’re unseated by the Maxwell twins, who are arguably more in tune with one another than you and Yoongi are. It doesn’t entirely matter. You’re a little more than drunk, stumbling toward the wine cellar as Jimin hollers at you to get the Merlot. 

Skimming the racks in the dim, dry room, you hum the song you vaguely recognize coming through the shut door. Tapping your fingers along the bottles, you hear the door open and close behind you, feet shuffling down the stairs. 

“Jimin, I swear I won’t take the super expensive stuff, okay?”

A throaty chuckle behind you has you spinning. Yoongi walks down the aisle slowly. “Get the expensive shit,” he encourages. “Jimin’s parents won’t notice.”

“What’d you have to pay for the passcode?” You tease, disappearing in the next row.

You can hear his soft steps on the wooden floor as he follows you. You’re quick on your feet, ducking behind another rack of wine just as he comes around the corner. He groans. “Just the usual: my first child, a favor to fulfill at any time, swearing to never hurt you.”

“Hmm that’s a lot of promises for a wine room.”

“I didn’t want the wine room, I wanted what was inside of it.”

Yoongi beats you to an aisle, appearing at the end. You squeal and twist back, rushing through the room as he laughs loudly. “Where are you running off to, sweet girl?”

“If you want me you’ll catch me!”

You can’t help the giddy feeling thrumming through you. You rush down the farthest aisle of wine, trying to move as quietly as possible. As it turns out, it isn’t that quiet. Yoongi hears you and cuts you off on the jump, making you crash into him with a wild squeal.

Arms wrapped around you, he squeezes and hauls you upwards. Your feet leave the ground as he laughs, spinning you as you shriek and wiggle, trying to get away from him. He grunts before putting you unceremoniously on your feet, but not letting you go.

“You want to break your neck?” he asks as you spin in his arms. He’s only a little taller than you, but you don’t care. You grin up at him, wrapping your arms around his middle and hugging him closer. His breath smells like honied whiskey as he leans close to you. “I’d be really sad, kid.”

“Yeah? How sad.”

“Real sad. I would eat loads of Sour Patch Kids in your memory. Would watch Sailor Moon at least once a day. Would make a few playlists to cry to, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He grins as you huff. You press the underneath your chin against his chest, looking up at him with big, round eyes. “You know I’d make you mixtapes.”

“No one calls them mixtapes anymore, old man.”

“I do. And I will make you mixtapes when you’re gone.”

“Make them for me now.”

Yoongi’s kiss is soft. Your eyes flutter close as you let him press firmer into your mouth. He breaks away before you can run your tongue on his bottom lip like you love. “Okay. I’ll make some for you. Now let’s pick some wine before anyone comes looking for us.”

“Please, no one has looked for us in three nights.” Something passes his face. You can’t pick up on it, but he drops his hands from around you and gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

He hesitates. “Not at all, kid. Come on,” he pokes you. “Get your wine.”

So you do. You grab a fruity red with chocolate notes that you had been eyeing and the Merlot. He takes one bottle from you and takes your hand with the other. You swing your hands back and forth, happy to be there. You can’t help but pout when you have to separate at the door, but you get it.

“Soon,” he murmurs, kissing you on the temple and smacking you lightly on your ass as you squeeze through the door and back to the world of the roaring party.

Yoongi excuses himself to take over for Hoseok to control the music. You collapse onto the couch with Jungkook and Taehyung, joining in the drinking games as you uncork the wine

Wendy and Jungkook pass you in the hall. Her eyes are cutting as Jungkook stops you, begging you to share the wine. You roll your eyes, accompanying him to the kitchen which turns into an hour-long mission for cups. Everyone stops to ask him about streaming and ask you about job openings. Your job is cool, but you’re thirsty and there’s sweet wine waiting patiently to meet your mouth.

Cups in hand, the pair of you finally peel away into the living room where a childish game of truth and dare is going on. You’re wedged in a corner with Jungkook, trapped by the Maxwell twins who are grilling you about gaming.

You finish your wine, pouting. Yoongi catches your eye as he walks toward the kitchen, making a cup motion with his hand. You nod, biting your lip shyly as you turn to Jungkook, who watches the whole thing. He raises his brows but says nothing, gesturing toward where Taehyung is sitting on the couch by the truth or dare game which has resulted in a lot of weird making out.

As you walk by the circle of partiers with Jungkook, you hear someone call your name. You laugh, turning from Jungkook to see Wendy sitting next to Seokjin. She tilts her beer bottle toward you with a smile and you think nothing of it, asking “What’s up?”

Yoongi is coming out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine in his hand, making his way toward you as Wendy’s grin increases. Her eyes are hazy, and her cheeks are flushed from drinking.

“Your turn – truth or dare?”

“Uhhh dare, I guess?”

Why not? You’re feeling bold, the alcohol fueling you to lean against the couch behind Ren, smiling. Wendy smiles back, tilting her head as her friend snickers beside her. You’re warm, buzzing, and you don’t see it coming.

“I dare you to tell your brother you’re fucking his best friend.”

The smile drops from your face. Jungkook audibly gasps next to you and the people sitting around the table swivel to face you. Wendy leans back, one leg crossing over the other as she watches you, hands crossed over her chest.

Yoongi has frozen where he stands, just hearing the edge of the conversation.

“What?” you manage to ask. You shake your head, trying to shake off the feeling of being drunk. Everything is too loud and you can’t help but repeat the question, “What?”

“I dare you to tell Jin you’re sleeping with Yoongi.”

“Wendy.” You hear Yoongi’s deep warning from somewhere, but your eyes are only on your brother who looks at Wendy with a frown. She doesn’t dare look away from you, a challenge in her green eyes. You think of the nasty look she shot you earlier and your stomach drops.

You lick your lips, mouth suddenly dry. You search for the words as a flash of heat crawls up your neck, hands shaking as Seokjin turns in his seat, looking at you and rolling his eyes. “As if, Wen.” Seokjin settles his gaze on you. Sees you wide-eyed and sweating. Sees the rise and fall of your chest as you begin to pant. “Wait, you’re joking, right?”

Yoongi cuts through the people who are still partying, making his way to you. Jungkook is at your back, hand pulling at your waist to back you up from the couch. Taehyung gets up from the couch, eyes dark as he takes residence beside Jungkook, two dark knights flanking you.

“Here comes the hero,” Wendy’s friend murmurs next to her, a satisfied smirk on her face. Her eyes are on Yoongi, who Jungkook makes room for. “Lie to Wendy again how she was never a threat to your relationship.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ren snaps, leaning forward. She’s red in the face but you barely hear her as she says, “You are such an instigator – you are twenty-seven, grow up!”

“Let’s talk,” Yoongi says to Seokjin, who is staring at Yoongi, the tips of his ears turning red as he opens and closes his mouth. Seokjin’s hands turn to fists as his dark eyes flicker from you to Yoongi. You’re still fumbling, overwhelmed with terror and embarrassment. “Away from everyone.”

“Are you fucking my sister?”

The question makes you flinch. You’re shifting back and forth between feet, pushing at Yoongi to step away. People are starting to turn around and look at you. Eyes. So many eyes. It’s hot in the room and you feel like your clothes are sticking to your chest, like you can’t get enough room. You pull at the hem of your shirt, trying to loosen it.

 “Jin, stop-” you start to ask, unable to finish the question before he’s cutting you off. Your voice is too small, too frail.

You suddenly feel like the little girl you used to be. Too shy to talk to your brother’s friends, ducking out of rooms when they were around. Your fight or flight kicks in. It’s hard to breathe, so you focus on Taehyung’s grip on you. You focus on his touch as much as you can, trying to level your breathing.

“Are you fucking my sister?” He asks again, standing. His voice is louder. The attention of the party is starting to turn on you in full. The people around the table are staring nudging one another with their elbows.

The focus of the room is shifting to you as Yoongi murmurs for Seokjin to come with him outside to talk. Seokjin isn’t moving, even when Jungkook walks around the couch to pull at Seokjin’s elbow, trying to gently guide him away from the table. Seokjin rips his arm away from the younger, face like a storm. You squeeze your eyes shut, turning into Taehyung who has his arms around you now.

“Answer the question!”

“Please stop,” you ask, voice cracking, but it’s muffled by Taehyung’s chest.

“You fucking asshole,” Seokjin swears. “This is a new low, even for you.”

“Outside,” Yoongi growls. “You’re embarrassing her.”

“I don’t care!”

“Well I do.”  Yoongi looks over his shoulder, addressing Taehyung, “Go get some air.”

Taehyung lets go of you, pulling you away from the scene but you’re rooted in place. “Jin, I-”

“The two of you, man,” Seokjin scoffs, shaking Jungkook’s hand off him again as he storms toward the front of the house. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. Seokjin is storming through people, people dodging out of his way. Ren is leaning over the coffee table, jabbing a finger toward Wendy who looks pale in the face as her friends push Ren’s accusatory finger away. Lydia’s hand is on Ren’s elbow, pulling her back.

Another tug on your arm. You turn to see Yoongi, dark eyes searching, brows creased as he cups your face briefly. You turn away from him, but his grip is firm, angling you back to him.

“Just give me some time, okay?”

You wordlessly nod. Yoongi sighs and kisses you on the temple, heading to where your brother has disappeared. Yoongi looks at Wendy and asks, “Why?”

Yoongi doesn’t give her time to answer. He’s charging after Seokjin. Namjoon is telling people to mind their own business. Hoseok has turned the music up so loud that it’s rattling your insides. Familiar hands guide you out of the back door. Down the porch.

Your heart is pounding. The words are ringing in your ears over and over again. The two of you, man. Un-fucking-believable.

Wood creaks underneath your shoes. Gentle arms around your waist – you can smell Jimin’s cologne – orange blossoms and gentle citrus. Taehyung’s fingers are laced with yours, squeezing. You feel something hot on your neck, lifting the hand not in Taehyung’s to touch the heated skin, realizing its tears.

You don’t know when you started crying. The boys take it in stride. They don’t say anything, they led you bury your face into Jimin’s neck. You ruin his shirt, you’re sure. It doesn’t matter. You let everything out, praying that no one is watching you from the porch. It’s ugly and it’s messy, the sobs choking.

“I didn’t-” you gasp over tears, trying to get the words out, “I didn’t mean-”

The sentence doesn’t come to completion. Taehyung squeezes your hand. Jimin has a hand brushing your head, the other secure around your waist. You can’t see Ren, but you hear her voice, high-pitched and cursing somewhere outside.

You want to thank her – to let her know you appreciate the backup – but the shame and the guilt are so powerful that instead, all you can do is cry.

And you hate yourself a little more for it.

Eventually, you sit on the dock. Ren and Jungkook listen as you fill them in on everything, sniffling. Taehyung still has your hand fiercely held in his, refusing to let you go.

It makes you think of when Yoongi asked to hold your hand so it was easier to talk. It makes you sniffle and lean your head on Jimin’s shoulder.

Your friends don’t judge you. No one tells you that you’re wrong, even though you feel like the worst person in the world. You’re quick to blame yourself and none of them are having it, waving off any self-accusation that you can manage.

“I shouldn’t have indulged,” you whisper.

“Having feelings for someone isn’t indulging,” Ren snaps. She’s still hot from her confrontation with Wendy. “Having feelings is a human thing. Hiding it to safeguard your feelings is a normal reaction, and Jin is way out of line for the way he handled that. We are pushing thirty, for fucks sake!”

“I’m a fucking liar.”

“Who isn’t?” Ren demands. “I don’t give a shit that you lied about it. You intended to tell Jin, right?” You nod. “That’s all that matters. It wasn’t to hurt him – it would have been super weird to ruin the trip. Like you know – is sort of happening right now.”

The sound of skin slapping skin and Ren cursing at Jungkook sounds. Jungkook clears his throat and murmurs, “You didn’t ruin the trip – Ren phrased that poorly. But we get why you did it, and Jin has to understand. Honestly? If Jin didn’t know you and Yoongi have been giving each other moon eyes for years, he’s an idiot.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing.

No one goes back to the party. Hoseok and Namjoon hold down the fort. Hosoek comes out with water and briefly ruffles your hair, promising that Seokjin will come around. You can’t find it in you to give him a smile, but you thank him nonetheless.

Yoongi does not come to find you.

Minutes blend together while the five of you talk about anything and everything that doesn’t involve the confrontation. Ren has dialed it down, though she has asked multiple times if you want her to fight Wendy.

Truly, you don’t.

Yoongi had mentioned the night before how Wendy could be. And if you put yourself in her shoes? You understood. Because from Wendy’s point of view, it was like the worst thing was coming true. Something she had always feared in her own relationship with Yoongi ended up becoming real.

You can’t blame her for wondering if you were on the sidelines all along. You can’t blame her for thinking Yoongi lied every time he told you that you weren’t a threat. It’s a wound that she openly nursed in their relationship – not that you knew about it – and now it’s reopened. Fresh.

So she’s lashed out where it could hurt Yoongi, even if it meant hurting you and Seokjin in the process. Because she’s embarrassed, hurt, and feels lied to.

It isn’t a great place for her to be in, either.

As though your sympathies have manifested her, a feminine voice clears their throat. Ren is already getting to her feet, growling at Wendy who stands awkwardly where the splintered planks begin. She has a bottle of water in her hand, half gone and she fiddles with the hem of her shirt.

“Ca? Alone, please?”

“No?” Jimin laughs mirthlessly. “What could you possibly have to say?”

“I just want to talk.”

You touch Jimin as you meet Wendy’s eyes. The eyeliner is patchy and her mascara is smudged a bit. The tip of her nose is red. You realize that she’s been crying.

Taking a deep breath, you say, “Can you give us a few, guys?” None of your friends budge. You roll your eyes and pinch Taehyung. He groans and leads the charge, peeling himself from the dock, pulling Jungkook and Jimin by their shirts. “I’m fine.”

“I’d like to stay,” Ren asserts. You level a glare at her. She huffs and gets up, dusting herself off. “Fine, I’ll stay over there where I can see you but can’t hear. Is that suitable?”

You nod. Your friends aren’t excited to leave you alone with Wendy, who won’t look any of them in the eye. Despite your heart racing and the mounting urge to scream at her, you take a breath and gesture to the empty space next to you.

Ren and the others don’t go far, lingering a few yards away from the dock, huddled together and pretending not to cast glances at you. Wendy looks over her shoulder at them as she sits down on the dock, leaving a considerable amount of space between you.

“They’re good friends,” Wendy observes.

“They are. I don’t think you’re here to talk about them.”

“No. But I wonder if I surrounded myself with friends like them if I would be nicer.”

“Perhaps a little, but you’re an adult. It’s free to be nice and exercise good habits that promote that.”

Wendy sucks in a breath at the harsh comment but you don’t take it back. She blows out the air, tilting her head up to look at the sky. “Yeah, I deserve that.” You shrug. She continues, “I feel ridiculous saying sorry – not because you don’t deserve it, but because it’s only been like an hour and I feel terrible about it.”

“It was an unkind thing to do.”

“You’re right. It was childish and unfair to you, Yoongi and Jin.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because I felt small and insecure. Maybe you don’t know, but Yoongi was always so different about you. I let that shit eat at me for a very long time instead of addressing it properly. You guys always seemed so much more in sync, and I was always envious of how easy it was for you to understand him when I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry that you struggled with that.”

She waves a hand. “I’ll have to get over it. When I realized you guys vanished together last night and when he didn’t answer my text asking if you were a thing-”

You whip your head to her. “He knew you knew?”

Wendy blinks in surprise. She opens and closes her mouth. “I sent a pretty drunk text accusing him of it. And then when I saw you two come out from the wine cellar tonight, I knew.”

You pick at the cracked pieces of wood that make up the dock. Peeling tiny splinters and slivers, you think about that. Yoongi had known that Wendy was suspicious – had commented on her being petty and lashing out and yet, he didn’t tell you.

It’s probably nothing to be upset over, and yet you are. Because this could have been prevented, you could have known there was a target on your back.

Swallowing past the building frustration, you say, “So what changed your mind?”

“I felt pretty gross about it immediately after. Seeing your anxiety attack made me feel terrible because I’ve been there.”

“It felt pretty terrible.”

She nods. “I’m sure it did. I can’t take it back, but I wanted you to know that I’m aware I shouldn’t have done that. It does nothing at the moment, but if it’s worth anything, I’m going to attempt to learn from this.”

“Do more than attempt and I’ll be pleased.”

She offers you a soft smile. Nodding when the silence gets awkward, she pushes herself up from the dock. She hesitates and adds, “You and Yoongi? You make sense. You always have. Jin might be upset for a while, but I think he’ll see that. I’d like to apologize to them both when I have a chance.”

“I think that would be nice. And Wen?” she turns and looks at you. “Thanks.”

Wendy smiles and nods, heading back toward the house. She skirts your friends, giving them a wide berth as they come back, piling themselves on the dock.

“No hair pulling?” Taehyung asks with a pout. You shake your head with a breathy laugh. “Huh. Fights are so much less fun as an adult.”

-

Yoongi and Seokjin are nowhere to be found when you return to the party. It’s died down considerably. Namjoon meets you halfway through the living room, letting you know that the pair of them left the house to go somewhere to talk.

Anxiety eats away at you as the last of the partygoers leave. You check your phone repeatedly but there’s nothing from either of them.

You cannot imagine the conversation they’re having. And though you had begun to mentally prepare yourself for Seokjin’s reactions, you cry when you lay down in your bed, unable to stop worrying that you’ve ruined their friendship to a point of no return.

Sleep is impossible. So you stare at the ceiling, spiraling into a series of memories. You can’t help but sift through memories with your brother as you sniffle, tears occasionally escaping your eyes.

Seokjin is a good brother. He is the best brother. He has always been there for you in ways that you probably haven’t really thanked him for.

As the younger sibling, it occurs to you that Seokjin was so much more of a leader in your life than you realize. It makes you cry a little more, rolling over as the guilt makes your stomach flip.

Though your parents weren’t around much – your mother splitting time between Italy as a fancy and flighty artist, your father working on overseeing multiple construction projects for condominiums in Miami, Malibu, Busan, Hong Kong, and Dubai – and Seokjin had always been there.

There had been the nannies and housekeepers. They were fine and they were responsible. But your childhood is painted with images of Seokjin coming to get you for dinner. Of him faxing your parents’ permission slips for your field trips. Of him hanging out in lobbies of doctor’s offices while you got physicals to play soccer.

And now you’re asking him to share Yoongi.

But shouldn’t you be able to be happy? Your annoyance begins to build. Why aren’t you allowed to have what you want? Why aren’t you allowed to like Yoongi? It isn’t that big of a deal. The world goes on, and it’ll either work or it won’t.

Just as the light begins to turn grey outside, you hear footsteps in the hall. You sit up straight in bed, clutching the blankets in your hands as the door opens. You hold your breath, leaning forward as your brother slips into the room.

He’s still in the clothes from the party.

Heavy silence hangs in the air. Seokjin leans against the door, staring at you. You’ve never felt this before, this gap between you. It’s like even if you held your hand out to him, you cannot breach the wall. He’s so far away, though he’s looking at you with a blank expression.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. “You’re not going to accept an apology, but I am sorry.”

Seokjin shrugs. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“We were going to tell you.”

“Don’t really care.”

That sparks a fire in you. “Is it really the end of the world for you?” You demand. “That I want to date your friend? He’s my friend too.”

“He is my friend first. That was always the deal, always the bargain. I share everything with you and you had to go and fuck Yoongi? Honestly?”

“It wasn’t just that-”

“Yoongi doesn’t date. You know that better than anyone, and when he does date, he fucking sucks at it. You don’t deserve that shit. How many times did you catch him fucking around in college and you think – you think that is love?”

“I never said anything about love,” you snap. “But I want to give him a chance-”

“Two weeks ago he was talking about how dating wasn’t for him. Had an entire conversation about it. Then we get here and suddenly he throws me in the fucking trash for you.”

“That isn’t what he did, and you’re an asshole for saying that.”

“He is willing to give up my friendship with him for a relationship with you. It feels the same.”

“Yoongi loves you. You’re his best friend, this… this changes nothing, Jin. We’re not sharing him, he’s not some child to have split custody over-”

“I gave up my life for you!” Seokjin screams, making you feel small. “Took you to practice, helped you with homework, let you hang out with me and my friends. Always took you places so you didn’t have to be alone, because mom and dad didn’t care if you were alone.”

Your tears spill over. You can’t stop them as you cover your face in your hands. Because his words are honest and laced with a pain you didn’t know existed. “And now everyone is mad at me,” Seokjin’s voice cracks. “Because I’m upset that I have to share another person, another friendship. Because everyone has always given you what you’ve wanted, and I’m not allowed to be upset because my friend would rather date my sister than be friends with me.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to understand. It feels like I’m having to give you another part of my life. It’s not – it’s not even that you lied to me. You’re my sister, you’re supposed to lie. But Yoongi? He’s not supposed to lie to me. He is the single person in my life I have been able to count on outside of my single sibling, and he chose you. What don’t you get?”

Fresh tears burn. You feel the sob working its way up, and Seokjin isn’t there to comfort you. He’s worlds away, across the room looking at you with exquisite pain. Because he’s right. Seokjin’s entire life has revolved around you, and the one friend that Seokjin has considered only his now wants to be with you.

“I love you,” Seokjin murmurs. “You’re my sister. I’d do anything for you - I do anything for you. I love Yoongi, he’s my best friend. But you could have just… just talked to me. Instead you chose each other inside of ever thinking about me. Both of you. No one chose me.”

“Okay. I will stay away.”

Seokjin waves his hand, opening the door to leave. “Do whatever you want. It’s already fucking ruined.”

“Jin…”

“I’ll get over it one day, but I’m mad. Let me be mad.” He hits the wall lightly, bouncing his palm on it. “I love you, okay? Have a safe flight in the morning.”

“I love you too.”

Your flight out isn’t far off. You peel the clothes off and step into the shower. Wash the misery down the drain. Scrub the tear marks off your cheeks. Exhaustion weighs heavy on you, dragging every step to change and re-pack the rest of your bag.

A gentle knock on the door draws your attention as you finish zipping the bag closed. You turn as Yoongi lets himself in and you can’t help it – you take in a deep breath, feeling jittery as you do a quick assessment.

He’s in sweats and a long-sleeve shirt. His blonde hair is hidden under a hat pulled so low you almost can’t see his face. But you see the red-lined eyes, the dark circles and the paleness of exhaustion there.

“Can I take you to the airport?” he asks, voice gentle.

It sounds final. Heavy. So you nod wordlessly, pulling your bag from the bed. When you approach him, Yoongi holds his hand out. You give him your bag, letting him do this final thing for you.

The house is undisturbed. Downstairs, you blink in surprise to find everyone except your brother. You say your goodbyes and find them more muted than usual. Namjoon ruffles your hair, an attempt at cheering up but it feels hollow.

Maybe it’s just because you’re hollow. Because you know where this going.

It doesn’t make the silence better for the first fifteen minutes. Pearl light falls across Yoongi’s profile, half of him shadowed and half of him glowing. He looks so beautiful that you angle yourself toward the door, averting your eyes.

Yoongi drives leaned back, a single hand on the wheel. Casual confidence, even though his mouth is tight.

After twenty minutes, he offers his hand over the center console. Palm up. Welcoming. Missing you already.

You slid your hand in his, gentle palms against rough skin. He holds your hand tight and nods. “You don’t want to date.”

“Yeah,” your voice cracks. “It’s… yeah.”

He nods, mouth forming a folded line. His eyes are focused on the road, unblinking. You almost take your hand out of his, mistaking his silence and expression for anger. But his grip is tight.

“Can I convince you otherwise?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice is low and tight, vocal cords strained as the tears threaten you again. “Will he come around?”

Yoongi let’s out a sound somewhere between a hiss and a sigh. “I have no fucking idea, baby.” He glances at you side long, dark eyes tracing your face. “I want to think so. He’s deeply upset, and he has every right to be. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and instead of explaining, I alienated him. It didn’t help that all our friends picked a side. He feels like no one is listening to his hurt.”

“It wasn’t just you.”

Yoongi sighs. His thumb brushes back and forth across your hand. “I can’t sit here and promise you he’ll be okay with it. I have no idea where my friendship with him goes after this. But if you want this, I’m here. If you don’t, I understand.”

“Why do I have to make all the decisions?” you ask in a whisper.

He smiles. “Life is tough, kid. Maybe think about it for a few days. I’m a phone call away.”

The airport stretches ahead of you. Your feet are like lead when you get out of the car. You don’t want to leave. Your heart is screaming to say something- anything.

Instead, you let him pull you into his chest. Notes of sandalwood. Soft lips against your forehead. The brush of his nose against yours as he gifts you a soft, lingering kiss.

Yoongi’s hands drop to his sides as you step back. He gives you a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no mirth. You nod and take your bag from him. It weighs you down further.

“Tell someone when you land safely, if not me, okay?”

You nod. “Are we… are we allowed to talk?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Okay.”

He smiles, nodding toward the automatic doors of the airport. “Safe flight, kid.”

-

Stars are in the sky, glittering high above you as you sit on the chaise section of the couch. You’re wrapped in blankets, a steaming cup of tea balanced on the cushion next to you as you type and erase. Type and erase.

This has been a game for days now. You don’t know what to say. Asking ‘how are you’ seems like opening the door to false niceties or painful truths. ‘How is your day’ feels just as pointless. So you type and erase, wondering if Yoongi is watching the three bubbles appear and reappear on his screen, or if he’s given up on the radio silence.

You stare at the conversation.

Me: Landed safe.

Min Yoongi: I’m glad.

You already miss the nickname and the cat emoji. You changed it before texting him – somehow thinking about you pressed toe-to-toe with Yoongi in that closet while he carried you to safety on a curated playlist is too sharp.

Me: I’m sorry for everything.

Min Yoongi: Don’t be.

Me: Read 1:43 pm

That was a week ago. You’ve tried to figure out what to say, but you’re not sure if you should say anything at all. You told him that you didn’t want to do this. You have no idea if he and Seokjin are speaking – Seokjin certainly isn’t speaking to you – and you’re not sure if you’re supposed to be friends or not.

Jungkook comes out of his room, commanding your attention. He’s got wireless gaming headphones around his neck, RBG lights turning his face red then blue. His hair hangs in his eyes and he frowns when he sees you, coming over to sit next to you. You snatch the cup of tea before he can spill it.

“How’s the stream?” you ask. You know it’s going well – you’ve been watching on your phone in the dark between trying to come up with something to say to Yoongi at 11:15 pm on a Friday night.

“Good. People are really excited about the release of the new agent and map. What other plans do you have for that?”

You blow out air, hair dancing in front of your face. Leaning your head on the back of the couch, you rub at your temples. Your company has a new character and map coming out in the new season and you’ve been working on the marketing for months.

And now with the last few strings needing to be tied, you feel completely uninspired.

Your season playbook sits on the coffee table. It’s filled with coffee stains and wrinkled pages from water damage. You’re not nice to your notebooks, but you do get the best use out of them. The marketing plan had been finished weeks ago, all mapped out perfectly.

There were now a few loose ends with a streamer backing out of featuring it due to some family concerns. You need to fill the gap for showcasing the new character, and Jungkook is already on the docket for it.

You’ve got a month to fix the gap. Something that is normally not a problem, except you’ve come home with your head hung low and your heart somewhere you cannot reach.

“Just looking for a replacement for Geko. He wasn’t a professional streamer but he has a huge audience for his music and he’s super into gaming.”

Jungkook chews on his lip. His brows pinch in the middle for a second and he suddenly pats you on the back incredibly hard. “Let the chips fall where they may.”

“I- what?” Jungkook is grinning as he rushes back to his room, caffeine forgotten. “Did you just quote She’s the Man?” You yell after him but he doesn’t respond.

You spend the rest of your night switching between Jungkook’s Twitch stream and your hopelessly empty text messages.

-

Gentle hands pry you from sleep. You grumble, looking at Jungkook as he tries to peel the blankets away. Your new blackout curtains shade your room nicely, keeping it cool and dark. Your new haven where you’ve started to slink off to when you can’t stop wondering if you’ve done the right thing.

Another week has passed and you’ve failed to figure out something to say to Yoongi. You’re weary at the edges, eyes swollen and itchy from staying up so late, which is unusual for you. 

Your phone is next to you, bringing back memories of why you stayed up so late – you were struggling with things to say, so you began building a playlist. A way to transcend language and speak your feelings without having to construct the words and the sentences.

“Come on, it’s noon.”

“Leave me,” you murmur. “I’m tired.”

Jungkook sighs. “Can you just come to have lunch with me and some water? Please?”

You let him guide you from your room. The house is cleaner than you remember it being. When you ask Jungkook, he admits he’s been picking up your slack. You pick at the crust of your pizza, avoiding his eyes because you know you haven’t been the best roommate.

Jungkook doesn’t push you for more responsibility. Doesn’t ask you not to leave dishes in the sink. He just lets you be, making sure that you’re fed and bringing you water when he can remember. It’s an unfamiliar dynamic, but he does an admirable job.

And he doesn’t try to encourage you to snap out of it. He has no tough love to give. No harsh words. There is only understanding, and occasionally asking if you’ve spoken to Seokjin. He never asks about Yoongi – either because he doesn’t have the heart to see you shake your head or because he’s afraid to bring him up.

The answer is always the same: not really. Seokjin will answer if you really press him, but otherwise, there are no more weekly phone calls. There are a couple of texts to check in to see if the other is alive, but for the last two weeks, you’re sailing uncharted seas with your brother, unsure how to steer the boat.

Your food is heavier in your stomach than you want it to be. Jungkook tries to sneak in another task by asking if you want to do groceries, but you put it off. He’s clever, though. Ren Facetimes at that exact moment and Jungkook smirks over his phone at you when he answers.

Carefully, you slide off the stool when Jungkook casually says, “Yeah, we were just finishing lunch. Here, keep her busy while I do dishes.”

You stare at him with a curled lip. He’s all grins as Jungkook hands you the phone against your will. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Ren – you talk to her daily. But it’s another way to keep you from your room.

Jungkook – 2 You – 0

“Hi,” you greet quietly, gliding to the couch. “Your boyfriend fed me burnt pizza.”

“Listen,” Ren huffs. “If you want gourmet, you’re going to have to do it yourself. Until then, it’s burnt crust for you baby.”

You smile.

Catching up is easier than you thought it was going to be. By the time Jungkook is sitting next to you, leaning so that you’re both in the shot, you don’t feel like giving the phone up. A breath of ease washes over you as Jungkook grabs the phone, turning off facetime to add Jimin and Taehyung to the call.

No one brings up Yoongi, but it doesn’t feel like their tiptoeing. By the end of the call, you don’t want to sleep so much anymore, agreeing to go to the grocery store with Jungkook. As you slid your shoes on, you touch his elbow. “Hey.” He looks up at you, doe-eyes wide. “Thanks.”

He grins. “What are roomies for?”

-

The next week has good and bad days. There are some days isn’t doesn’t feel like anything is wrong. You have a lead on a fill-in for an influencer to stream the new agent and map play at work, and things are going smoothly. You’re not hiding in your room anymore, and Seokjin is answering a little more.

He even texted to ask if he could get access to the agent earlier than release. You put in a good word – which is really just heading to the development team and having them send the file over to him – and he thanks you.

It feels more normal than it has.

But today is a bad day. Your fill for Geko has another conflict and once again you’re left with a gaping hole in the plan for popular media influencers to showcase game play. On top of that, the strap on your favorite heel is broken at work.

Inconveniences aside, you know what’s really ruining your day.

You don’t dare to grab your phone and look at the last text you sent Yoongi, the one that went through green instead of blue. Somewhere you know you’re the perfect example of first-world problems: look at the girl freaking out because his texts are green now. Did he block her? Did he just not have service?

You don’t think it’s the latter. A few hours after the unanswered green text, you had followed up.

Me: Saved by Khalid

Me: Green, huh? You’re telling me you’re an Android user now?

Nothing. No response.

Your stomach flips at the thought of checking your phone again to see nothing there.

At the end of the day, you’ve checked your phone several times and there’s nothing. You want to vomit as you grab your things and head home. Your laptop and playbook are tucked in your bag, keeping your head down as you dodge through the rain coming down in the parking lot.

You curse when you get in your car, soaked and feeling sticky. You shiver when the AC comes on, jamming your finger to turn it off so quickly your finger bends awkwardly. You curse loudly and in one, quick breath of air – you scream on top of your lungs in the car. Eyes close, fists clenched, a single cathartic yell into the void.

For a second after, you just sit there panting. Slowing your breathing, you open your eyes and turn on the car, already starting to feel a little better after a good yell.

Rainy cityscape passes you by. Staring up at the shining buildings while you’re stopped at the light, a sudden memory flashes through you. What’s your favorite thing about your new city?

You remember your answer. There’s no pressure to be anyone.

Instead of going right home, you drive through the wet streets. The playlist you started curating is on. If you could give it to Yoongi, you think about what you might say. You’ve given each other so many mixtapes and playlists over the years that you think may you would just smile and he would get it.

Because it’s Yoongi. You don’t have to tell him the shape of your heart. He listens, and he knows.

Teary-eyed and frustrated, you wind up at your apartment. Your hair is damp as you shuffle the keys in your hand, letting yourself in.

“Jungkook, can you bring me a towel? I’m soaked and trailing water.”

You wait for your roommates response, but it’s not Jungkook who answers. “Where does he keep the towels?”

Your head snaps up. Seokjin leans on the wall, smirking with an eyebrow arched. “Jin?”

“Hiya.”

“What…?”

“Missed my sister. And honestly?” He shrugs. “Been thinking on some things and felt like I needed to have a conversation with her.”

You don’t think. You just run to him, his arms open as he catches you. You’re soaking his shirt, with both the rain-drenched close and the tears that you were holding back in the car. Seokjin is careful, brushing your hair as he tells you to hush, but he’s there and he’s your brother.

Your brother who loves you, who has come back around for you.

With a towel out of Jungkook’s room, Seokjin leads you to the kitchen where you sit on a stool. He leans on the counter, linking his hands and leveling a serious gaze with you. “I’m going to keep this quick, alright?” You frown, but nod. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and while I’m still pretty pissed the two of you lied to me, I think it would make me a fool and a liar to admit I didn’t see it the entire time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Yoongi have always vibed. He’s always cared about you in his own ways and you have good chemistry. There were times in college I thought he’d ask me to date you, but then he never did.” Seokjin shrugs. “I thought I was making it up.”

You let out air. “Wow.”

“Look – we all fucked up. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, and I’ve been trying to figure out for three weeks how to put into words how sorry I am for how I treated you.”

“You’re sorry? Jin I –”

He holds up a hand and shakes his head. “No. I gave you an anxiety attack, embarrassed you because of my rage, and I said things that I didn’t mean.” Seokjin lowers his face so that he’s eye-level with you. “Being your brother is one of the best parts of my life. And I’m sorry that I made it sound like I resented sharing my life with you – my friends, my time.”

You’re crying now. You wipe your face with your shoulder, curling in on yourself as he pushes onward. “I was hurt and I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling. I think I was insecure that Yoongi would trade me for you. I don’t know, you guys are a lot more alike. But I realized that my friendship with Yoongi and whatever he feels for you isn’t mutually exclusive.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” you sniffle. “He doesn’t want this – which is totally okay. I don’t blame him.”

“Well, that’s kind of weird.” You raise your brows at his playful tone. “Pretty expensive way for him to tell you he doesn’t like you if that’s true. I mean, who flies here to-”

“What?”

Seokjin pushes himself off the counter, coming around it and hugging you fiercely. You squirm in his arms, confused and trying to pry the truth from him. Seokjin kisses your head and heads toward the door. “I’m going to have dinner with Jungkook.”

“I’m so confused.”

“Left the expensive present in your room,” he adds, opening the door. “And hey? Seriously. I’m sorry and… I’m happy. I’m going to be happy. I want that for you too.”

Seokjin doesn’t say anything else before shutting the door.

Turning slowly, you look at the closed door of your bedroom. Sliding from the stool, you carefully cross over to it, one foot in front of the other. Your breaths are shaky when you reach the handle and turn it, only opening it enough that you can peek inside as if that will somehow lessen the blow if Seokjin is joking.

Your breath catches when you see Yoongi standing on the opposite side of the room. His arms are crossed over his chest, hands lost in the sleeves of his shirt. He’s in ripped jeans and a hat pulled low, staring up at the pictures on your wall.

Silver tears shine in your eyes when you step in the room, but he’s so focused on the photos that he doesn’t turn to you until you tentatively call, “Yoongi?”

He whips he’s head around. His dark eyes light up and he smiles, though it seems a bit wobbly and unsure. You don’t move from the doorway, watching him with your mouth slightly agape. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he starts. “I had a pretty long speech planned for you, but I think it’s sort of stupid now that I’m thinking about it. It included some things like I’m stupid for not talking you into dating me in the car on the way to the airport. I’m horrible for not telling you Wendy was onto what was going on and giving you a heads up. I’m an idiot for not just picking up the fucking phone and calling you-”

You don’t let him finish. You bolt across the room, because standing in front of you is… well it’s Yoongi.

Your arms slip around his middle and you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face so hard to his chest that you think you might shatter. He squeezes you back with equal strength, two equal forces pushing into one another. His lips are on your forehead, soft as they plant kisses along the crown of your hair.

“You’re not stupid,” you whisper, eyes still shut. You smell sandalwood and his chest rumbles with his laughter. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, Jin brought me. Jungkook’s idea, actually.”

“Really?” You look up at him. You’re unwilling to part, your head still pressed against his chest at an awkward angle. Yoongi looks down at you, cat eyes mystified, humming in confirmation. “That’s nice of him.”

“I hear you’ve been moping.”

“I thought you blocked me.”

“What? Why?”

“My texts when green this morning…”

He smirks. “Finally texted me, huh? I was on the plane.”

Your mouth makes an ‘o’ as he leads you toward your bed. He sits down, letting you straddle his lap. You cling to him, arms going around his neck and face buried in his shoulder. His arms circle your waist, holding you tight.

“What was the message?”

“Saved by Khalid.”

He hums and laughs. “Made me a mixtape?” You nod, closing your eyes and just enjoying the feel of him. “Sweet girl,” he hums. “I made you one too?”

You pull away to look down at him. Your hands rest on either side of his shoulder. He’s glowing, a gummy smile on his face as his eyes flicker from your eyes to your mouth, as though he can’t decide where he wants to look longer. “Really?”

“Yeah. Didn’t know what to say. Thought maybe…”

“The music could do it for you?” He nods. “Me too.”

“I missed you,” he admits. “Often. Painfully. Shamefully. Should’ve turned the car around and made Jin talk, all three of us like adults. I was so afraid of pushing too hard and ruining it though.”

“Me too,” you admit. Your hands thread the long hair at the nape of his neck. “What now?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want. I’ve always been here to give you what you want, whatever you need.” He squeezes your hips. “I’ve always been yours – for years, even though I didn’t know it. So if you’ll have me officially…”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” You whisper, heart pounding in your ears.

He grins up at you. “Something like that.”

“Kiss me,” you demand.

“Absolutely.”

Yoongi tastes familiar. He’s warm and you light up inside as his soft mouth presses against yours, sure and confident. His lips are everything as they pry your mouth open, his tongue brushing yours.

Your fingers dig into the hair at the back of his neck, your legs squeezing his waist as you kiss him with everything you have.

Yoongi sucks your tongue into his mouth the way he knows you like and you moan without having to be quiet for once. He pulls away, spit slick on berry lips, eyes blinking in a haze. “You are remarkable,” he murmurs, hands rubbing up and down your side. You chase his mouth with yours but he escapes, laughing when you whine. “I will not go another two years without you. I won’t go another fucking second.”

“Then stop stopping kissing me!”

“That makes no sense.”

“You make no sense, Min Yoongi.”

His smile is beatific. “On that, we can agree.”

Yoongi kisses you again. He lets the pair of you fall backwards, his hands slipping under your blouse, palms spreading on your back. You giggle, hips rolling lightly, like the way he hisses when you grind down into him. 

His hat knocks off of his head, your fingers pulling at his hair. When you open your eyes and break the kiss for air, you make a surprised noise and sit up, straddling his waist. Yoongi looks at you with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his hands settled on your hips under your shirt.

“Your hair is black!”

He gives you his sideways smirk. “Like it?”

“You’re so fucking hot,” you blurt.

He laughs loudly, fingers gripping your hips. He rolls his hips up, catching you with his half-erection and making you moan deep in your throat.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice low. “Wanna run your fingers through it while I eat you out?”

“Fuck,” you blurt, loud.

Your world spins as he rolls you over. Yoongi’s mouth is sucking marks onto your neck – hard His tongue is quick to follow, brushing over and soothing the ache as he maps out his want on your neck, your collar bones. His hands brush over your clothed breasts, squeezing.

“Don’t have to be quiet now,” Yoongi pants, kissing you again. You pull at the hem of his shirt. You want it off. “Been dying to eat this pussy for weeks. Wanna hear you this time.”

“Please,” the shirt is stuck under his arms, Yoongi is too distracted to let you take it off.

You growl at him. “Take this fucking shirt off.”

His chuckle is like gravel. He leans up, taking his shirt off and tossing it. You don’t wait for him to come back down to you, greedy hands pulling at his belt loops, mouth meeting his stomach, his chest. You nip his flesh, looking up at him through hooded eyes. His head is tipped back, eyes fluttering as you litter his soft skin with bruises.

Yoongi lets you have fun. You taste the sweetness of him, flicking a tongue over a nipple when he pulls you back by the hair, crashing your mouths together. Yoongi pins you down again, nearly shredding your shirt as he tears through the buttons, tossing it.

The room is stifling as you press against one another, driven by the space weeks apart created. You feel high, whining into him as he pulls your pants down, hands going right for the prize. Yoongi plays with your wet folds, fingers deft and attentive. It sparks pleasure deep in your stomach, twisting. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. He’s nibbling your ear, your pebbled nipples pressing against his chest, creating friction. You’re vibrating all over, every touch magnified by the sounds he lets out. “Feels good.”

His fingers pull your panties to the side, brushing up and down your slit softly. “Mmm, wet just the way I like it.”

Yoongi’s hand vanishes and he gets up. You pout. He brings slick-soaked fingers to his lips, deliberately making eye contact as he grins and slides them into his mouth, pink tongue slowly tracing the tips. “As sweet as I remember.”

He peels your underwear off, dropping them to the floor. Yoongi doesn’t lavish your thighs this time – he has time to do that. You feel it in the way his hands go under your legs, pulling them over his shoulder – he’ll take his time later.

Right now, he just wants you.

You gasp when his tongue traces your aching hole. Your hands shoot to his hair, silky soft as you hold him there. He hums, lazily dipping his tongue in to gather your juices. It feels so fucking good. He zigzags his tongue up your pussy, following the same circular motion around your clit before wrapping his lips around it, sucking hard.

“Oh fuck yeah,” you gasp, not caring that your voice carries up to the ceiling. “Fuck your mouth-”

He hums, enjoying the sounds he draws from you as he alternates between sucking at your clit and licking your hole. He eats you out vigorously, determined to cover every inch of your dripping pussy with his mouth. He’s noisy, humming and moaning with satisfaction as he sucks at you, wetness dripping down his chin.

“Missed you in my mouth,” he pants, looking up at you with fucked out eyes. You’re hypnotized, watching as you cradle his head between your legs. He grins, working his tongue between his teeth on your clit, making you kick your legs. “Such a pretty fucking girl, squirming under my tongue.”

Yoongi latches his mouth on your clit, sucking hard. You cum suddenly with no warning and a scream, lurching forward. He pins you down, sucking harder and sending you into a blinding frenzy. You can’t stay still, screaming his name until he relents, mouth kissing up your thighs as you pant, heart thundering through your entire body.

You can feel your pulse as you gulp for air, going boneless as he kisses up your stomach, circling your belly button before reaching your breasts. You whine when he licks lazy patterns around your nipples, using his teeth to pull at them.

“Yoongiiiii.”

He nips your soft flesh. “Hmmm?”

“Sensitive.”

“Good,” he mumbles, kissing you on the mouth. You lick into him eagerly and he smiles into the kiss, working his pants off. “Gonna let me split you open?”

“Please.”

He kisses you, shuffling you up the bed. You pry your legs open for him, wet and eager. He sees how pliant you are for him, eyes rolling back into his head as he takes a breath, trying to gain his composure. You don’t let him, raising your hand to your mouth and spitting in it generously before reaching between your legs and wrapping your hand around him.

“Fuuuck baby.”

You grin as he shivers. You pump him leisurely, spreading your spit up and down his velvety shaft. You love how heavy his cock is in your hand, watering at the way it twitches in your palm. You rub the head of his cock against your pussy, both of you groaning.

“Want you,” you pant, pressing the tip into your hole. He lets you take the lead. “Missed your cock so much.”

“Just my cock?” he teases.

“Shut up.”

Yoongi gets you back. Before you can slide him in, he jerks his hips forward, plunging in and hitting your g-spot on the first stroke. You go wild, thrashing beneath him as he grins, pulling all the way out and repeating the motion.

“Oh my fuck.” You’re grabbing at his back, nails digging in. You try to find purchase on anything, searching for something to ground you as he fucks into you hard and fast, his precision dead on. “Fuck – I’m gonna come again.”

“Yeah?” he demands. “Already?”

You nod, eyes squeezed shut. It spurs him on. He grabs your hips, planting you firmly on the bed. Your hands grip his wrists as you begin to breath faster and faster, nearly sending yourself into hyperventilation as you hold your breath, the coil in your stomach shooting toward the sky and shattering the clouds.

It happens fast – you come around Yoongi, nearly going numb as you clench on him. You’re vaguely aware that he’s cursing, pausing his thrusts as you squeeze, pussy unrelenting. You collapse onto the bed after, barely able to gulp down air. He’s slow to thrust again, watching you with his mouth open, wonder on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard,” you rasp, voice raw.

He noses you. “That was fucking hot.” He pulls out of you and you furrow your brow when he flips you over. You shiver as he props your ass up in the air and spreas your thighs apart. “You’re going to do it again.”

Fuck. You have no idea if you can. But when he slides back into you, the stretch glorious and his pace slow, you think Yoongi can coax whatever he wants out of you. He’s always been able to. From the moment he made you tell him your name, or made you play piano for him, Yoongi has been able to get you to do what he wants.

Because you’ve always been his. Even when you were in different orbits or on other pages, you were bound to come back to him.

With the realization that you were built for him, you find the energy to fuck yourself back on him. He makes an appreciative noise, strokes deep and slow. He grabs at your ass, gripping tight as your skin smacks wetly together, your cum staining the places your skin meets.

You don’t think. It’s just Yoongi, the sounds he makes, and the way he makes you feel. The way his tip brushes that sweet spot in you, making your head hang between your arms as you work his cock.

Yoongi sneaks a hand around your waist, finger gently pressing on your clit.

“I don’t know if I can,” you beg. Yoongi is gentle, finger applying the barest pressure. You feel your stomach curl and you curse, tears streaming from your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“My sweet girl,” he grunts, fucking into you harder. Your orgasm is slowly building and with the way his hips start to stutter, you know he’s close. “Together, yeah?”

You nod your head. Words are beyond you and you can only focus on the steady rhythm of his fingers on your pulsing clit and the deep slide of his cock.

Yoongi manages to do it again – he draws a gentle orgasm from you, long and soft as you drop down on the bed, ass pressed to his pelvis as he holds onto you with a bone-bruising grip. He moans your name, holding you to him as he comes, gasping for air.

Hours or minutes pass by. You’re not sure. There’s just soft bliss and the heat and tangle of blankets.

Yoongi pulls out of you, cum oozing down your legs. Stumbling and a little unsteady on his legs, he trails to your bathroom, knocking into the door. You barely manage a laugh, eyes shut as you drift a bit.

You flinch when you feel a warm washcloth on you, gentle as he wipes your legs, your battered pussy. You whine when he brushes the rag against your clit and he laughs with a soft apology. When he’s gone, your hand stretches on the mattress, seeking his warmth. It finds him on his return, slipping into the bed and seeking the warmth of your side.

Eyes fluttering open, you look at him in the dim light of the room. He is flushed pink and smiling your favorite gummy smile. You brush sweaty strands of hair from his eyes, fingers resting on his cheeks.

“I’m very happy that you came for me,” you whisper. “I missed you.”

“Missed you so much I made a ten track Mixtape.”

“Let’s listen.”

“You have a CD player?”

“You’re joking?” You crack your eyes open at him again and see him smiling shyly. “You burned me a CD?”

“I was feeling sentimental,” he defends. “I even wrote the tracks on it in sharpie like I used to.”

Your fingers brush his swollen, pouted lips. “What was the first song.”

His grin grows. “Saved by Khalid.”

-

Yoongi adjusts the headset on his head. The lights and soft background are perfect as Jungkook helps him click on a few settings in OBS. Jungkook gestures to the ‘go-live’ button before he steps out of the frame, walking around the other side of the row of setups where you’re watching.

The inside of the facilities is beautiful. He’s never been to your job, but he’s impressed with the setup and the way you command the room. Though Jungkook is there to help Yoongi with the streaming basics, something Yoongi is mostly unfamiliar with in the gaming world, you’re there for the materials.

You’ve perfectly placed his awards behind him. You’ve given him the chair with the company logo. The headphones of one of their partners. You’ve helped him construct the tweets, the teases in preparation of a long stream to debut the new agent and maps for your company’s came in conjunction with a new single.

It’s well thought. It’s a good partnership. But most importantly? Yoongi sees the way you lift your chin a little higher and push your shoulders a little straighter with pride when they commend you on the partnership.

And Seokjin is there. He’s happy and smiling, clapping Yoongi on the back and bragging that his sister is way cooler than he is. And Yoongi is so inclined to agree. Especially when you whoop his ass in the test rounds before the stream.

God he wants to fuck you stupid. But he can do that later. He has all of the time with you in the world. He doesn’t have to waste a single minute worrying he has to sneak in moments with you, that he has to hide behind doors.

“You ready, Jin?” Yoongi asks, looking at your brother. He’s on a setup much nicer than anything he’s ever had – and he’s made sure to tell you multiple times you should give him one – but he nods. You have no idea how he convinced you to get you to let him in on this. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Yoongi hits the live button. The window changes, immediately flooding the chat with viewers as he grins at the camera. “Hi guys,” he says awkwardly. His eyes glance up at you over the screen and you give him a shy smile. His heart flutters. “Welcome to today’s stream. I’m Agust D and today we’re trying how the highly anticipated new map and agent with my friend Jin. Let’s get it.”

“Yah – why is your username Mixtape?” Seokjin demands, clicking through the menu.

Yoongi’s eyes meet your sparkling ones over the monitor. “A joke between me and a close friend.”

“Alright, Mixtape it is.”

Yoongi smiles. “Mixtape it is.”

Previous Chapter | Extra Chapter

Vicious Girl | One Shot | myg (m)

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Celebrating Agust D is your new favorite pastime

❀ Word Count: 6,119

❀ Genre: Older brothers best friend, f2l, a lil' angst

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Recreational drinking (sipping some champagne at a party) explicit language, implied sexual references, a TINY bit of self-doubt from OC (literally maybe a 2-second thought), sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, nipple worship, oral (m. receiving), dirty talk, cowgirl, emotional sex, spit play tbh this is super tame

❀ Published: June 13, 2022

❀ A/N: This one shot is a part of the Mixtape mini-series that I did. This can absolutely be read as a standalone, but it might be a teeny more rewarding to read Mixtape first.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Extra Chapter | Extra Chapter 2

Velvet does the body good, you think as you look in the full-length mirror. The hemline comes mid-thigh and you’ve swapped your boots for heels for the night. You begrudgingly admit that heels do accentuate your legs, despite the fact that they’re going to hurt your feet eventually. Perhaps if you complain enough, your dotting boyfriend will give you a foot massage.

You toss the idea out the window. The weekend is about him – you’ve scraped out a tiny amount of time to fly back home to support him – and you want to make sure that your focus is on him entirely. Yoongi always has a way of making it about you and though you love that about him, you feel like you never quite do for him what he does for you.

It's a good thing he has a full mirror. In fact, there are so many things about Yoongi’s apartment that you appreciate. For starters, he has more than a single pillow and his sheets are a soft, slate grey – not navy. He also has décor - not movie posters or boxes of beer flattened to look like wall ornamentation. There are plants in his minimalist apartment, muted greens among the greys, whites and blacks. Yoongi even has multiple towels for his face, body and for drying hands.

Yoongi has his shit together – almost always has – but you like that about him.

“Holy fuck, hurry up!” You heard Seokjin yell from the kitchen.

You sigh. Grabbing the small clutch on a gold chain, you rush out of Yoongi’s room. Every room in his two-bedroom apartment smells different. The bedroom warm with sandalwood and mint, the living room like vanilla and a little bit of spice, the kitchen clean citrus.

Seokjin leans against the marble, island countertop. He's looking down at his cellphone, scrolling away. He's dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and an unbuttoned suit jacket. His hair is styed back, opening up his handsome face. Seokjin looks good like this. Mature.

Yoongi's apartment is dark and warm. You love the muted tones, the way he balances how it looks lived in while being clean. Your eyes dart to the boots near the couch, laces pulled like he was in a hurry. You move without thinking about it, picking them up by the ankles and walking to the door, heels clicking. Seokjin finally looks up at you as you place Yoongi’s shoes carefully on the rack by the door.

“You’re wearing that?” Seokjin demands, making you look at him with wide eyes. “That dress is way too short!”

“Please don’t start,” you sigh, holding a hand up. “Your brotherly instincts are not needed.”

The velvet, black dress hugs you generously. The straps are thin but secure, and your hair is in a whispy bun, a few curled pieces loose. There is a mysterious splotch on your neck covered with concealer and a light layer of powder, but it’s not super obvious.

Seokjin scoffs and jingles his keys. He arrived fifteen minutes prior to pick you up and drive you to the hotel, where Yoongi is already at for his media time. The release party is a few minutes away and you’re runny a tad behind.

Down the elevator and across a luxurious lobby, Seokjin rushes you onward as you slid into the sleek interior of his car. It smells just like it always does – leather cleaner, a hint of cologne, and the god-awful scent in the shape of Christmas tree that hang from the mirror.

You snap the scent hanger off, earning a yell from him. “Please,” you beg. “You are a grown man. Get rid of the black ice scent.”

You toss it to the back as Seokjin launches into a lecture about how you should behave in his car. You tune him out for the most part, content to be in a city familiar to you with Seokjin giving you a tough time. It wouldn’t be home without bickering with your brother.

It wouldn’t be home without the lingering presence of Yoongi.

But it’s the first time that you’re home since you’ve started dating. The massive home that holds all those pre-relationship memories sits empty. Your parents are out of town – somewhere like the Maldives, you think. Yoongi’s parents are also vacationing, though it’s off the coast of China somewhere.

You chew your lip. You try not to be annoyed that your parents booked a trip even after you said you were visiting. Your visits home were few and far between – this particular trip was specifically driven by your desire to support Yoongi’s album release.

The label had wanted to give him blowout event somewhere glitzy and filled with socialites and media. Yoongi, ever the fan of lowkey functions, nixed that idea. He wanted his celebration to be at home, with his closest friends, the people from the label who mattered, media outlets who gave him the time of day when he was getting his start, and a few partners and important people in the industry.

Still, the hotel is beautiful. The valet bows his head lightly when he takes the car, and the label floors are so polished they show your reflection. You smile when you see the sign that mentions the Sky Terrace is closed for a private event.

Chewing your lip and fishing your phone out, you snap a picture of it. It feels cheesy, but you don’t care. You grin one last time at the sign.

Sky Terraced Closed for Private Event

Agust D Release Party on floor seventeen

Seokjin rolls his eyes, calling you over. You rush again, holding your purse against your hip as it bounces wildly.

An elevator attendant requests an invitation. You flash yours and he hits the seventeenth floor on the elevator. You have it to yourself, the jazz music playing as Seokjin adjusts his suit jacket in the mirrored wall.

“You look fine,” you chastise.

“I have a hot FaceTime date after this. I’m nervous.”

“Suri is already your girlfriend.”

“Still nervous.”

You smirk at the red tips of his ears as he clears his throat and stands still. “Cute.”

Music thumps as you reach the top floor. Before the doors an open, you can hear the voices and the music.

The elevator doors peel away to a view of the rooftop bar area. There are string lights zig-zagging across the space, casting a warm glow on the deck. A stone bar lit with soft lighting along the wall takes up the right side of the rooftop. Lounge chairs and high-tops are placed strategically on the deck. A DJ is in the corner with a large posterboard of Yoongi’s album cover.

People mill about the space, conversation humming above the music. Servers walk around with finger foods and flutes of champagne. You nick a glass of champagne for you and your brother, siping on the sweet bubbles as you scan the crowd.

Finding Yoongi is an instinctual talent. You could find him in any space, like a magnetic pull humming here here here any time you share a room with him. He’s over by the bar, elbow leaning on the top of a high-back chair as he nods, listening to what the man in front of him is saying.

Yoongi looks breathtaking. You do where rose-colored glasses any time you look at him, but you know that even without the bias and attraction that comes from being in a relationship with him, that he is absolutely stunning.

Dressed in a black button up that’s tucked into black slacks, he foregoes the suit jacket. His shoulders look particularly broad, buttons straining as he laughs at something. His dark hair has grown long, curling at the back of his neck, sands silky soft. You’d spent most of the evening after your plane flight running your hands through his hair, tugging them to pull moans from him most of the night.

You never wanted him to cut his hair again.

Earrings caught the string lighting as you walked toward him. You were envious of how narrow his waist looked, wrapped neatly in the designer belt and black slacks. How he could look so impossibly model-like was beyond you. Because it was Yoongi – the guy who was usually in ripped jeans, a t-shirt and a hat pulled so low on his head you could barely see the cat-eyes.

Said cat-eyes look up at you over the shoulder of the man he is talking to. You will never get used to the way Yoongi’s eyes glitter when they notice you in a room. It's an obvious shift, his eyes narrowing slightly every time he sets his sights on you. You can see the way the rest of the room melts away – eyes only for you.

Yoongi excuses himself gently with a firm hand on the shoulder, a gummy smile and a bow of his head. Sandalwood envelops you as his grin spreads further, your heart beating faster as his hands find home on your waist, pulling you in immediately.

“Hi,” he breaths, sweet breath fanning your face. You’re tucked against hist chest, his heartbeat matching yours, fingers firm on your hips. His eyes flicker all over your face, dark gaze endless. “You look beautiful.”

“You’re one to talk. You look incredible.”

“Well I think I look great,” Seokjin huffs from behind you.

You grimace but Yoongi takes your brother’s interruption in slide. He always does. Yoongi finds it so easy to accept Seokjin’s jesting, complaints and interruptions to your relationship. Because Yoongi knows that there could have been an alternative where Seokjin never forgave him for sleeping with his baby siter. Where Seokjin would never let you exist like this, without guilt and in Yoongi’s arms.

The thought makes you surge forward, catching Yoongi’s lips for a quick, soft kiss. Your eyes flutter open to reveal a gummy smile and unfiltered affection. You burn under that gaze, stomach flipping as you pull away from him. Yoongi doesn’t let you get far, hand wrapped around your waist.

“Seokjin, you are always the epitome of beauty in any room,” Yoongi assures your brother, though his eyes are downcast at you. He squeezes your waist and you hide your smile by sipping the champagne. “Come on, I want to introduce you both to some people.”

Names are not your forte. You try to remember them anyway, relating names and relations and jobs to faces. It's an hour in and you hate that you’ve forgotten so many already. There are familiar faces to you, of course. Taehyung and Jimin show up late, but they blow kisses at you while Yoongi introduces you to one of the senior producers at his label.

Warmth spreads from your fingers to your toes at how everyone treats Yoongi. They boy their heads, their words are respectful. They tell you how he’s helped them, how he always volunteers to assist on projects that have nothing to do with him or won’t bring him notoriety. How he has a fascinating mind for music, how he can turn an unfinished melody into something greater.

These people love him. They respect him. And the blush as he ducks his head and shrugs off another compliment as he laughs only spurs you further, smile growing. You're so stupidly proud of him, especially when they start giving toasts and listing his accomplishments.

Yoongi hates being the center of attention, but you see the way his eyes glimmer. He's proud of himself too. He accepts them with grace, a smile and polite words. He knows that the praise isn’t coming from nowhere. He is humble, but he isn’t stupid.

A glass of champagne appears in front of you as Yoongi materializes from between a group. You're leaning on the balcony overseeing the city, Taehyung and Jimin at your side as they argue over something with Hoseok. Namjoon and Lydia have stopped by for a moment before rushing off to her mother’s birthday dinner, but you’re happy they stopped by at all.

You accept the glass of champagne just as your phone begins to ring. You fish it out, grinning when you see the name on the phone. You swipe, opening up the FaceTime and turn it to Yoongi who glances in confusion until Jungkook appears on the screen, grinning.

“Congrats, bro!” Jungkook hollers. There are wireless headphones around his neck RBG lights circling around and around. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I signed this stupid contract before I knew the date for your party.”

“I hope you’re not live,” Yoongi notes with an eyebrow raise. Jungkook makes a face and double checks before confirming he’s not. “That’s okay, Jungkookie. You know I love seeing you make your own money.”

Jungkook is shy at that. Tonight, he’s debuting a new sponsor that he partnered with, and you have blessedly been able to give him the apartment to himself while he streams the new game. Even though he no longer streams exclusively content for your studio, you’re so stupidly happy for Jungkook’s success as a streamer.

And so is Yoongi, if his smile is anything to tell.

Congratulations and well wishes shoot back and forth. You rest your head on Yoongi’s chest, sipping the champagne as he holds your phone so you can both see Jungkook. When the phone call ends, you’re still like that, back pressed against his chest and your head tucked into his neck.

You’ve drifted away from your friends, and Yoongi’s coworkers and colleagues leave the two of you alone in your little corner of the event space.

“They did an amazing job decorating,” you hum, watching as people pose at the photobooth. The photos from the professional photographer are promised to be delivered to you soon. Snapshots of you smiling with his arm around your waist, him crushing his lips to your cheek as you screeched. A cheesy one of him dipping you. “It’s beautiful.”

He hums. “Hardly the most beautiful thing here tonight.” Yoongi’s fingers trace the hem of your dress on your thigh, making you shiver. You make a small sound, fueled by the glasses of champagne and being close to him. He smirks. “I like your dress.”

“Seokjin hates it.”

“Because Seokjin knows how much my mouth waters seeing you in it.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmm.” He noses your forehead. “Wanna head out?”

“You can’t leave! It's your party.”

“Exactly, which means I can do whatever I want. I’ve done all the press, kissed all the babies and knighted all the loyal men. I’m allowed to leave.”

“You sure you don’t have any more babies to kiss?”

“Just one,” he mutters against the skin of your temple, mouth damp from the champagne. “But she’s arguing with me.”

You purse your lips as he laughs, sound deep. Your toes curl. “Okay, let’s leave.”

The goodbye rounds are quick. Yoongi thanks everyone for coming out – doesn't miss a single person. He thanks the staff, heading to the bar and leaving a massive tip. Personally thanking the photographer, the DJ, the event host, the people in the lobby.

There's not a single person he misses, clapping the shoulder of a server and making sure he kept Yoongi’s card to send his work to. You stare at him as he leads you to valet, who is already swinging the door to his car open.

“What?” he asks as he helps you in, callused hands gentle in your own.

You don’t answer until he rounds the car and gets in the other side. “You’re just...” You trail off and gesture to him. “You’re so good at this.”

“Yeah,” he notes. He pulls out of the drive and onto the road. He switches driving hands, left hand on the top of the wheel as he navigates the city confidently while the right finds home on your thigh. Immediately your skin sparks at the contact. “But it’s exhausting.”

“I know.”

Your eyes are on him, searching. He notices, glancing at you from the corner of his vision. His hand squeezes your thigh playfully ask he repeats himself. “What?”

“I’m really happy for you.”

The words are too simple for how you feel. They don't’ really convey what you mean. You struggle to form the right sentences, to explain what you really mean. “Not just because your success – that is obviously – I am beyond proud about that. You're incredibly talented and I’m so happy that it’s paying off. You're being rewarded for hard work.”

“You’re being weird.”

“Sorry,” you laugh, breathless. “What I’m getting at is that I’m also proud at the way you handle everyone. You're so incredibly kind and you listen to what people are saying to you. You accept the compliments with grace and you make an effort to make sure that people feel important to your success. I just... I'm proud of you.”

“I couldn’t do it without you.” You roll your eyes but he laughs and says, “I’m serious. You have no idea how much easier it is to be that person – one that can talk and smile and shake hands – when you’re at my side. It's comforting and you help me not get nervous.”

“So do I get a paycheck from you now or later?”

His laughter is throaty, voice deep when he says, “How do you accept payment?”

A shiver dances its way up your spine. You squirm in the seat and his grip on your thigh increases momentarily before his thumb starts brushing in lazy circles. Oh you hate when he does that. He knows how much it sends tingling up your leg to your core, and how hard it is for you to think straight when he traces patterns on your skin.

“A variety of ways,” you manage. He heads downtown toward his apartment. Only a moment away as the tension in the car mounts. “For example, I enjoy donuts.”

“You do enjoy those.”

“And I also really enjoy your cooking.”

“Yes, that is true.”

His hand moves up your thigh, closer to your center and for a moment, your head blanks out. Your eyes are half-lidded as his fingers tease underneath your dress, only to trace back down to your knee and squeeze. “You were saying?”

“Huh?”

He grins like the Cheshire Cat. “You were listing forms of payment.”

“Oh - um – I really enjoy boba tea as well.”

“Do you accept payment in orgasms?” The apartment appears as he heads for the parking garage. Again, his hand brushes backup smooth, warm skin to the top of your thigh, his pointer finger tracing the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “So?”

“Uh - yes. Yes I do.”

Yoongi is parked and opening your door before you can form another sentence or realize that the car is not moving. Your brain is firing in all sorts of directions, trying to snap together anything beyond screaming excitement and arousal.

He holds his hand out to you. “I can pay you inside,” Yoongi says with mock seriousness. “I don’t enjoy outstanding bills.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” He pushes you against the closed door of the car, molding his mouth to yours. The kiss catches you by surprise, his mouth warm and sweet from champagne. Kissing Yoongi is everything – and one of his favorite things – and you’re breathless when he pulls away. “Sweet girl,” he murmurs, fingers brushed one of your loose strands back into place. You look up at him and he grins. “Come on.”

Yoongi's hands are warm. You look down at where your fingers are linked as he leads you through the lobby to the elevator. Hands that created so many memories on the piano for you. That handed you CDs. That touched you and made you feel loved. Hands that made so much success, all celebrated tonight.

You chew your bottom lip as you look up at him in the elevator. His gaze his heated as he looks at you, back pressed against the elevator as it goes up, hands linked between you. His eyes are hunger as they look you up and down, his hair still perfect, save for a few locks that now hang over his eyebrow.

“Hmm?” he tilts his head in a question, lips quirked in a smirk.

“You’re just so talented,” you murmur. “It blows me away sometimes.”

He smirks, raising an eyebrow. Confident, cocky Yoongi takes over. He tugs you sharply, pulling you into his chest harshly. You gasp as his hands drop yours to wrap around you, palming your ass generously over the velvet of your dress, squeezing. You hum a sound that sounds suspiciously like a moan.

“I have other ways to blow your mind.” His voice is deep, soft. You curl your fingers in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling it slightly. You look up at him through your lashes and he groans. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you have stars in your eyes.”

“There are,” you whisper. “I’m looking at you.”

The elevator dings and you walk backward, pulling him along. You smile as he follows you, hypnotized by your eyes and your smile. Yoongi barely seems to register that you’re at his apartment door until you kiss his chin and tap the door. He fumbles and turns red.

You love Yoongi like this. Distracted by you. Enchanted. It makes you giddy, still thrilled every time. The fact that you can make Min Yoongi look like this. The fact that you made him blush. And that he does nothing to hide it. He tells you that you make him nervous, that you’re the one person he has to impress.

The apartment is dark as you enter the door near the kitchen – you smell the citrus but you smell Yoongi’s sandalwood more. You push into him when he closes the door, hands around his waist, hands looking up at him with his chin pressed against his chest.

“Hi,” you breathe.

Yoongi doesn’t answer. He presses his lips to yours in a hungry kiss, content to leave his hands resting on the curves of your hips. The kiss is slow and languid, taking his time with your mouth. He licks into your mouth and you open up to him – you always open up to him. Always will open up to him.

Minutes, hours, days, months or years could pass as you kiss him. Warmth like melted honey seeps through you. Your bones turn pliant and you lean into him, pressing against his chest. Closer. Closer. Closer. If you could bind yourself to him forever, you would.

Forever.

The word is terrifying in your mind, distracting you. You've only been an item for a few months, but already the idea of more, of permanence, of the future is something that lingers on the edge of desire. You don’t voice that desire, don’t ask for more than you already have. Because how can you? The idea of ruining what you have now keeping it at bay.

Yoongi senses your distraction because of course he does. He pulls away, nipping at your bottom lip as he does until it pops out of from his bite and into place. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and pupils blown out.

“Hmm?” he asks, not needing to voice the words. You know what he wants but you press toward him again to kiss him instead. He laughs as you do, tugging you away a little. “Sweet girl,” he warns. “Wanna talk now or later? I feel those little wheels turning.”

“Later.” He squeezes your hips, raising his brows. If you tell him later you have to mean it. You know it’s a promise. Yoongi never forgets – always makes it a point to make sure you talk. “I promise. It’s nothing serious, nothing important.”

“Everything about you is important.”

“What’s important is I want you.”

“Okay.” He kisses you once. Twice. “Okay.”

Settled, Yoongi leads you in a dance of careful feet and smacking lips. He laughs when you stumble and his teeth bump against yours. Your fingers slide in his long hair, silky smooth between hungry fingers. You tug at the ends, scratching close to his scalp. He moans into your mouth.

Legs hit the bed and you go backward, Yoongi’s hands guiding you gently. Always soft, always careful as he hovers over you, teeth going to your neck. You tilt your head to the side, letting him suck marks onto your neck, fingers tangled at the nape of his neck.

“You covered your hicky,” he chuckles, tongue lapping back and forth over the covered, bruised flesh. “I guess I’ll just leave more.”

“I didn’t want people to think I was trashy,” you gasp as he bites down on your sensitive spot, tongue soothing the sting immediately after.

“Not trashy.” He sucks your earlobe into his mouth, nibbling. “Mine.”

You feel the unsaid words. That he can leave them on you without being found out. That a simple mark that was once forbidden is only a small eyesore now. Yoongi rolls his hips into yours, showing you how effective your touch on him is. You let out a breathy sound and he hums, biting down your collarbones to the unmarked flesh.

“So beautiful.”

Pressing a knee against his hip and hands on his shoulders, you push and roll. It's not as smooth as you want it to be; you land on him a little hard and you bump noses, but it doesn’t matter. He's laughing as he brushes the loose strands from your face to look at you.

Eager fingers work the buttons of his shirt. He runs his hands up and down the sides of your thighs. Your dress has risen above the swell of your ass, underwear on full display.

“Wanna reward you,” you mumble, hands a little clumsy under his watchful eyes and heated palms. “For being so talented, and hardworking and absolutely thoughtful. You thanked every single person there, made them feel special.”

“I thought I was supposed to blow your mind tonight.”

“Okay maybe after I blow you first.”

Yoongi’s laugh reverberates through you as you rid him of his shirt. His skin is smooth and beautiful, firmer since he’s started working out. You don’t care what the canvas looks like, as long as it belongs to Yoongi.

Your mouth explores his chest, sucking marks into his skin, bruising him so eagerly. He lets you nipple and lick, his hands, exploring your sides and squeezing the flesh he can get his hands on. He’s a vision beneath you, especially when he leans on his elbows, lifting himself to watch you unbutton the belt and dress pants.

A moan falls from your mouth as Yoongi lifts his hips to lead you pull the pants and boxers down in one, swift tug. His heavy cock bounces against his stomach, tip leaking precum and swollen read, ready for you.

You never stop being impressed by him. You settle between his spread legs, face down and ass up as you gather spit on your mouth, opening to let it dribble on his tip as you grasp his cock. He jerks at the sensation, moaning deep in his throat as he watches the spit wet the head. You’re quick to follow, licking the crown of his cock before running your tongue down his shaft, carful to spread spit as much as possible.

The sounds Yoongi makes are heaven as you begin to pump his cock in earnest, spreading his cum and your spit up and down his shaft while you tentatively suckle his tip. He throws his head back, eyes closed to the ceiling as you run your tongue around the tip again.

Carefully, you take him back in your mouth, the slide glorious as you take him as far as you can in one go. You set a steady pace, sucking vigorously and letting spit dribble from the side of your mouth to lubricate what you can’t fit, hand pumping him into your lips.

A tattooed arm comes up and fists the back of your hair, fingers tangled in the clip. Yoongi’s eyes are on you now – his hand is firm, but he doesn’t push or pull. “Fuck you look so good sucking my cock like that.”

You moan around him, wiggling your ass at the praise. His eyes shoot to where your ass is up in the air, framed by dainty lace. “Fuck you’re so hot,” he moans. You hum, making him moan again as you take him deeper, fucking him into your mouth. “just like that sweet girl.”

The sounds he makes spurs you on. He’s laid out for you, naked and flushed. You look up at him through your lashes, watching the way he grits his teeth, a soft snarl on his mouth. One hand is fisted in the sheets, the other nudging you a little fasters, his hips twitching upward occasionally.

Your eyes meat as you sink all the way down and pause, swallowing around him.

“Fuck,” Yoongi growls. He pulls you off his cock by the hair, and toward him. You protest but he presses messy, wet open mouth kisses against you. “I know you wanna suck me off all night, but I wanna fuck you. Now.”

“Yoongi,” you whine between spit and teeth.

“Sorry baby.” He doesn’t sound sorry.

He grabs the hem of your dress and pulls it over your head. He groans when he sees you’re not wearing a bra, leaning up to catch a nipple in his mouth. He shifts so that he has you cradled in his lap, his hands pressing against your back to hold you against his mouth. Your fingers tangle in his hair against as his tongue runs from one pert bud to the other.

Yoongi’s teeth pull at your nipple and you moan loudly, yanking his hair to pull him back. He looks up at you, lips glossy with spit. “I wanted to reward you.”

He slaps your ass, making you squeak and he grins. “Ride me then,” he offers, voice scratchy. “Wanna suck these perfect fucking tits while you fuck yourself on my cock.”

A huff of air escapes you. What comes out of his mouth is always surprising, it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve heard it.

You lift yourself over him as he grabs the base of his cock, running it back and forth up your slit. You moan as he pays close attention to your clit, making you buck your hips. He smiles into your chest.

“Always so fucking wet,” he notes, breathless. His top prods your entrance and you skin down slowly on him, gasping and casting your head back as his girth stretches you perfectly.

Your wet enough that the slide is bearable, but Yoongi’s cock still stretches you. He’s buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around him as you adjust, panting. He carefully leans back against the headboard, hands tracing up your sides to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

He smiles, leaning forward. “Take your time,” the tip of his tongue flicks over your right nipple, giving you goosebumps. “I’m content right where I am.”

A moan escapes your mouth as he wraps his lips around a nipple. Your eyes flutter shut and you toss your head back, content to let his mouth suckle on your bud, his finger brushing back and forth on the other. Sparks shoot down your spine, his hot mouth sending you into overdrive as your cunt adjusts around him.

Slowly, you roll your hips. He moans, detaching his mouth to trail to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. There are no parts of you that Yoongi does love – breasts, thighs, stomach, ass – he worships it all. Will bite any part of you, kiss every inch of your skin.

Yoongi drives you wild as you slowly roll your hips back and forth, in no hurry to fuck yourself on him wildly. It feels amazing. Heat throbs between your legs and you feel the sweat slick on your spine and neck, your eyes shut as you let your hips follow a natural pace.

Beneath you, Yoongi makes sounds of appreciation. He takes breaks from lavishing your breasts to suck on your neck as you ride him slowly, rolling your hips back enough to make the slide deep. At this angle, Yoongi’s cock brushes against your g-spot without much maneuvering, making you shake in his lap.

Every part of you is trembling. You lose yourself in the way Yoongi holds you to him, mouth paying penance to everywhere he can reach. Your orgasm creeps, but neither of you rush the pace. You’re in no hurry to fuck each other to the end of the line, content to just feel.

A deep sound escapes Yoongi’s throat as he leans his head on the headboard, looking up at you. You feel his heated gaze, drawing your attention the same way he does anytime you enter the same room. Your hands go to the back of his neck, twisting your fingers there. His hands go to your hips, helping you with a new pattern of lifting and slamming back down on him.

Wet smacks fuel you further. You’re not fucking him fast but you’re fucking him deep and his eyes are burning so much it doesn’t feel like fucking anymore.

You can barely catch your breath. His skin is burning against yours, sound like whines leaving his mouth. You press your face close, noses bumping as his fingers dig into your hips. You’re shooting toward the sky, a star going going going, ready to fucking explode.

Yoongi tilts his head, his mouth brushing yours. “I love you.”

Everything shatters. You scream into his mouth, body going rigid as you cum around him hard. You’re gasping through it, white blinding you behind squeezed eyelids. Yoongi lets out a loud sound between a gasp and groan, cumming immediately from how worked up you got him with your mouth and how hard you’ve cum on his cock.

Panting, you sit there for a moment. You feel cum dripping down your thighs, but you don’t care. Your mind is spinning after your orgasm and replaying what he said.

I love you.

Min Yoongi is telling you he loves you. The man of your dreams as a child. The childhood crush you could never have. The man that you had, and then almost lost. The man that coaxed truths out of you, even when you were embarrassed of them.

He says it so easily. So freely. He’s not tense under you, his hands rubbing up and down your back, lips soft and pliant against your jaw as he helps you recover after an intense orgasm. There is nothing in his posture that suggest anxiety or regret.

Slowly, you pull away from him, looking down. His brow is sweaty, ebony hair pressed against his skin. Delicately, you brush it out of his eyes, drawing that pinpoint stare to you. You lick your lips. “You love me?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, smiling at you. Settles further into the bed with you still in his lap, making no move to pull out of you. “Course I do. You’re amazing. I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

“Really?”

“You should be more confident in your abilities to woo men.” You smack his chest. He laughs for a moment before turning serious, looking up at you with stars in his eyes. “Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you – it just took a little bit of time for me to unlock it.” You nodded, a little lost in his gaze. “You okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m sorry. I just have always wanted to hear you say that and I’m really happy.” You pause. “And a little scared. Because I have everything I’ve ever wanted, and I don’t want it to go away.”  

He kisses you softly. “Is that why you looked a little lost at the doorway earlier?” You nod. “I’ve been here for most of your life,” he reminds you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’m here for good. I’m not saying let’s get married tomorrow, but I have no intention of ever letting you walk down the aisle for anyone else. Ever.”

A smile curls your lips. “I’ll never let you marry someone else,” you promise him. “I can fight.”

Yoongi grins. “Sure you can.”

“I am very vicious.”

He hums and shifts, lifting you off his soft cock. You whine but he shuts you up with a kiss. “Come on my vicious girl,” he teases. “Let’s shower.”

“Okay.”

“And hey,” he says, making you pause. “I love you.” He kisses your temple. “Vicious girl.”

Extra Chapter | Extra Chapter 2

Scratched Disc | One Shot | myg (m)

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi visits you in your city and everything goes wrong

❀ Word Count: 3,907

❀ Genre: Older brothers best friend, f2l, a lil' angst

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, some frustration because everything keeps going wrong, explicit sexual content include oral (f. receiving) fingering (f. receiving), light dirty talk if you really squint, implications of sex, implications of m. oral and implications of cum eating

❀ Published: July 11, 2022

❀ A/N: SHOUT OUT TO @here2bbtstrash FOR BETA READING THIS AND MAKING SURE READER HAD ON SWEATPANTS, NOT SWEAT PANTS AND MAKING SURE READER WASN'T BLINKY. This work would be riddled with mistakes and absolute chaos grammar without you I love you. The promised Mixtape drabble that turned into a little over 3k words because I am a simp for this couple in the worst way. Just a little slice of life, a little frustration, but perfect Min Yoongi. This one shot is a part of the Mixtape mini-series that I did. This can absolutely be read as a standalone, but it might be a teeny more rewarding to read Mixtape first.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Extra Chapter 2 | Extra Chapter 3

Pressing the phone to the shell of your ear, you turn to look apologetically over the iron fence that makes up the outdoor portion of your favorite lunch spot. Yoongi feels you look at him, looking up at you with keen, dark eyes. You grimace and mouth sorry at him, motioning that you only need five more minutes. He gives you a soft smile and waves off your fears.

Yoongi has only been in town for thirty minutes and work has interrupted his time with you. He’s only scheduled to be in your city for four days, and you want to make the most out of it. But a setback in the programming department means marketing department setbacks, and you’re trying to manage from your phone as your coworkers discuss the new timeline, adjusting deliverables, and explaining the message to deliver to the media and fans who have been waiting for new announcements of the battle pass and upcoming gaming acts.

The call goes on for more than five minutes. It rolls into fifteen, and by the time you’re shoving the device in your pocket and nearly sprinting back to your boyfriend, you know without a doubt that the flatbread you ordered is cold and the ice in your lemonade is melted.

“Putting out fires?” Yoongi hasn’t touched his sandwich and you groan at his manners. It looks distinctly soggier than when you took the phone call. “Look at my sweet girl, all business like.”

“Eat your sandwich,” you growl at him, ripping into your flatbread. “You should have started without me.”

“Not a big deal.”

“Sorry, I promise I will keep the work calls to a minimum the rest of the weekend.”

“It’s not a big deal, kid. Work is work, I get it. Take all the calls you need.”

You smile at him, happy that he’s understanding but also determined not to let work ruin your weekend.

It’s only the second time that Yoongi has visited since you officially started dating. You don’t entirely count the first time Seokjin flew him out to apologize and make good with you, so really it feels like the first.

There are so many things you want to do. You want to take him to your favorite record store downtown. You want to take him to the gelato place by the lake. You want to take him every morning to the coffee shop tucked between work and the apartment, knowing he’ll love it. You definitely want to take him to the cat café.

You examine Yoongi as he eats his sandwich, talking about Namjoon’s EP he’s helping produce around bites of food. His hair is black still, longer than it had been at his release party and curling at the nape of his neck. You’re immediately distracted, wanting to run your hands through it and scratch his scalp a little the way he likes.

Today, he’s dressed in light wash jeans with rips at the knees and a white t-shirt tucked in, and a crème button-up left open. His eyes are a little tired, but they crinkle when he smiles up at you, stealing a piece of flat bread off your plate despite you slapping after his hand.

Having him like this is nice. You can’t help but smile, biting your bottom lip as you try to hide it, stomach flipping as he nudges you with his shoe, leaning back and stretching in his chair like a cat.

“Hmm?” he asks, eyes on you. “What’s so funny.”

“I’m just happy you’re here.”

His smile is a burst of sun. “Me too. Want to drop my stuff off at the apartment before we go to that record store?”

It makes you blush that he remembers. It makes you blush harder when he pays the check, refusing your money and wrapping an arm tightly around you as you walk back to the car. The fact that he can blatantly display affection like this feels good. Tingly.

Jungkook is gone for the weekend, door closed. Yoongi follows you to your room, setting his suitcase on the ground by your closet before turning to you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you lean back on your palms, looking him up and down.

Yoongi watches you like a cat. He makes no move toward you, letting you drink him in again. You part your legs slightly on the bed, an invitation. He moves toward you immediately. No words are required between the two of you. They never were, and as he proves that again, you cannot help but feel hopelessly and ridiculously in love with him.

Love.

The word is still new. You can remember the way he said it, casually in the middle of sex as though he hadn’t re-written your entire existence in that single breath.

Yoongi settles between your legs and you squeeze him with your knees, looking up at him wide-eyed and a little slack jawed. His hands run up your arms, fingers rough. He settles his hands on the back of your neck, twisting his fingers gently in your hair and tugging you a little closer.

“Hi,” you breathe, lids fluttering. Your scalp tingles where he holds you and his eyes are dark.

“Hi,” he murmurs back. Yoongi’s smile is brief as he dips down to kiss you. Your eyes flutter shut, leaning up to him – his phone blares in his back pocket, making you flinch. Yoongi grunts, removing one hand from you as he fishes out his phone to look at it. You watch as irritation flashes across his face. “I have to take this.”

“Okay.”

He kisses your forehead once. “Five minutes.”

Laying on your bed, you stare at your ceiling with a silly smile, heart pounding a little. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve touched Yoongi, how many times you’ve kissed him. You feel like you’re making up for lost time, trying to squeeze in the next moment, the next memory.

Yoongi’s soft timbre rises and falls from just outside your door. You can tell he’s talking to Namjoon. You close your eyes and listen to him, not really understanding the words he’s saying but happy to be hearing his voice through your door instead of the phone.

Five minutes turns to ten.

When ten minutes turns to fifteen, Yoongi comes back into your room with a look on his face. You give him a smile to tell him it’s alright and you pat the bed next to you. He lays down next to you on his back, letting one arm lay across the mattress for you to snuggle into him.

You breathe him in. Sandalwood and lemon. Your favorite smell in the world. Laying your head on his chest, you can hear his voice vibrate through him. You close your eyes, letting his heartbeat and voice lull you to silence.

From what it sounds like, Namjoon has accidentally deleted sound files. Yoongi is panicked – he sounds calm, but you can hear the way his words pick up speed and he keeps pausing longer than usual when Namjoon asks a question.

Somehow, you drift to sleep. It isn’t until Yoongi is hanging up the phone and cursing that you blink groggily, looking up at him with your cheek smushed against his chest. He glances down at you and you can’t help but giggle.

“You have a double chin from this angle,” you yawn.

“Yeah, well you have pancake face from this angle.”

“Hmm.”

“Namjoon deleted the main file for the title track.”

“Holy fuck.” He hums, staring at the ceiling. His fingers play with your hair. “What are you going to do?”

“I need to help him re-make it tonight. I can do it from here – I have enough with me but…”

You smile at him and pat his stomach. “It’s okay, I like watching you work. We have three more days and I bet you’re tired anyway. Records can wait.” He gives you a look. “What?”

“Love you.”

You beam. “Love you too. And seriously – it’s okay, Yoongi. We have three more days.”

-

Day two goes just as badly. Not only is Yoongi exhausted from flying in and spending the entire afternoon and night at your apartment working, but there’s another emergency at work that requires you to get on a zoom call with the directors of the company to discuss how the timeline of the project delays ended up getting leaked.

You’re hardly paying attention in the meeting, scribbling notes to send to your team. Email marketing messaging, questions for the PR department, social media creatives with messaging – it’s all on your notepad scrawled in messy handwriting.

Yoongi doesn’t complain. He brings you a cup of coffee and kisses the top of your head, banishing himself into Jungkook’s room to tinker with his set up. Jungkook had specifically said multiple times that Yoongi could game while he was there, though no one thought he would need to.

Your meeting burns two hours of your day.

Taking out the headphones and pushing away from your desk, you travel to the living room and stop to look out the window. Rain comes down in sheets, lighting blinding you for a brief moment before thunder shakes the floors of the apartment. You hadn’t realized it was storming at all.

Sticking your head into Jungkook’s room, you find Yoongi at the computer. The screen casts a ghostly glow on his skin. For a moment, you lean against the door and admire him. His eyes are focused, tongue tucked gently between his lips as he clicks around.

You can see over the chair that he’s playing League of Legends.

Another roll of thunder makes you sigh.

This weekend feels off. You’re beyond happy that you and Yoongi are together. It’s been a couple of weeks and though FaceTime is an excellent invention, you miss him in small doses, mostly when you’re reminded of him.

Like when you’re driving in the car and someone cuts you off. You know he hates it, and it makes you smile knowing that he would have been fighting the urge to roll up next to them and flip them off.

Or like when someone doesn’t take out their used k-cup in the break room at work, something so lazy and easy to do that Yoongi would have left a strongly worded note on the machine that surely would make anyone feel self-conscious about committing the sin again.

And now that he’s here, nothing is going the way that you want it to. You thought today would be a good day to go to the cat café, but now that it’s afternoon it’s closed. And with the pouring rain outside, getting to the record shop is going to be a pain. It happens to be situated in the part of downtown where the storm drains don’t work well and the streets flood.

Your hands are soft on his shoulders as you reach over the chair. He looks up at you, headphones tilted on his head slightly. He gives you a gummy grin, turning to kiss your arm before focusing back on the game.

“How’s it going?”

“Eh.” You knead his muscles and he lets out an appreciative hum. “How’s your game?”

“I’m fucking terrible. I used Jungkook’s account not realizing that without Ren here he gets no pussy and spends all his time gaming.”

“These are facts.” You watch as Yoongi fails epically defending the bottom lane. “It’s absolutely pouring rain outside. We can still try to go to the record store if it lets up a little. We may need to order lunch though – god it’s already after two.”

“It’s okay, kid. Do you have ingredients for grilled cheese?”

Grilled cheese with a sprinkle of Old Bay seasoning is exactly what you end up having for lunch. You sit on the counter, swinging your legs back and forth as you bite into your sandwich. It’s obnoxiously good – Yoongi has always had a way of making the simple feel luxurious.

He’s always been like that, you think. Yoongi is able to elevate everything he does: music, style, conversation, presentation. It was one of the reasons that you always thought he was so effortlessly cool growing up. There is something to be said about the way he improves everything he touches.

Yoongi flips his grilled cheese in the pan.

“You know the story of Midas?”

“Like the car company?”

“No! Like the Greek mythology story. He asked the god Dionysus to give him the ability to turn everything to gold with his touch. You’re like a modern-day Midas.”

“Wow, my grilled cheese is that good?”

You nod happily. “Among other things.”

“Doesn’t that story have a sad ending?”

“It’s Greek, of course it does.”

Outside, the storm gets worse. You call off plans for leaving the apartment and put on Naruto, tucking yourself into Yoongi’s side on the couch as you frown at the screen. His arm is wrapped around you, fingers tracing up and down your arms.

The touch puts you in a trance. You’re no longer seeing the TV screen – it’s just a blur of colors and the words blend together to make sound, but you don’t understand them. You turn to look up at Yoongi. His nose is softly sloped, skin blue in the TV light. His lips are pouted, eyes focused on the screen, like he has no idea that you’re staring at him, mystified.

“You’re going to burn a hole through my head,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes on the screen. His hands don’t stop their tracing. “What’s the matter?”

“Just happy you’re here, but sorry it’s gone so poorly.”

Yoongi’s frown is so intense that you almost laugh. His pout deepens and he leans forward to grab the remote, pausing the TV. You settle, leaning on the back of the couch as he turns to face you, brows still knitted together. “What do you mean it’s gone poorly?”

“I just wanted to show you around.” You drop your eyes down to your lap where you pull at loose strings on your sweater – Yoongi’s sweater, really. “I feel bad that work has been a mess for me and it keeps derailing our plans. I didn’t want to keep you cooped up in an apartment the whole time.”

“Kid, any time spent with you is a good trip.” He catches your fingers to hold them hostage, refusing to let them worry at the fabric. “Shit happens. This trip isn’t going poorly. I’ve had work stuff too. It’s fine.”

“I just don’t want you to get bored.”

“I could never be bored with you.”

You chuckle and arch a brow. “You sure?”

“Painfully so. You have and do make my life incredibly interesting. It’s just one of those weekends we’re out of sync. Like – when you scratch the CD you just burned and it totally fucks up the flow of the songs.”

“Okay. I hope I can show you around the next two days. I just want to share my experiences with you.”

“And I love that. I want to share them too. But I also don’t mind keeping you to myself in this very cold apartment.”

“It’s not that cold.”

He hums deep in his chest. He unfolds himself, leaning forward with a smirk. You lean away from him, squeaking as Yoongi chases you with his lips, ghosting over yours as he forces you to lay back. “I’m freezing. It’s your responsibility as host to warm me up.”

You have no time for a response, though you have nothing to quip back. His lips are soft against yours, tasting like the honey that you put in his tea. You melt under Yoongi’s touch, his hips pressing you further into the couch as his mouth softly pries yours open.

There is nothing in the world like kissing Min Yoongi. Soft tongue, gentle sucks of your bottom lip, the feeling of his lips curving as he smirks. His nose brushes yours. You slide your fingers through his hair, tugging gently on the ends and making sure to run your nails against his scalp.

Yoongi moans. The sound lights you up from the inside out. You arch into him, pressing your chest against him as you wiggle your hips, seeking friction.

His laughter breaks the kiss. “Impatient.”

“Friction creates heat. You said you were cold.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m doing you a service,” you gasp, closing your eyes as he attaches his lips to your neck. “If my boyfriend is cold, I must be of service.”

He bites you, pulling a sound like a moan and a squeal from your lips. “I like hearing you say that.”

“That I’m of service?”

Yoongi’s hand cracks the side of your ass so quickly and sharply that you don’t have time to prepare, squealing into a fit of giggles as he looks down at you, dark-eyed and brow arched. “Careful, sweet girl.”

“More,” you ask, reaching to cradle his face.

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate. He never makes you beg for it. Never makes you wait longer than necessary. He feeds into every whim, every desire, every ask.

Seokjin believes Yoongi is whipped for you. A simp who can’t say no. Yoongi says that he has spent an entire lifetime missing on giving into your every demand and there’s time to make up for.

You like Yoongi’s answer better.

With soft hands, Yoongi peels away the sweater that is not your sweater. Thunder rumbles through the apartment but you barely hear it over the smack of his lips against yours, soft turned messy as you pull at his shirt and he pulls at your bra.

Yoongi’s tongue licks down your neck, laving over bruises he’s already sucked into your skin. You close your eyes, letting Yoongi have his way with you. His teeth pinch at your skin, sharp pains soothed by the soft brush of his lips.

His tongue is deadly, pulling a loud noise from you as he circles a nipple with it. He grins, watching you as he flicks over the pert bud back and forth, sending pleasure sparking through you. Everything he does makes you shiver, especially when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks gently.

“Fuck,” you sigh. “Feels so fucking good.”

He hums, stimulating you further before he lets go with a lewd pop and brings his mouth to another. “Love watching you lose it like this,” he huffs. His tongue goes to work licking at your other nipple. “Every time you lose it.”

Your sweatpants and panties follow your sweater to the floor. Yoongi still has his sweat pants on, not letting you palm him through the material which makes you whine and pout. He rolls his eyes, nibbling on your calf as he settles between your legs.

“Are you really whining?”

“Wanna suck you off.”

“Too bad,” he grumbles, placing wet kisses on your inner thigh. Your breath is unsteady as he nears your dripping pussy before he switches legs. “I fucked your mouth last night.”

“So?”

“So,” he says, leaning down to lick a slow, broad strip up your cunt. “My turn. Haven’t gotten to taste this pussy in weeks.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue. Your head is spinning as Yoongi licks up your slit again, the roughness of his tongue making you delirious. He drags his tongue up and down, gathering the wetness there before slowly swirling around your swollen clit.

Curses start falling out of your mouth, a hand shooting to twist in his hair and god it is so much longer and so much better now. The silky strands elevate the way you can hold him between your legs, grounding you to reality as he sucks your clit into his mouth, making you pant.

Yoongi never disappoints. You can’t piece together enough strength or attention to look at him feasting between your thighs, eyes squeezed shut as he alternates between licking your clenching hole and sucking greedily at your clit. He’s loud as he eats you out, doing the most to make sure you can feel and hear how fucking wet he has you.

“Fingers?” he asks, sinking lower to tongue at your hole. You let out a high-pitch keen and he hums. “Sounds like a yes.”

“Please.”

Yoongi doesn’t deny you. He lifts a hand to circle where you want him most, applying just enough pressure on the muscles to have you almost screaming but not enough to sink in. You make a noise that sounds like a sob as he continues to tease your entrance with two fingers while sucking your clit. He takes mercy and sinks them in, immediately providing relief, immediately making the pleasure that much more.

Tongue alone, Yoongi can make you cum hard enough to see stars. With his fingers stroking your front wall with a steady pace, matched with the way he suckles, Yoongi is good enough to make you need a recovery period.

The coil in your stomach tightens and tightens and tightens. You buck your hips into his mouth, pulling at his hair. You completely abandon any thought of not hurting his scalp, too focused on the way you’re gushing around his fingers and nearly hysterical from his lips alone.

“Fuck, Yoongi!”

“Come on then,” Yoongi purrs. “Cum for me. Wanna taste.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

He quickens his fingers, fucking them into your g-spot over and over again. It feels like you’re an arrow shot at the sky, gaining height and going up up up up up – the sky shatters and you cum with a scream, squeezing around Yoongi’s fingers. He pins you down to the couch, slowing his pumping digits but sucking harshly on your clit to prolong your orgasm.

You feel a tingle all over, as though there is an electric current skating across the surface of your skin, vibrating to nerve level. You’re panting on the couch as he removes his fingers, giving a final, languid lick that makes you twitch.

Struggling to open your eyes, you blink blearily at him as he looks up at you. There’s a wet sheen of arousal slicked on his lips, flushed and swollen from the way he ate you out. He grins at you and you grin back, letting your head sag into the couch.

“See,” he hums, lifting himself from between your legs. “We’re having a great day.”

“Uh huh.”

“Is my sweet girl a little light headed from just my tongue and fingers?”

“She very much is.”

He kisses your jaw. Your forehead. Your lips. You kiss him back hungrily, strength renewed with the touch of his lips. “See, the weekend isn’t lost. It’s just like a scratched disc of your favorite album. Still good, just a little bumpy.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Yoongi.”

He laughs. “Anything for you.”

Extra Chapter 2 | Extra Chapter 3

Happy Agust, Hali 💕

Because Mixtape!Yoongi has been living RENT FREE in my mind for the last week, can I please request a fluffy drabble where Yoongi befriends and/or adopts a cat 👀 ? I’m pushing the cat dad agenda here… 😏

Thank youuuu 💕

YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT. Thank you for being so patient with me bby you literally were on the list of had to do because you know I'm obsessed with the idea and finally, we revisit our favorite Mixtape couple and Cat Dad Yoongi.

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi can't stop thinking about the white cat he spotted alone and in the cold. Who are you to deny him?

❀ Word Count: 3,915

❀ Genre: Older brothers best friend, f2l, a lil' angst

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Yoongi Cat Dad Agenda, long hair Yoongi yes this is a warning, literally fluff and an excuse to give Yoongi a cat

❀ Published: 3,915

❀ A/N: This is a part of the Mixtape series as an extra chapter. You can 100% read this as a standalone, though you might enjoy it a tiny bit more having read Mixtape!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Extra Chapter 2

Bright sun beats down on your back, warming your chilled skin through the softness of your sweater. You pause lifting boxes for a moment, content to stand in the shaft of light and close your eyes, head tilted toward the source of your brief hiatus from the cold.

Wind skitters down the road and you shiver. Eyes fluttering open in time to see Yoongi coming out of the apartment lobby, rubbing his hands together for warmth. A beanie is pulled down low over his long, black hair – long enough that you’ve threatened him within an inch of his life if it cuts it – and a long-sleeve shirt that’s two sizes too big.

“What are you doing?” he asks, gesturing to where you stand motionless in the sun, box in hand. “You know you can’t photosynthesize, right?

You pout. “You don’t know that. Maybe I’m a plant.”

He hums as he passes you, hand absently touching your elbow as he does. Yoongi ducks into the trunk of the car, pulling out the last box. “Perhaps you’re right. Quiet, soaking up the sun, will die if not given attention.”

“Hey that last one isn’t true!”

The trunk snaps shut, Yoongi grinning at his little joke as he lifts the box. “It is a little.”

Maybe Yoongi has a point.

There was a time when you never dreamed of demanding attention from Min Yoongi. Most of your early life had been spent trying to stay out of his way until that fateful day in the piano room. After that, you co-existed on the edge of one another’s lives. His attention had been something you craved but never went out of your way to receive.

Thinking about your thirteen-year-old self writing about having a crush on Min Yoongi in her diary makes you smile. She had no idea one day everything would make sense. That you would come into synced orbits, and that you’d move in with him at the peak of his career, and a positive shift in yours.

Both of you adjust grips on your boxes and head toward the apartment lobby door to make your final carrying trip up to your new apartment. It’s deep in downtown near Yoongi’s new studio that he bought and opened himself to extend the branch of the label he works under, and it has the perfect large space for your new work at home office.

Best of all, it overlooks the entire city. At night, it looks like the stars have drifted from the heavens to float among the mortals, moving among the dreams and the lives of thousands.

Yoongi pulls up short before opening the door to the lobby, making a soft sound of surprise. You glance at him to see his gaze fixated near the northeast corner of the building where 77th North Street meets 4th Avenue.

At first, you see cars at a stop light. The winter-frosted glass of the coffee shop and dance studio across the street. The bikers bundled in puffer jackets, beanies pulled low over their ears.

Movement catches your eyes lower. You find the object of Yoongi’s attention- a small, white cat with its head cocked, blue eyes fixed on the pair of you.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, kitty.” It meows in response, making the side of your mouth twitch. “Cute.”

Yoongi looks up at the stretch of windows above your apartment building. “I wonder if it has an owner? I don’t see a collar. It’s kind of cold out here.”

“Unsure. Pretty cat, though.”

Yoongi hums, eyes drifting back to the cat. For a moment, you admire the way the cold turns Yoongi’s face pink. He flushes easily, but even more so during winter. He doesn’t notice your slow smile as you watch him and he watches the cat.

With a shrug of his shoulders and a quick shuffle of his box, Yoongi pulls the door open to the hotel lobby. “I’m sure it has an owner. I’ll let the lobby manager know there’s a cat outside, though.”

You smile at him as you pass. He doesn’t notice, eyes drifting back to the cat watching you one more time before letting the tinted, glass door shut. “Okay.” He makes his way to the counter as you move to the elevator. “Don’t take too long. I’m starving.”

Inside the new apartment is warm. It smells like the crisp, citrus candle flickering on the granite countertop. Boxes are stacked neatly in corresponding rooms, marked with your neat handwriting and Yoongi’s slanted scribble.

All of the furniture is already placed and put together. The movers had done most of the work the day before and Yoongi had spent most of the evening into the late night putting everything together, the whine of the drill backtracked by his curses and hisses when something didn’t mesh right.

Every part of the home – and it does already feel like home – is splashed with the watercolors of your shared life. The living room is muted neutrals, the pillows soft and worn from the nights of falling asleep on the couch and the throw blanket frayed at the edges from Yoongi’s sleepy feet stepping on the hem while wearing it like a cape around his old apartment.

There are three bedrooms, one of which now has a desk for you to work at on one side and the other with a massive slab of desk, shelving, and tangled wires for Yoongi’s little home studio. The master and the office both have large windows facing the city, letting in the bright winter light during the day and the glow of the city at night.

You check the writing on the box in your arms. Books is scribbled in Yoongi’s slanted writing, explaining why it’s so heavy. You shuffle to the guest bedroom where Yoongi has lined either side of the bed with tall bookshelves and deposit the box in front of the empty shelf.

Dusting your hands, you walk back to the kitchen, covered in a combination of folded cardboard, paper towel rolls, power tools, and wrapped glassware. You start unwrapping the glasses, sliding them in neat rows in the cabinet.

Yoongi doesn’t return right away. You lose yourself in the rhythm of organizing, crumbling the wrapping paper, and shoving it into the trash. When your stomach growls, you look up at the clock and realize that it’s been twenty minutes and Yoongi still hasn’t come upstairs.

You frown and move to your phone. Just as you swipe the screen to call, the front door opens and your boyfriend comes in. His nose and cheeks are frozen pink, and his hands are a little discolored from the cold outside and the grip he has on the box.

He sets it down by the door, too tired to carry it in as the door clicks shut behind him and he straightens, huffing a bit.

“Everything okay?” you ask, brows raised.

“Yeah.” He’s a touch out of breath. “The lobby manager said he doesn’t know anyone who has a missing cat and doesn’t have anyone having a white cat on file. But people bring in pets and don’t tell the apartment all the time so I went out to take a picture and post to that community page on our rent portal in case someone doesn’t know it’s missing.”

Yoongi flexes his cold fingers. You hold your hands out to him and he immediately responds, drifting to you like a magnet. His hands are ice cold when you take them in yours, rubbing them to create heat and friction.

Once Yoongi’s hands have a little more color and warmth, you kiss the back of his right hand briefly before drifting to the fridge. “What do you want for lunch?”

“Sushi?”

You hum in agreement, hands searching for the plastic box you had picked up earlier. Yoongi leans on the counter behind you as you pull out soy sauce and the spicy mayo, sitting it next to you.

“You think he’ll be okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“The cat,” Yoongi clarifies. You close the fridge and turn to face him. His arms are crossed over his chest, sleeves pulled down over his hands. His gaze is focused on the floor, lost in thought as he chews his lip lightly. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

A smile creeps on your face as you soften at the edges. Yoongi looks up at you as you wrap your arms around his middle. He’s still a little cool from being outside again, but the warmth that the smell of sandalwood and his arms returning the hug chase away the cold.

“I’m sure he will be. We’ll keep an eye on it, yeah?”

You tuck yourself into Yoongi’s neck, closing your eyes. You feel him nod and hum in response. His hands play with the hem of your shirt and you sigh, melting into him. You slot perfectly against him, a puzzle piece finding its home after years of almosts and what ifs.

Yoongi’s stomach growls and you both laugh. You peel away from him and press a soft kiss to his mouth, sweet and pink. “Let’s eat.”

-

Something light washes across the darkness of your dreams. You sigh and squirm deeper into the pillow, willing to sink back into a comfortable sleep.

But the glow somewhere – a little beyond your sleep – is distracting. You hear tapping next to you and you grumble. The bed is cold, the windows cracked at Yoongi’s request. Eyes closed, you seek his warmth, hands following the soft dip in the bed next to you until your hands come into contact with bare skin.

“Ah,” Yoongi hisses. “Cold.”

His voice pulls you the rest of the way from your seep. Heavy eyes blink open, flinching at the bright, white light splitting the darkness. His phone is held near his face, casting him in an eerie glow with squinted eyes.

“What are you doing?” you croak, voice scratchy and deep. You close your eyes to hide from the light of the phone, but scoot closer to him anyway. Only Yoongi could sleep shirtless with the window cracked in a freezing apartment. “What time is it?”

“Three.”

“What, your emails couldn’t wait?”

“Oh I’m not emailing.” He lets you suck the warmth from his skin as you bury your face in his neck and angle it towards his pillow, finally muting the light. His heart thrums under your arm as you wrap yourself around him, squeezing. “I was checking to see if anyone claimed the cat yet.”

You pause, momentarily confused. Oh. The white cat. “Oh.”

“No one has yet.”

“Hmm, well I doubt anyone is going to at three in the morning, Yoons.”

He sighs. The phone light vanishes entirely and he reaches to set it on the nightstand, temporarily dislodging you. Yoongi settles in again, turning toward you slightly and wrapping his arms around you in return. You can’t help but smile as he sighs, warm breath hitting your brow.

“You’re probably right.”

“We can check on kitty in the morning.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel him nod. “Okay. Night, sweet girl.”

“Mmm. Night.”

-

An empty bed greets you when you wake up again early in the morning. Your muscles pull tight as you stretch, a strained sound escaping your lips as you look around the room for any sign of Yoongi. The light coming through the white slats in the blinds is dark grey and the clock on the nightstand shows that it’s a little past seven in the morning.

Slowly, you sit up, your body in a momentary state of grogginess. The master bathroom door is open with the light turned off, but you can see the light from the living room and kitchen area on underneath the bathroom door.

Peeling off the blankets, you hurry across the room to shut the window, rubbing your hands together and going in search of Yoongi.

Coffee wafts from the kitchen. There’s only a single lamp in the living room on paired with the light over the stove, casting the apartment in shadows and gentle light. Yoongi is curled on the couch, feet tucked under him and his favorite blanket wrapped around him as he looks at his phone.

For a moment, you stop and stare at him. His hair is messy and sticking up in places. It’s long enough that it reaches his shoulders these days, flipping outward when he air dries it or from being tucked underneath a beanie. His face is puffy with sleep, the hand not holding his phone wrapped around a still-steaming cup of coffee.

“Hi,” you murmur, drawing his attention from his phone. He smiles at you, full gums on display and eyes crinkling. Your heart flips – it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together now. Being the object of Yoongi’s affection still knocks the wind out of you after wanting it for so long. “It’s early.”

He hums but clicks the phone off and unfolds the blanket, holding it open like a bat wing for you to slot yourself into. You hurry over, snuggling into his side eagerly. He’s still shirtless, skin like a natural heater as you press against him. He wraps the wing around you, keeping the heat in as you settle.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, just naturally woke up. Noticed you were gone though so I came looking.”

“Hmm. Couldn’t sleep.”

You crane your neck to look at him.

Yoongi’s dark eyes are fixated on the window. They’re frosty with mist, the cool air outside at war with the hotter air of the apartment. His lips are a little chapped like he’s been biting them all morning and his eyes are unfocused, the kind of look when he’s thinking about new music or trying to remember something.

A small crease forms on his brow. You tentatively lift a hand, slipping it through the hole in your blanket wrap to brush the tips of your fingers along the shape of his jaw. Long lashes flutter shut and he leans into your touch, seeking the comfort of skin against skin.

“What’s wrong?” you ask the question so softly you think he doesn’t hear you. Your hand slips to the hair framing his face, brushing the dark strands back. “Yoons?”

“I’m worried about the cat.”

Yoongi’s words come out like an admission of guilt. His mouth pouts slightly and he chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t open his eyes, but the dip of his brows increases as his expression melts into a frown.

“You have to give people time.”

“I’m just worried. It’s cold.”

You examine him. Even the calming strokes of your hand in his hair don’t chase away the frown. You remember all of the times that your touch could soothe him. You remember the way you first ran your hands through his hair like this, long ago at the Park cabin on a vacation you’ll never forget.

“What do you want to do, baby?” He opens his eyes, a question in them. You smile. “You obviously want to do something. What is it?”

He chews on his lip and you prod his mouth. He’s a little bashful as he lets the abused flesh go. “I may have… ordered some things.”

“Oh?”

“You know, to like… keep it here while we wait for an owner to come forward.”

“Uh-huh. What things?”

“Food. Bowls. Some toys.”

You grin. Your soft, sweet boyfriend can’t help himself. He’s the same way with people – buying things he sees people needing. Wordlessly putting gluten-free bread in the pantry for Jimin (and guarding when Taehyung tries to steal it). Buying a new wireless headset for Ren so she can join Jungkook when he streams. Sending Seokjin a stack of recipes Yoongi’s family cook has finally agreed to divulge.

Yoongi speaks in a silent language of love, and it makes you lean forward to press a sold kiss to his jaw before pulling away to get up.

“Where are you going?” He’s wide-eyed and soft when he looks up at you as you stand and stretch.

“Get dressed. Let’s go get your cat.”

-

It takes twenty minutes in the blistering morning cold, a couple of curses and hopeless looks from Yoongi, and constant encouragement from you before you find the cat in the parking garage under someone’s tire.

Yoongi immediately gets on his knees, staining his sweatpants as he tucks his head under the wheel well, looking up and speaking softly to the cat in question. You watch, shivering in the shade and arms crossed over your chest for another ten minutes before Yoongi slips his hands upward, only retreating when he has a dirty, white-coated cat with blue eyes in his hands.

You offer Yoongi the blanket that you’re clutching – Yoongi’s favorite, as he insisted. The cat is latched onto Yoongi’s shirt, your lips twitching in a soft smile. Yoongi whispers to the feline, head ducked down as you approach.

The cat turns its attention to you, eyes going narrow as it hisses. You hesitate when you lift the blanket, looking at the curve claws that snag in Yoongi’s shirt and the rigid line of hair running up its spine. Yoongi hushes the creature and nods at you.

Carefully, under the suspicious gaze of the cat, you wrap it in a blanket, sliding the material under Yoongi’s grip until he has a bundle, a white little face peering back at him from a checkered blanket. It’s cute, pulling lightly at your heartstrings.

Inside your apartment, Yoongi goes straight to the couch, the bundle in his arms as he murmurs to the cat in question. You watch wordlessly from the kitchen, a smile still on your face as he tucks the cat into his lap, his long hair hiding his face as he carefully unwraps the blanket.

The cat does not move from his lap. Instead, it curls up, blinking its eyes at Yoongi. You hear him laugh, just a soft breath of sound as he scratches between its dirty ears.

“We’ll just keep you until your owners realize your missing,” Yoongi says as you fill a bowl of water. “I think you need a little bit of a bath, hmm?”

You place the bowl of water near the couch, straightening to see a pair of blue eyes trained on you. You offer the cat a nervous smile. “Pretty.”

“Do you want to pet him?”

“How do you know it’s a him?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I might be wrong.”

Tentatively you sit down and hold out a hand. The cat stares at you warily before taking a few suspect sniffs. When it decides you’re acceptable, it rubs its shin on your fingers tentatively, closing its eyes.

“Just until the owners find it?” you ask cryptically.

“Yeah.”

Yoongi’s eyes never stray from the feline.

-

Week one you put up ‘cat found posters.’

There is a bed and a handful of toys in the living room. The white cat is clean after a yowling, hissing and screaming bathtub experience. You walk through the living room, peering at where Yoongi sleeps on the couch. His hair covers his face, lips parted lightly.

And at the foot of the couch is the cat, curled into a donut with its head resting on top of Yoongi’s foot.

-

Week two you trip over a cat toy and scowl. Sensing your irritation, said cat appears around the corner, winding between your legs and rubbing himself on your calves. You sigh, the irritation bleeding out of you as you bend down and offer a hand. He nuzzles you, purring briefly before rushing off.

You hear Yoongi greet the cat in the office and shake your head, though you smile a little bit.

-

“Can we take Sugar to the vet? I want to make sure he’s a he and that he’s got… whatever shots cats need.” You look up, pausing with a mouthful of toast. Yoongi is hovering near the kitchen, looking over at the cat that is kneading its bed. “I just want to make sure we keep him healthy?”

“Sure-“ You cock your head. “Did you just call the cat Sugar?” Yoongi blushes. You swallow the toast and cough a little, having swallowed too quickly. Yoongi is fast to grab you a glass of water which you take with a grateful glance. “You named him?”

“He looks like a jar of sugar.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it felt weird to keep saying ‘it’ and ‘the cat’ and not having a name.”

“Right.”

“And he’s very sweet.”

“This is true.”

Yoongi’s eyes are soft and round when he looks at you. Your heart melts a little, seeing that gentle flicker in his eyes. You don’t put a name to that look, that little gleam that you know it’s there. You don’t want to jinx it, to give it a name to have it taken away.

Instead, you take another gulp of water. “Let’s make an appointment.”

-

Week four, no one has claimed Sugar, but Sugar has claimed more space and more toys in your home. A new bag of cat food is on the counter along with a jar of catnip. There is now a basket for Sugar to contain his toys. And a pretty black collar with a little jar and a name.

And a doting Yoongi who walks across the living room with his phone tucked into his shoulder on a business call, carrying the growing-plump feline with him in his arms. He heads towards you, listening to the other voice on the line. He gestures to the fridge, hands full of Sugar.

You push off the counter pulling open the fridge and removing the bottle of Gatorade your boyfriend nods at. You crack the top and a grin spreads across his face. The smile grows when you pull a straw out of the drawer, plop it in and wedge the drink into one of Yoongi’s hands.

Sugar hisses at the disturbance, rolling his head to look at you defiantly.

Yoongi tuts at the cat. “Don’t hiss at mommy.”

Both yours and Yoongi’s attention snaps to one another. Your stomach flips at the term of endearment. It’s just a cat, but Yoongi’s slip – the assignment of a role in the creature’s life, an implication that… he wants to keep the cat too is there.

“Sorry,” Yoongi says absently. He looks at you when he says it, but addresses the person on the phone. “The cat was hissing at my girlfriend.”

There’s laughter on the other line. You open your hands and Yoongi nods, passing Sugar to you. Sugar likes Yoongi more, but he doesn’t mind you either. He rubs his head into the crook of your elbow as Yoongi starts talking about a soundboard that you know nothing about.

“Let daddy work,” you tell Sugar, giving Yoongi a devious grin. He pauses, midsentence, phone pressed to his ears, eyes dark. “How about we watch Sailor Moon, Sugar?”

-

Week five the ‘cat found’ posters come down.

“Yeah, his name is Sugar,” you tell Jungkook on the phone, crumbling the sheets of paper. Jungkook squeals on the other side of the line. “Do you guys want to come up and see him next weekend?”

-

Week thirty-three, Sugar sleeps between you and Yoongi on the couch, purring lightly as you drift to sleep, head propped on Yoongi’s shoulder as the credits to Naruto roll.